Hello,
Somehow, this is already the last newsletter of 2023. And, by virtue of my awkwardly-timed Christmas birthday, it’s also the last thing I’m going to write before turning 29. So, forgive a little introspection here.
Recently, the girls (my PAs) and I have been looking at each other and marvelling: “what a year,” we say, laughing and shaking our heads at the same time. Because honestly, I don’t think any of us could have predicted the surprising places - literal and emotional - we’d find ourselves this year. I certainly couldn’t. I’m immensely grateful that the girls have come along for the ride.
Even that, at the beginning of the year, was far from guaranteed. I spent the early months of 2023 in a pretty crap PA situation, much of which went unnoticed because of everything else that was going on. My care only really stabilised in July thanks to some remarkable luck (someone I already knew took the job; frankly the dream scenario), and despite everything that’s happened since, building a stable team might actually be the longest-lasting success of the year, especially as it’s given me the mental space to take some big swings, knowing people have my back.
Talking of big swings: this was the year I became a published author! Of course, I knew in January that this was going to happen. What I could never have predicted was everything that went with it. My proudest professional moments of the year are all book related: talking about ableist bullying in the Sunday Times, telling the truth about dating in the Standard, and a gorgeous spread in the Guardian Saturday mag spreading the word about loving disabled bodies. These were the moments where I felt I had really done something, made a difference. And then: the steady stream of messages from disabled women, thanking me for putting their experiences and struggles and joys into words. What a thing. What power in representation, what love in community.
On a personal level, too, publishing this memoir has changed me, down to the very core of who I am. It’s hard to explain. All I can say is that it was difficult and exposing and wonderful all at the same time. That it radically altered how I saw myself and radically altered some of the most fundamental relationships in my life. There are parts of the process that will stay with me forever: writing the motherhood chapter, obviously, and being honest about how dating has made me feel. Sharing the first draft with my parents. Seeing the finalised cover design for the first time; unwrapping the first physical copy and just staring at it. My friends’ beautiful, considered, kind-but-heartbreaking reactions to the things they never knew. Standing in front of everyone I love and telling them exactly how much I love them. I end the year both profoundly grateful and emotionally exhausted.
Readers of this newsletter will know this year has changed me in ways both unexpected and far beyond the book. I took the biggest of swings. I had no idea how much sheer joy I would feel about coming out, nor how much disability grief would turn up along the way, demanding to be felt. I had no idea that I would develop a whole new social life going to queer events (I leave the house more than would have seemed possible not too long ago), nor how much a new way of dressing could make me feel wholeheartedly myself. I certainly had no idea how frequently I would find myself doing new or once-terrifying things with relatively little anxiety (I even dipped my toe back into the idea of dating, although that definitely did cause quite a lot of anxiety). One of my oldest and closest friends told me a few months ago that he’d never seen me so comfortable in my own skin, which is possibly the best thing anyone could have said to me. It’s amazing, really, and it’s also been one hell of a ride.
2023 was definitely a year to remember, full of genuinely life-defining moments. It’s a little disconcerting to sit here at the end of it and, with the book now safely out in the world, have absolutely no idea what 2024 and my thirtieth trip around the sun might bring, but I’m trying to embrace the unknown. What I do know is this: with the right people by my side, I’m going to continue to trying new things, aiming high, and surprising the hell out of myself.
What a year indeed. Here’s to the next.
Merry Christmas, friends, and Happy New Year.
Love,
Lucy
Last minute Christmas shopping?
There is no better gift than a good book with a gorgeous cover.
So if you’re looking for the perfect present for the activist in your life, or just want to reward yourself for finally finishing all that wrapping, why not nab a copy of The View From Down Here?
(Or send the link to Santa…)
This brings me joy! Also, nice wheels. The pop of blue? Gorgeous.