Dr Hannah Barham-Brown on being a disabled queer woman, dating and role models
Dr Hannah Barham-Brown on being a disabled queer woman, dating and role models
In the run up to my book launching in September, I am running a series of interviews with fabulous disabled women. Today: the fantastic Hannah on matters of the heart
Hello,
Last week, I introduced a new series which I’m running in the lead up to the launch of my book in September.
In the series, I’m interviewing some of the brilliant disabled women I admire, highlighting the commonalities and differences between our experiences.
I started the series with the first part of a fascinating conversation I had with Dr Hannah Barham-Brown, who is a GP, campaigner, writer, speaker and wheelchair user. We chatted about falling into activism, life as a disabled doctor, and combatting medical ableism. You can catch up here:
Today, I’m bringing you the second part of our conversation, which is a much more personal reflection. Hannah talks really eloquently about the intersection of disability, queerness and femininity, and how her shifting identity has shaped her relationships with herself and others.
I really enjoyed this chat - I know you will too.
LW: I could talk to you about your experiences in medicine all day but there’s so much else I also want to chat to you about. As I mentioned, the focus of my book is the intersection of disability and womanhood, and I wondered how you found navigating that as a woman who became disabled as an adult?
HBB: I love this question. It’s a fascinating one and I'm really glad you're asking it. I think we can break it down in sections, I guess. Like the one of the key ones is obviously around like body image; how I perceive myself and how your body changes when you become disabled, potentially. So, you know, I found I suddenly spent a lot more time in a wheelchair. I was in the manual for a few years and I did a lot of wheelchair sport, and I became a lot like broader across the shoulders. And my boobs got bigger because my pectoral muscles got bigger. And when you're sitting down your belly kind of slumps a little bit, because that's what everyone's belly does, but we're sat down all the time so we're more aware. And the clothes I wore changed because some trousers would dig in if I was in my wheelchair. You know, all of these things. I think it really made me question my identity and who I was. And I think at the same time as I was becoming disabled, I was starting to think more coherently about my own identity and my sexuality. So that's had a part to play in things around dating and stuff. Bloody minefield. Like it's terrifying.
But since becoming disabled, I've developed this whole amazing community of disabled people, and particularly disabled women, who have often you know, experienced poor medical care or have had to really fight to get the support they needed. And, you know, younger women as well who I think often kind of get this ‘slightly hysterical’ diagnosis put upon them. All these people who've experienced all this stuff, and they want to turn those experiences in something positive. It's impossible not to be uplifted by that and it's impossible not to be surrounded by that so constantly on my social media and not go “Yeah, we need to change the world for these people.” And I think that fed in so well to my work the Women's Equality Party, which has introduced me to so many disabled women. We set up a disability caucus in the party, which is now full of many, many incredibly disabled women and nonbinary people (and some men) who just go: “Right what can we - as a political organisation - do? What can we campaign on? How can we come together and make change?” And I find that so exciting.
So being disabled has kind of changed my perception of womanhood, in terms of it’s really shown me how incredibly capable we are, but also how supportive we are, and how actually all of the stuff society tells us should matter about being a woman - our appearance and what our jobs are, and our education, all of these things that society programmes into us as norms - disabled women smash those norms every single day. And I love that. That's so exciting to me. So that's a very long way of saying it's bloody awesome being a disabled woman and I'm very proud of it.
LW: You briefly mentioned dating. I know it’s a difficult thing to talk about, but I wondered if you’d be happy talking about your experiences? I think the intersection of disability and queerness is so interesting and I’d love to hear your thoughts.
