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”I kept my answer simple and told him that yes, I do use a wheelchair, but I was much more interested in the back story of the iguana.Unfortunately, he wasn’t interested at all, messaging back only to say: “Sorry.For the second date, my bagel suggested a painting night (a social event that involves paintbrushes, canvases, acrylics and, usually, wine) since I’d told him how much I enjoy them.He found a Groupon and I researched a location, picking out a restaurant in New York City that was supposed to be wheelchair accessible.In retrospect, this served only to contribute to the stigma I usually work so hard to fight. In every other area of my life, my disability is front and center.I write and speak endlessly about being a proud, unapologetic disabled woman.
Finally, I took the leap I’d been so afraid to make, opening up about disability to strangers whom I hoped would appreciate my honesty and perhaps send me a message.
The wheelchair’s a deal-breaker for me.”His blunt reply stung, but the feeling was nothing new.
Because I was born with my disability — Larsen syndrome, a genetic joint and muscle disorder — I’d already gathered a pile of romantic rejections seemingly big enough to fill an Olympic swimming pool by the time I downloaded Tinder.
Thinking that would make for an easy conversation starter, I messaged him.
A few minutes later, he replied, but instead of responding to my reptilian inquiry, he asked, “Are you in a wheelchair?