A Valentine's love letter to my friends
Hello,
Happy belated Valentine’s Day, I suppose!
Truthfully, I wasn’t sure how I was going to feel about Commercialised Love Day because I have been feeling the feelings about dating recently. I was prepared to be pretty sad.
In the end, though, I wasn’t. I actually had a great night at a queer singles event (look at me being brave!), but that wasn’t why I was cheerful.
I was cheerful because I have had so many reminders this week that, single or not, life is bursting with love.
In the past, looking for a relationship has always felt like concentrating on what is missing. And sure, sometimes I still really feel the lack of romantic love in my life - I think it’d be strange if I didn’t. But as I venture out into dating again, I’m determined not to forget what I already have: love and care and companionship and solidarity in almost ludicrous abundance.
Here are some things from just this week that sum up just how much love is around when you look for it:
My PA, Eva, hovering by the door at the aforementioned singles event, waiting for the smile from me that means I feel comfortable and she can slip out, without me asking her to wait
Talking of PAs: the happy Galentine’s messages in our big group chat, and always knowing that the most brilliant group of women have mine and each others backs, completely and utterly, no questions asked. It occurred to me, finally, that because one of them is always here, I’ll always have Valentine’s with people I care about, and how many people are lucky enough to be able to say that?
Ania - who technically doesn’t work here anymore! - offering to cover a shift and, when I thanked her, simply saying we’re due a hug so she might as well. If that’s not love, I actually don’t know what is
Bringing some much-needed Franz Ferdinand to queer karaoke on Saturday night, singing disco with my best friends, and feeling completely at ease in a room full of strangers because that’s how powerful community love can be
Slipping my hand into Tilly’s when I felt sad and overwhelmed, and Charlie instinctively knowing something was wrong even when I insisted I was just tired, and thinking to myself that there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for these girls
Seeing Lou, who looked after me when I was little, and the kids, and spending an afternoon soaking up all the cuddles I so desperately needed. Betsy and I sat curled up on the sofa together, just like we did when she was tiny (although she no longer quite fits in the crook of my arm!) and the first thing Stan did when he got home from work (!!) was come over for a bear hug. Laughing with Lou, I was struck by how incredible it is to have loved and been loved by the same people through all the versions of ourselves, and to know that will continue for the rest of our lives
I see the same thing in the group chat of my uni mates, which bursts to life when any of us has something sad or funny or exciting to share. I know I have changed a hell of a lot since we met a decade ago (as we all have!) and especially in the last two or three years, but the gang have embraced every new version of me, particularly this most recent one, with open arms. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy and so incredibly loved
And finally, even though the contents of these messages will remain strictly confidential, seeing a Whatsapp notification from my best mate, Rachel, that just says “Lucy.” followed by three rapid fire messages (because she’s seen something I’ll like, is answering one of my daft questions, or because someone has done something she knows I’ll find hilarious), never fails to make me feel extremely loved, even when I’m too busy laughing to notice
Not bad for a short seven days, eh?
I’ve written before about my firm belief that disability has made my friendships better. For sure, many of the most important people in my life simply wouldn’t be in it if it wasn’t for disability, and even on the days that ableism feels unbearable, I wouldn’t take that deal.
But even with the friends I likely would have made in some guise along the way anyway, from uni or work, I think disability has forced us to be more honest and open, to show each other love in deeper and kinder ways. From the pain of ableism - which my friends feel alongside me - we have forged solidarity and community. And, I think, from meeting access needs, we have learned to meet emotional ones. We show up for each other. And for that, I am profoundly grateful.
I guess what I am trying to say is this: if disability is undeniably and intrinsically linked to the (current) lack of romantic love in my life, it is also undeniably and intrinsically woven into the abundance of other forms of love I am surrounded by every day. The latter doesn’t make the former any easier, really, but it does make life in general so much better.
Knowing that, how could I possibly be sad about Valentine’s Day?
Love,
Lucy
Learn more about friendships and disability with my book…
Women's lives are shaped by sexism and expectations. Disabled people's lives are shaped by ableism and a complete lack of expectations. But what happens when you're subjected to both sets of rules?
This powerful, honest, hilarious and furious memoir from journalist and advocate Lucy Webster looks at life at the intersection; the struggles, the joys and the unseen realities of being a disabled woman. From navigating the worlds of education and work, dating and friendship; to managing care; contemplating motherhood; and learning to accept your body against a pervasive narrative that it is somehow broken and in need of fixing, The View From Down Here shines a light on what it really means to move through the world as a disabled woman.