There’s been something of a battle cry raised amongst the limb different community this week. In the wake of a particularly rubbish week for discrimination against people with limb differences many have been raising their voices in a wave of solidarity.
The interesting thing is, while some of the comments our limb different compatriots have received have been pretty appalling, the response has overwhelmingly been one of empowerment and positivity. There’s been a healthy dose of anger, but it’s been channelled into uplifting those around, into raising awareness rather than into resentment and bitterness.
It’s not always easy to be the better person. Taking the high road isn’t always simple and sometimes we might want to rage and hurl abuse at those rude enough to share their ignorant and misguided opinions. And yet that’s the best thing about this fierce and passionate community of limb difference advocates; it’s never about the hatred. They might be handed incredible negativity, but it’s transformed and directed back out into the world as pure, punching positivity.
It’s been a week of mixed feelings as a parent of a limb different little one. I’ve cried as if these insults have been directed at me or mine, and in truth, they have been. In reality, a comment against one person with a difference is a comment against them all and the team has responded accordingly.
Reading all of these posts from such thoughtful, talented and inspiring people at first filled me with a dread I’d not thought about in a while. Over the last three years on our limb difference journey, my biggest fear has gone from all the things I thought she wouldn’t be able to do (if I’ve learnt anything at all, it’s that there’s nothing she won’t be able to do if she sets her mind to it) to fearing the reactions of other people. It hurts like hell when someone passes an insanely insensitive comment about your perfect baby with a difference, it hurts when people stare or, worse, when they point or mock.
But I’m not sure anything will prepare me for the day when someone says something to my daughter’s face, or behind her back, and she understands their intent. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to see her face crumple with doubt and hurt. To us, to her family and her friends, she’s perfect. She’s the way she’s supposed to be. She’s talented, she’s tenacious and she’s strong. We tell her this every single day and I can only hope she sees the truth in it and radiates that sense of self-assurance and inner beauty throughout her life.
And yet I fear that a single badly judged comment, a single jibe or stare could unpick all of that self-belief. It could tug on a loose thread of doubt and unravel the whole thing. And if that happens, when that happens, when the words of her parents are no longer enough to fill her world, then there’s a whole army out there ready to pick her up again.
There’s an entire community of adults and children alike who are putting themselves out there, who are shouting the loudest, that they – and she – are perfect just the way they are. They’re standing up in the face of the judgements, refusing to hide away and they’re singing from the rooftops that they are capable, beautiful and unencumbered.
There was a time, not so long ago, when to be different meant you were alone. There are people alive today, some not even as old as me, who once felt like they were the only one. Social media might get a bad rap, but to those with any kind of difference it’s quite possibly the single most powerful tool for building confidence and self esteem in our young people.
The very fact that people like Stump Kitchen, Abshow, Brian the one-handed drummer , The One Arm Wondermom and countless more (I won’t list them all for fear of missing someone out) are brave enough to publish their stories, their successes and their challenges is changing the lives of those who follow in their footsteps. Thanks to them our children will never know what it’s like to feel like she’s the only one. Thanks to them she has behind her the most incredibly loyal and empowering team of cheerleaders. She’s got mentors, teachers, guides and role models surrounding her as she grows.
In the glare of these bright lights I hope the naysayers and the hurtful ones are slinking away to hide themselves for a while. I hope they’re thinking about what they said, I hope they are realising that these powerful posts are aimed at them. I hope they’re considering that maybe they were wrong to give voice to their thoughts; I hope they come to learn that good intentions alone don’t negate their hurtful actions.
There’s been something of a battle cry raised amongst the limb different community this week. The catalyst for the outcry has been painful to read for parents everywhere and yet those ignorant people, the ones who sought to hide or shame our children’s differences, have spectacularly failed. They’ve caused parents, limb different adults and lucky fin children all around the world to shout out louder than ever. They’ve caused a wave of images of celebration, lucky fins held high and taking centre stage.
I hope that one day in the future my daughter is proud enough to shout just as loud. I hope that one day her voice, and her perfect difference, joins the very battle cry that’s already changing lives.