HBB: Definitely. I'm now very happily in a relationship with a wonderful woman. My trick was to find another doctor. Because nobody else will have us! But yeah, I think it's a really tricky one because, you know, I dated a lot before I became disabled. And then when I got my diagnosis and got my wheelchair, I was in a long term relationship with a guy. So he knew me when I was running half marathons. And, as a result, I kind of became disabled in a specific context, and it wasn't something I'd really had to think about too much. Until we then broke up and I'm like: “Oh, there's a whole new world out here. And I don't know how to negotiate it anymore, and navigate it anymore.” So that was a bit of a shock to the system. And I'd heard quite a few horror stories from disabled friends about dating apps and this kind of stuff. Just things like, you know, people turning up and seeing a wheelchair and going: “No, I didn't sign up for this,” and leaving. I mean, I'm guessing with hindsight, that feels like a bit of a win because at least you didn't waste any time on that awful human being, but at the same time, what that does to your identity as a person? Horrific. And so, you know, I had to really think about do I disclose my disability on these apps, or do I not? And I kind of went with the put everything out there. And that's for a few reasons, partly because I didn't want to waste my time going on dates with people who were going to turn around and go oh, if I'd known then I wouldn't, because frankly, they don't deserve my time. So I tried to put it all out there so people knew what they were getting. So to speak, but also I realised that a lot of people Google people before they go on a date with them. And if you Google me, it's all about disability, me getting stuck on trains and stuff. So there was no point hiding it on the apps because it was kind of there.
Dating was challenging and coming out in the middle of that was also quite challenging. I had a couple of people - really well-intentioned good friends - who kind of went: “Right, so what you're telling me now is that you're disabled? And you’re bi?” I was like: “Yeah, uh huh.” And they’re like: “Oh, did you not have enough labels?” And then I got ADHD diagnosed. I think a lot of people were just kind of like is this just another thing, is she's serious about this and all that kind of bi-erasure that we see anyway in society. I think coming out as gay in a way people would have found that a bit easier to understand. Perhaps. But yeah, all of these things kind of like came on at once. So that was challenging. And I think the intersection of disability and sexuality was hard. And I think what I've realised now since being in a relationship with another woman who is a couple of years younger than me - what can I say? - is that everyone assumes she's my carer and that's really… awkward, but also hilarious. It’s so frustrating!
LW: Yes! My friends who look nothing like me get asked if we’re sisters all the time.
HBB: Their biases are so ingrained that they will come up with literally any other explanation than the fact that we have a social life. It's so hard for them to process that they will do mental gymnastics to convince themselves that we are just sad and alone in the world. W went to the hay Book Festival, and it was so interesting and people were lovely, but they would keep talking to my girlfriend rather than me. They would keep talking to my girlfriend about me. And the looks of horror and fear when we held hands or kissed. Yeah, you could just see them filling in the mental safeguarding paperwork. And you're just like: “This is completely normal. I bought the tickets for this!”
It's entertaining. But it really opened my eyes a bit to even more of the biases that people hold. I think it's also really important discussion to have because, you know, bisexual women are more likely to experience sexual abuse and assault and disabled women are more likely to experience sexual abuse and assault. So as a cohort, we have a lot of stuff that needs unpicking and a lot of things we potentially need support with. And we're not going to get that unless people acknowledge we exist. So I deliberately try to be very open about my sexuality and my relationship with my disability because I think I am in a position where people will often listen. And that actually I can show other young disabled bi women out there that we exist, and it's okay. But also show the rest of the world that we exist and it's okay and they need to do something more to support us. And so now I'm kind of developing a special interest in sexuality and relationships in gender as a clinician and I'm looking at training as a sexologist when I qualify. You don't see disabled people in those spaces at all.
LW: Never. Anything to do with relationships, sex, parenting - we’re just invisible. I spend a lot of time trying to explain to nondisabled friends how hard it can be to navigate these things without a roadmap, but I think it’s hard for other people to even imagine.
