Whose Body Image is It?

When I look into the mirror, I see me – Jaehn. When I look into people's eyes, I am not always certain what they see – me, or an image of what they think it's like to be me: a woman living with a disability. Our society holds so many myths and stereotypes around disability (read "difference"); it can be quite difficult to separate authentic, individual experience from culturally constructed identities.

So, how does a woman with a disability see herself in a way that acknowledges and honors her physical presence and affords her a sense of self-esteem and self worth in a society that all too often places (negative) value judgments on bodies that are not "perfect"?

The answer is deceptively simple – by a concentrated act of will.

Constructing a Sense of Self
Twenty-one years ago, I survived a spinal cord injury, which dramatically and permanently changed my body and, subsequently, my life. I was 20 years old – just barely beginning to construct a sense of self anchored in my own impulses, hopes and dreams. I don't know what sort of person I would be had I not sustained that injury, nor how I might feel about myself and my body now. But I do know that living as a woman with a disability has influenced how I perceive both my physical self – my body – and my sense of self – my metaphysical, emotional, psychological presence.

When you live in a body labeled "disabled" you are defined as “Other” – other than-human.

Following the accident, I had to learn to live in my body differently; to create a new relationship with myself. I realized I did not want my self﷓image defined and limited by physical appearance, or by others’ perceptions of my body. The first stage involved learning to cope with The Invisible Cripple Syndrome.

This phenomenon was brought sharply into focus at the formal reception for an art exhibit. A thousand people were in attendance; the biggest crowd I'd been in since acquiring the wheelchair.  We were all are dressed up, mixing, mingling, being seen.  The guests walked around with their little h'ors d'oeuvres  plates balanced on their little plastic wine cups.  My little plate sat atop my little wine cup, tucked between my knees.  I patiently wound my way through the crowd.

"Excuse me,” I said to one of the guests.  “Pardon me.  Excuse me, could I just sneak past you here?"

I figured three polite attempts, and I was entitled to bump him, just as a little hint. So, I did – gently; he turned around. Seeing no one at his eye level, he turned back to his conversation, standing right where he was.  It took me a minute to understand – this guy was just not seeing me.  Suddenly, he turned in my direction, practically tumbling into my lap.

"Oops!  Oh, sorry," he said.
"It's okay.” I said. “It’s only a little red wine."
Then, right in front of me, I saw the unexpected – another woman in a wheelchair. "Hello," I said.
She responded, "Hi!  How ya doin'?"
"Okay.  Going slowly."
"Yeah.  Me, too.  It's a bitch, huh?"
"Yeah.  I'm just trying to get to the bathroom."
"Try that way.  The crowd's a little thinner down that corridor."
"Thanks."
"Sure.  See ya – have fun.  Remember, after you run over their  toes, they move."

Flashing me a broad grin, she wheeled off in the direction of the bar, deftly dodging the vertical guests.  I felt a small surge of satisfaction, realizing I was not alone – a thought that struck me with almost physical force. I didn't see her for the rest of the evening, but just knowing she was there, bumping legs and running over toes, somehow altered the whole event for me. We saw each other. The other guests may not have acknowledged us, but they couldn't make us invisible to each other.

That was the first time I understood that no one else can make me invisible, and the experience deeply influenced how I perceive myself in relation to how others respond to me.  Over the years, I learned not to let other people's assumptions limit me and what I believe of myself.

A Feeling of Strength and Power
Another turning point came when I got back into a swimming pool. I swam regularly as physical therapy, cardiovascular workout and aerobic conditioning. Gradually, I found my way back to a feeling of physical strength and power.  In addition to the sense of competence that comes from physical movement – feeling the flow of blood and adrenalin, the rhythm of breath, the pull of muscles – there was the sheer joy of water play; something I have always enjoyed.

In the water, I am not invisible, but my disability does seem to, sort of, evaporate. I swim competently, confidently free from the cultural stigma associated with a wheelchair.  My experiences in the water helped me realize how frequently and subtly my self-perception can be influenced by other people's responses to the wheelchair under my butt. People with disabilities are subjected to assumptions about our capabilities every day of our lives, and it can deeply affect the images we hold of our bodies and ourselves. Resisting these stereotypes takes effort – that concentrated act of will.

