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Invisible Battles: How My Body Is Seen
I am obese. I use a wheelchair. When I arrive somewhere, I park in the handicapped spot then carefully get out and walk, often just a short distance, to the trunk of my car to pull out my wheelchair. When I can, I push myself forward, determined to stay as active as possible. But soon the pain in my legs from lymphedema becomes too much and I settle back into my chair to rest and recover.
For two years, I hid from society, scared of what they would think or say, but no more. Now I face the world as I am, with all my struggles and strengths, refusing to let fear keep me from living my life.
To most people, what they see is only the surface: a person in a wheelchair who is overweight. Some see a person who they assume is lazy or unmotivated, someone taking advantage of a handicapped space or making a choice to be that way. I have heard the whispers, the stares, even outright comments when I am parked. "Why does she need that spot?" "Looks like she can walk just fine." "Maybe she should try harder."
These judgments sting because they miss the full story. They do not see the relentless swelling in my legs, the deep ache that can make every step agonizing. They do not see the years of health battles, the fatigue that drains me before I even get to the store. They do not see the courage it takes just to get out of the car and push myself forward, step by painful step.
Inside, I feel a mix of frustration, sadness, and sometimes anger. I want to scream that my body is fighting a battle no one can see. But instead, I breathe deeply and remind myself that my worth is not defined by what strangers think.
I cope by focusing on what I can control. I surround myself with people who understand and support me. I find small victories in pushing my wheelchair a little further, in doing what I can despite pain. I speak up when I can, gently educating those willing to listen about invisible illness and chronic pain.
Most days, I remind myself that compassion, for myself and others, is what truly matters. My body may look different than what society expects, but it carries me through every day with strength and resilience. And that is something no one can take away.
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