HBB: It’s horrific that we’re not doing this better. Have you seen A Quick and Easy Guide to Sex and Disability, that little book? It's actually really good and it's really intersectional and it's LGBTQ friendly. It's basically like a kind of mini graphic book kind of talking about how, yes, disabled people can and should have sex if they want to. Which is great because we do! A friend of mine sent it to me via Amazon, but she didn't put a gift note. And I’m in a relationship with a guy at the time and this thing came in the post. We’re both sat there and I'm sort of like: “Somebody's trying to tell me that I'm shit at sex. Do they feel the need to send me a guide on how to have sex as a disabled person?” And he's like: “More to the point who has your address, and would send you a book on sex and disability?”, which is also an excellent question. It was fine. I didn't have a weird stalker. But yeah, those books are slowly starting to come out and that conversation is slowly starting to come out, but nowhere near as fast as it needs to. And I think a lot of people of our generation, particularly those of us who grew up under under Section 28 as well, are going: “Right, so we've got no queer sex ed, we’ve got no disability sex ed. Are we allowed to do this is?”
LW: Right? I like to consider myself a fairly empowered disabled woman but honestly I am 28 and I still have no idea about this stuff. How do you think we change that, especially for younger disabled people?
HBB: I think, because disabled people are not seen at all, we’re particularly not seen as sexual beings or beings in relationships. So people do have these genuine questions, and I have a bit of sympathy with that in a way, in that I think people are terrified to ask often and are terrified to talk to us and terrified of saying the wrong thing. And I think you know, sometimes we do have to open up those conversations a little bit and say: “Look, tell me what you're worried about. Tell me your concerns.” So when I'm doing speaking gigs, I always end with a judgement free zone, where people can literally ask anything about being a disabled queer woman. And a lot of the time it's: who do you follow on Instagram? How can we be a good ally and that sort of stuff? It's really important questions, but particularly with younger people, a lot of it is: “How do you have sex? Can you have sex?” - because young people tend to have a lot more questions about sex. And it's great when we have these conversations. It's so good because they're genuinely coming at it from a place of: I really want to know this. They’re not judging or making assumptions but trying to get rid of those assumptions and get rid of those biases. And I think it's very easy, when we're constantly being knocked down by the world as disabled people, to go: “Oh for goodness sakes, just educate yourself!” And there is a part that people do need to do that, they do need to take that responsibility, but I think if there are some of us who are comfortable opening conversations, that’s a good thing. Not everybody's going to be comfortable and that's absolutely fine. But if we're willing and open and able to, I have no problem with facilitating those conversations and in fact, I think it’ll mean the next generation won’t be asking those questions on dating apps.
LW: It’s about finding the balance between protecting yourself and having conversations that create change, right? I think lots of people wonder why we talk so publicly about our personal lives, but if we don’t, nothing happens.
HBB: I’m a vicar’s daughter talking about sex. I have some interesting dinner party conversations! But I think we've got to acknowledge the uncomfortable truth that, if we don't want non disabled people speaking for us, we have to find our own voices. It’s hard, but I think we need to live in that slightly uncomfortable place of going: “It shouldn't be but it is. So what are we going to actually do about it?” And what’s great is that more and more people are doing that. It's amazing. And I think its so exciting. Because I know when I first qualified as a doctor, I didn't know whether other doctors in wheelchairs existed. And now students are coming to me for help and we’re solving problems together. And so being able to be visible in that way - being able to say: “Come to me, little disabled people. I've got you. We can do this. We can prove them wrong.” - is invaluable.
LW: Because previously as disabled people, especially disabled women, we’ve not had those role models to say: “This is hard, but it’s doable.”
HBB: Definitely. And I think that is so important. I had a long session with my coach recently trying to work out what my point was for life. And fundamentally, if the next generation of disabled or queer people can look at me and go: “I can do what she does” or, ideally, “I can do what she does, better,” then I'm done. That's all I really want to do.
Words to live by, if ever I heard them.
For more of Hannah’s activism and wisdom, follow her on Twitter and Instagram.
And don’t forget to subscribe to this newsletter to read the rest of the interview series.
See you next week,
Lucy
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