One of the ways we resist is by sharing our stories – by exploring the commonalities and differences of our experiences – with others in similar situations.

Teal Sherer/ a student in Atlanta, Georgia
"I became disabled five years ago in a car wreck; I was14. Paralysis from a broken back. I did rehab in Atlanta at the Shepherd Center; it has been a hard road becoming comfortable with my body and self﷓image. It took time to adjust to life in a wheelchair;  to become self-confident; but I am happy with who I am. I’m a 20 year-old junior at Oglethorpe University, majoring in Communications, with a minor in Theatre.  I’m an active member of the Chi Omega Sorority and I’m currently living on campus in the dorms.  I am getting an apartment soon with one of my best friends.

“Fitness is a big part of my life; being in shape makes me feel better physically and emotionally.  I use an Easy Glider 500 – a standing frame with a skier﷓like movement.  You move your arms, it moves your legs. I also do weights, arm﷓bike, swim and dance. The more I use my body, the more I recognize its potential. Since I started dancing, I have a better perception of my body’s capabilities. I dance like anyone else, except from a seated position, without the use of my legs.  It is about the chorography, feeling the music and putting your soul into it.

“I have been told, after people get to know me, they do not even connect me with being in a wheelchair.  They see me as Teal – that’s all. I now can say I am the most self-confident I have ever been."

Lindsay Nielsen/ a psychotherapist and organizational consultant in Minneapolis, Minnesota
“I’m 45 years old – I was in a train accident which resulted in a below-the-knee amputation when I was 14. I feel generally positive about my physical self, with insecurities thrown in. I’m very happy with what my body can do, and I’m grateful to be strong and healthy.  I started running, lost weight and got fit at age 39.  I am as strong now as an athlete as I have ever been. I went through a lot of changes when I started competitive sprinting at age 42.  It really was another hurdle in terms of confidence and self-perception, as my competitors are almost all at least 20 years younger than I was.  I definitely accept my body, and have much more respect for it than before I started running.

“I feel at home in my body, but like lots of women, I feel too critical and  get irritated with myself that I feel that way.  Certainly feeling fit and strong affects my self-perception and overall confidence in the world. I run, lift weights, practice Kali, a for of martial arts, walk, cycle and play outside.  If I’m not being active, I’m more critical of and less happy with my body – I don’t feel as strong.

“I am more at ease now in public with my amputation mainly due to running and participating in Disabled Sports. Generally, I think people see me as athletic, bright, competent and confident.  In the athletic world, people also seem as someone who is missing a leg, which depending on if I just beat them in a race, they may or not identify as a disability. If people meet me without knowing about my amputation, I don’t think they ever define me as someone with a disability compared with those who meet me ‘as an amputee’.”

A Strong Sense of Appreciation
Like Lindsay and Teal, I feel a strong sense of appreciation for the body that survived a dramatic change. I've learned I can still be physically strong, and even take some physical risks – like learning to SCUBA dive.  I value the opportunity to claim the authenticity of my own experiences, rather than settling for a self-image thrust upon me by narrow cultural definitions of “dis-ability”. In the past when some curious person asked "What's wrong with you?" I felt deeply wounded. I can now answer with a measure of humor: "Well, some people say I am loquacious and opinionated."  If they look puzzled at my response, I might continue: "Are you asking why I use a wheelchair?" Some people get it; some don't.

I am learning to value who I am more than how I look, or whether I meet some external standard of what is acceptable in the human body.

Learning to challenge my own assumptions – about myself and other people – is also a lesson I greatly value. It is one of the ways I claim my human right to self-esteem and self-actualization – from within my unique physical presence.  I believe we all need to claim this self-confidence and self-love, whether or not we live with a disability.

Jaehn Clare is a playwright/performer with 25 years of experience as an actor, director, playwright and producer. She is a program coordinator with VSA arts of Georgia and  a disability activist / educator.  She also is a freelance drama and acting teacher.