We’ve discussed disability myths before, boys, but I’ve always been a big fan of the idea that you can never review life lessons too much. A couple years ago, I shared five myths about life with a disability on Glamour’s Vitamin G blog, but since Glamour probably isn’t one of your most-frequented sites, I thought I’d share it again. Because the truth? Some stereotypes are still circulating like a pesky tabloid rumor. The five most common, in my personal experience…

We all want sympathy
I was born with Freeman-Sheldon Syndrome, a genetic bone and muscular disorder. I’ve had more than 25 surgeries, mostly to correct joint and muscle contractures, and I’ve seen the white walls and slept in more beds of a hospital far more times than I have the Hilton. But I don’t sit around bemoaning my fate. And I certainly don’t seek out sympathy every chance I get. I always tell people who ask (I don’t bring my disability up in everyday conversation unless someone asks, either) that because I was born with a physical disability, I honestly don’t know any different. It’s sort of the idea that you can’t really miss what you’ve never had. To me, this life — my life — is normal.

We don’t work
I graduated college with a degree in journalism from Northern Illinois University in 2005. While in college, I worked on my campus newspaper as a copy editor and reporter, where I discovered my true passion for writing and journalism. For the last four years, I worked as an adviser for a community college newspaper, and this fall, I’m beyond excited to be taking So About What I Said full-time.

Physically disabled means mentally disabled
I used to get this one a lot when I was a child, and back then, I just didn’t understand it. In fact, I still don’t. Whenever we’d be out in public, people would ask my parents questions about me when I was right there as if I couldn’t speak for myself. It was frustrating, but I suppose people saw my wheelchair and probably assumed my mind was impaired too. They soon learned otherwise when I opened my mouth!

We’re not independent
When I was in first grade, I got my first electric wheelchair. As the story goes, I just kept saying “Thank you” to my parents because I could finally enjoy the childhood independence that I saw my peers experiencing. And now as an adult, besides needing assistance with bathing and getting dressed, I’m actually a pretty low-maintenance woman. Although I can’t drive, I can take the bus to and from work, to the grocery store and doctors appointments by myself. It’s a sense of freedom I’ve never taken for granted.

We don’t want/need to have romantic relationships
I love exploring this topic to try to dispel the stereotype that women with disabilities are vastly different from the majority of women. When it comes to love and romance, I have the same desires, hopes and dreams that most people do. After my father died in 2003, I remember looking back on my parents’ marriage and thinking, “That is the kind of love I want someday. The deep and unconditional kind.” My disability hasn’t changed that. It hasn’t made me any less of a woman, and I think people (especially guys) tend to forget that sometimes.

The bottom line, boys: I am not a disabled person. I’m a person with a disability. There’s a massive difference in the seemingly subtle change between these two sentences. For a long time, especially when I was younger, I yearned to just be “normal.” But not so much anymore. In fact, not at all. I look at all my surgical scars now and see them not so much as a reminder of a painful past, but of how far I’ve come, and of all the strength each one of those scars has given me. Besides, we all have scars, whether they’re visible to the eye or not. Me? I’d rather stand out than blend in with the crowd. Wouldn’t you, boys?

[Bottom photo via Le Love]