Young Man on Cerebral Palsy and Sexual Limbo
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As a man in my mid-20s who has cerebral palsy (CP) as part of my lived experience, I reside in a sort of sexual limbo.
How I see myself
My case is moderate. I walk and do so unassisted. I move with a motion, not unlike a limp, but not quite like one either: my pelvis is unstable, rotating freely like a gyroscope.
I lurch forward; glide side-to-side. I go forth in a way few ever will. I am intrepid and brave—not because I exist with a disability, but because I dare to assert my humanity and sexuality under the crushing weight of your pity.
I am complex, and I revel in that complexity. The way my spine curves gently like a cobra, ready to strike; dignified.
This forces my shoulders back. When whimsy arrives and I raise my chin, it’s as if all of my components share a frequency—a voice that asserts, with the stoic calm of a unified whole: “You will see us.”
How I see you…seeing me
You will see my whole self. But until then, your gaze, like sandpaper, makes dust out of my mischievous spirit.
“You’re so… you’ll make someone so happy.”
“So smart”
“So funny”
“So kind”
So what?
“So sexy”
“So imaginative”
“So genuine”
“So exploratory”
That’s what your voice says. But your eyes; the lines I read between say…
“You’re Amazing! Oh, wait…you don’t drive? You don’t have your own place? You write? That’s cool, but do you have like…a real job?”
“You’re cute, but taking transit to a date? Ew.”
“You live at home? It’s nothing personal, but no thanks.”
“I just need something else. Like I said, nothing personal.”
It’s never personal, so why is it so exhausting?
“You’re so… if only you were normal, you would be so much easier to love.”
It’s difficult arithmetic, especially at first: What do you do when the positive messaging you receive is overshadowed or contradicted by the negative? How do you see yourself as whole, deserving, and strong when the world won’t?
Living in sexual limbo
For me, being disabled means, in part, being acutely aware that my personhood is under constant scrutiny. As an articulate, witty, compassionate man who is vocal about his hopes, dreams, and desires, I don’t fit neatly into the negative stereotypes of a disabled person.
But I am obviously disabled. Too disabled to be productive. Too disabled to be protective. Too disabled to take control. Too disabled to provide security Too disabled to be the man you need. None of it is true, but that’s the message
Not disabled enough to ignore, but too disabled to consider a romantic or sexual option.
That’s sexual limbo. That’s where I live. It’s torturous —a type of solitary confinement which slowly rusts the complex machinery that makes me the force for good that I am. In limbo, I’m sluggish. In limbo, my gears are grinding to a halt.
In limbo, I am not myself.
Sexuality is humanizing and healing
When my complexity and humanity are respected, I am myself.
This is where sex positivity becomes extremely important.
As a disabled person, my disability is entwined with my other characteristics. I cannot compartmentalize. I cannot say “The way I walk is ugly to them, but my humor is attractive. I’m attractive.”
I can’t feel sexy when a huge part of myself is seen as undesirable. It’s just not an option. So, it seems to me, you (when you view me) have a couple of options:
First, you can keep seeing disability as unattractive, undesirable; unrepresentative of your needs, wants and preferences
When you do this, it fractures me. I am not myself—I cannot be. The full breadth of my intellect, humor, kindness; everything that makes me great is inextricably linked to my disability.
Luckily, there’s a second option:
See disability as an integral part of the person and, by extension, their positive sexual (and other) characteristics
Guess what happens when you choose option two?
The disabled person feels whole, you’re acting ethically, and the sex is great. Why? Because no one is on guard.
My positive traits can work together to give us both a pleasant experience. Just consider:
- My intelligence can be put to work “figuring out” how to make sex fun.
- My humor can become an important aspect of foreplay, instead of a defense mechanism.
- My kindness can be translated into sexual generosity and understanding.
- My imagination, authenticity, and willingness to explore can make me extremely intrepid and adaptable.
But these positive outcomes can only happen when we feel whole.
I can’t please us when I’m lifting the weight of your scrutiny.
Let me be clear, I’m not arguing that you should find every disabled person you meet attractive.
What I am saying is this: If you meet a disabled person and you do find them attractive, there’s some real value in treating them as a full person who you’re fully attracted to, not a somewhat attractive person whose condition you’re “looking past.”
Who knows, you might just have the best sex of your life.
Image sources: Randall Oldenburg
