I read an article earlier today which raised the point of being asked to give up a priority seat on the train. It stirred something in me and I felt the need to share my take on this story.
Not long after I was diagnosed, I was on the tram in Nottingham during rush hour. I was knackered and my balance isn’t the greatest – especially on the tram! I also struggle with sensory overload and I’ve found that crowds, like when you’re squashed in like sardines, really unsettling. I’ve come close to experiencing panic attacks in those environments. So on this day, I chose to sit down in the only available seat. A priority one, which we all know are for disabled people, pregnant women or children. If we are sat in one, we know we should move for someone that gets on that needs that seat more than us.
I really needed that seat that day. But someone got on with crutches and a broken leg. So I immediately got up and let them sit down. But the question is, should I have? But then how do other people react to that if I don’t? People certainly look at you with a certain amount of judgement.
Recently it was brought to my attention that someone had questioned the fact that I park on site at work but I can also drag myself to the gym. Which in fairness I haven’t done for a while as I’m struggling with fatigue. Again, it’s that same judgement as on the tram. At work, we’re only allowed to park on site permanently if we are working a late shift, or if we are a blue badge holder. The alternative is that we park a short walk away on the Bolton Wanderers stadium car park. It’s roughly a 7 – 10 minute walk. No, I’m not disabled enough for a blue badge and I wouldn’t want to be disabled enough for one. I wouldn’t wish that upon myself or anyone. But what I can say, is I wouldn’t in a month of Sunday’s park that far away from my destination anywhere else. It hurts me to walk continuously for anything more than 5 minutes. The pain varies. Some days it’s like my calves are on fire, on other days my right ankle is really tight and causing a lot of pain. If it’s not that, I’m just bloody shattered and it’s a walk that I just don’t need. My legs feel like they’re being dragged through treacle.
But back to the gym. It’s not like I’m running on the treadmill. In fact I barely go on the treadmill. If I am in the gym, I’m generally lifting weights, in an attempt to keep my strength up. As it tends to be static, it doesn’t cause the same pain as walking can. And if I’m having a bad leg day, I just work the top half of my body. If I’m tired, I just don’t go to the gym but might do some yoga at home. The bottom line is, if you don’t use your limbs, you might just lose them.
The point is, when you have an invisible illness you’re constantly being judged. Yet it feels as though no-one takes the time to understand. Choosing to remain positive about your condition can be a poisoned chalice too. Because if I’m smiling, I surely can’t be struggling, can I? Yes. Yes I can.
Actually, “how can you go to the gym, but need to park on site?” is an absolutely fair question. Without being in my shoes, I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Same as the priority seating on public transport. The message to take from this blog, is if you have a judgement about someone, seek to understand. And that’s whether it’s about an invisible illness or otherwise.