Vulnerability by Alice Mander

This piece was performed by Alice at the Crip the Lit event at Verb Festival 2020. Crip the Lit promotes, encourages and amplifies the work of writers with lived experience of disability. The provocation for the event was ‘Vulnerability’ - as we all know, it's a word of the times – but then, just to mix it up a bit, we threw in some random words which is how we got the intriguing session title of: Vulnerability, fluorescent islands and resilient teabags. Every writer has approached our theme in their own style. As you read the work (selected pieces published from the event) you might also catch those random words subtly inserted in some pieces and not so subtly in one...

Last year, I was sitting on my friend’s bed when I noticed she had an interesting quote on her wall- it was from a New York Times article, by writer Tim Kreider.

If we want the rewards of being loved, we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.

If we want the rewards of being loved, we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.

I really struggled to write this piece for today. For someone considered quite organised, this became a product of procrastination, imposter syndrome, and insecurity. Honestly, there were a lot of things holding me back- firstly, I usually don’t actually have to face the people I’m writing for.

Usually, I’m hidden- safe- behind my computer screen and the anonymity of my name as my only signifier.

Usually, I can unleash my razor sharp activist tongue and separate the disability “activist”, “writer”, “columnist” from the mundane and afraid, 20 year old girl that stands before you.  

The girl who talks about disability pride, but secretly still sometimes cries in the bathroom after falling over at a party, blood falling down her arm from the broken glass she landed on, embarrassed, thinking-

Fuck. I am not good at this. Whatever “this” is. Being an activist, being a writer, remembering that mixing drinks is probably a bad idea, and then that little voice at the back of my head which weirdly, insistently, tells me that I am not good at being disabled because I haven’t got it all figured out yet.

I also struggled with this because of the topic: vulnerability.

Another quote that my friend once showed me- same friend, in fact- was a tweet made by Anna Borges, mental health writer.

You are so very open about vulnerable topics, but is that the same as actually being vulnerable?

My work is often lauded as “brave”. “frank”. “honest”. “critical ”.

And, I guess it’s partly true. I am happy to write about anything. I’ll write about romance, relationships, dating, sex, as though I am unfalteringly confident. But, in reality, I’ve never asked a boy out on a date and I don’t really plan on it because what if he says no and, dear god, what if he says yes?

I write about how self-care can be a protest against ableism. But, again, in reality, I have fallen asleep at University multiple times this year from pure exhaustion and a lack of nutritious food.  

Another time I wrote about the importance of good friends, and that you are never really a burden- physically, or emotionally- to somebody who truly loves you. In reality, let’s just say I may have needed to heed my own advice.

Now I don’t feel like I’m lying when I write what I write. It’s just so hard to lay your messy soul bare when you’re trying to impress and dazzle, all too aware you’re going to be boxed up into a 600 word column and unleashed upon over 1500 students. Sometimes it feels like imperfection and vulnerability isn’t an option, because those are the tattoos we’ve been trying to remove since birth.  

That’s another reason I struggled to write this. I thought I could try to write a poem- but every time I started I stopped because it was not perfect. 

I thought I could try to write something structurally creative but every time I started I stopped because it was not perfect. 

I soon realized that, for me, maybe being truly vulnerable with you required an imperfect, unstructured, un-poetic, and unpolished, piece of writing. 

What I’ve been trying to say is that the thing with vulnerability and disability is that we have spent our whole lives trying to be seen as something more than broken. I feel like I have to be strong all the time, or I am seen as weak. I feel like I have to be happy all the time, or I will be seen as pitiful. I feel as though I have to be the best because, otherwise I will be the worst. 

It’s true. If we want the rewards of being loved, we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known but how can I possibly be truly loved, if is not always safe to be truly known? If it’s not always safe to come down from the pedestal I’ve spent my life climbing.

I’ve learnt a lot over the last year since I first read that quote. I’ve experienced many first hellos and I’ve experienced many last goodbyes. I have learnt what it means to really hurt someone, and what it really means to be really hurt by someone. I’ve lived through the worst pain of my life- a time when I would sit on the couch with a bottle of wine crying over The Bachelorette- and then I’ve learnt how to be truly happy- often also sitting on a couch with a bottle of wine crying over The Bachelorette but with therapy, good friends, and anti-anxiety medication. I have learnt that different people can make the same joke at my expense, and one will make me smirk and feel known, and the other will make me cry. I have learnt that maybe it’s not the substance of life that makes us happy but the context. Maybe it will be ok if my ship sinks, as long as the people around me can be a safety boat.

I, you, may not be the perfect “activist”- but who is? I’ve learnt that protecting yourself doesn’t mean you’re living a lie. Protecting yourself doesn’t hinder the work that you do. Protecting yourself doesn’t mean you can’t be loved because the people who truly know you, and truly love you, accept your complexities. 

My friends may still roll their eyes at me, make jokes at my expense, sometimes get annoyed at me, but they still hold my hand when I’m crying in the bathroom, blood dripping down my arm saying over and over 

fuck I’m not good at this. 

Feeling guilty for not having it all figured out does not make you a “bad disabled person”. Putting on a strong front to combat danger is normal, as long as we have people around us who will hold our hand when being strong is just too hard.

If we want the rewards of being loved, we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.

Vulnerability.

Its ugly, it’s beautiful, it’s simple, it’s confusing, its layered, it takes time, it takes practice, doesn’t necessarily mean what you think. It simply means being who you are, scars and all, when it is safe to be known. 

Now, I don’t know a lot but I do know that when you find that safety, its worth it.