The Importance of Feeling Seen

why some guy just saying hi made me want to cry

Kelsey sitting with her legs crossed smiling in her power-wheelchair on a crowded city sidewalk.

Hi Care Bears,

I’ve been thinking a lot about the importance of feeling seen as a whole human person. If you’ve ever struggled with feeling devalued, with having your physical being rendered invisible or hyper-visible because of the messed up systems we all live under, this is for you.

PSA: People with disabilities deserve to be seen as sexual beings, like everybody else. We deserve that our sexuality be honored as a human right, just another part of our divine humanness. When you de-sexualize us, you dehumanize us. 

Note: I write the following as a straight woman, so please excuse my hetero-normatives that hopefully still resonate with all y’all in some way.

From my very first outing as a woman with a disability, I felt a dramatic change in the male gaze. And although it’s shifted as I’ve come to see myself and love myself more, I still sometimes feel…invisible.

I was maybe 8 weeks out, having freshly removed the brace from my tiny scarred neck, when I went on my first dinner date with friends. I was still living in the rehabilitation ward at St. Mary’s in Duluth, Minnesota. But my protective nurse, JR, gave us the green light, with a strict curfew.  So we dressed me up, for the first time in months, and strolled a few blocks down to a restaurant by the lake. 

There he was, that dweeb who used to shamelessly and inappropriately hit on me while I was bartending at the old Bell Street Tavern on Madeline Island. God, I miss that bar—dark and smoke-filled, just the way I liked it back then. He even went so far as to bring me flowers one time—sweet, but no. We both knew that, one: he was too old for me. And two: all he really wanted was to sleep with me. We had nothing in common. I was an island hippie chick and he was a douchey yuppie. Eventually, and thankfully, he gave up. 

But I saw him that night at the tiny restaurant, donning my shiny new 400 pound power wheelchair. And he didn’t even see me. The funny thing is, I don’t think he saw me and then avoided my gaze. I think he simply didn’t even bother to look at the person in the giant scary wheelchair. That’s when it sunk in—I was invisible now. 

It’s been hard on my ego, not gonna lie. It’s been downright illuminating. It’s been a disappointing spotlight on our culture. It’s been painfully uncomfortable to unravel my own ableism. But, beyond that, it’s been incredibly hard on my spirit—not feeling seen. 

Everything from flirting, to getting laid, to being in a relationship were all much easier as an able-bodied person. I didn’t have to work past everyone’s ableism, assumptions, judgments, and their own internalized bullshit that inevitably became an affront to my sexual/sensual self or just my general existence, and any connection that we might have. 

The whole thing makes a person feel like a shriveled shrunken little version of themselves. Despite this truth, or rather in a courageous fuck-this-shit response to it—if I do say so myself—I continue to do the heavy lifting that is self-love with a disability in a toxic culture, the unraveling of internalized-ableism, and creating new pathways to pleasure in a disabled body with limited resources on sexuality and disability. (I mean sure, resources are out there, but comparatively they are slim.) Shoutout to my peeps out there doin it—thank you, I love you. 

It’s been over 6 months since my last little tryst…too long. Before that it was a couple years. Way too long. Before that, it was random make out sessions but ultimately unintentional celibacy for five years. I’m happy and encouraged that the spaces between physical intimacy is getting smaller. I’m making progress — within myself in profound ways. Progress is terms of self-love and the joy and liberation of my sensual/sexual self. This includes me putting myself out there more and reaping the sexy bennies. 

But lately, I’ve been feeling the sting of loneliness. The longing for physical intimacy. I miss being seen, touched…

And so on Saturday, when I was just casually strolling beachside with Smokey, and a man went out of his way to acknowledge me in a loving way, I felt it deeply.

Him (a muscley, forty-something Hawaiian man) : Hey mama, how you doin?  

Me: I’m good, sweetheart, how are you?

Him: I’m good. Hey, you have a blessed Saturday. Love your tattoos, love.

Me: Thanks honey, you too

That’s all it took. And my heart swelled. His energy resonated within me for awhile, pulling the corners of my mouth into a soft smile and warming my chest. 

And it wasn’t that I thought he was hitting on me, it was that in that moment I felt seen. It felt like a genuine, ‘hey girl, I see you.’

As a person who oftentimes feels unseen, I’m constantly thinking about the importance of being seen—both by ourselves and the outside world. Being seen as a whole, dynamic human being—disabled and all. And a big part of that is being seen as a sexual being having an embodied experience. A lot of why I write is to share this perspective with the world, and to help others find themselves in these positive narratives.

I’ve found the marginalized sex educators out there, like Ev’Yan Whitney, Che Che Luna, and Andrew Gurza. I praise the occupational therapists out there who want to talk about masturbation after spinal cord injury. I connect with my Crip community about how they/we can connect with our sensual and sexual selves. I connect with my people who know what it’s like to create a sexual identity as a person with a disability. I keep reading books on pleasure, sexuality, self-love and so on.

This has been a big part of the work I’ve been doing for the last 11 years, but especially in the last three years. My next goal is to become a certified sex educator.

But in the meantime, I want to share what I’ve learned—and continue to learn—in the form of a Sexuality & Self Love Doula. 

We all deserve to feel more embodied, to delight in our sensuality no matter what our bodies look like. To honor our sexuality within our wonderfully unique identities. We are worthy of celebrating and loving ourselves more deeply than we ever thought possible.

Big Love,

KP