The Experiences of Scottish Girls
Whether or not group membership is valued can have profound social and personal consequences. Throughout history various racial, social, and religious groups have been singled out as unacceptable (Young 1997). The disabled body, and within that context the disabled female body, are often not seen as a “natural” part of the community (Asch and Fine 1997). Indeed space has evolved largely in the absence of disabled people. Examining and reframing perceptions of women with disabilities blends well with the social citizenship understanding of Disability Studies. The reality of disability and impairment in daily life is acknowledged and discussed without becoming fixated on medical conditions. Community, education, and domestic spaces cannot be explored in isolation. Moving beyond the arbitrary borders of public community spaces and private domestic spaces, we are able to recognize linkages and elements that simultaneously impact all of these spaces (Hansen 2002).
Geographical studies of everyday life are changing the field of disability studies. Geographers are escaping the rigid isolated disciplinary boxes of medical geography in favor of a multidimensional approach that incorporates social and cultural aspects of human geography. Scholars are examining embodied geographies of disability and impairment moving well beyond individual incapacity and looking at wider social perceptions and attitudes (Hansen 2002).
This chapter is part of a qualitative study exploring how disabled women's bodies are understood, “normalized,” controlled, and excluded in terms of gender, sexuality, and space from the perspectives of disabled women.
Averted and silenced, the disabled body presents a threat to the very idea of the body. (Porter 1997, xiii)
The nondisabled or “able” body is rarely characterized as privileged. However, open public spaces with little or no seating, many stairs, and poor signage mark social expectations of physicality (Chouinard and Grant 1997). Systems of segregated housing, education, transportation, and employment keep those who do not fit the mold in their place (Baird 1992). This process effectively privileges able bodyness.
The medical model frames disability as something wrong with the body and thus constructs disability as a medical problem that must be addressed to minimize the noticeable difference, such as physical appearance or body function (Barnes and Mercer 2003; Swain, French, and Cameron 2003). This “normalization” process may be regarded as a form of governance and control; indeed, disabled people may be subjected to medical intervention without being consulted or involved in the decision-making process (Basnett 2001). Normalization of the body has become naturalized as a logical and advantageous measure as unnoticeable difference equates with ordinary bodies, meaning that ordinariness is inextricably linked with social acceptability and humanness (Michalko and Titchkosky 2001), whereas physical difference signifies the extraordinary and social unacceptability (Hansen 2002; Bruegemann 2001).
Normalization of the body's physical appearance or function may be prioritized over all other aspects of an individual's life. For example, Ellen was selected for surgery by an orthopedic surgeon on a regular visit to her special school. As a result Ellen spent two and a half years in hospital, and during this time her education and relationship with her parents were adversely affected. Societal pressure to minimize physical difference also led to Elizabeth's parents undertaking an extreme treatment widely believed in the late 1950s to improve circulation. Elizabeth had clear memories of the painful and somewhat barbaric practice of applying rags soaked in boiling water to her leg:
I remember lying on the kitchen table, I'd be about four or five at the time, and this went on for years … really boiling hot, he had to use the washing tongs to get it out. He'd throw this rag on the top of my leg and I would be lying there screaming, covered in blisters, but they thought that they were doing good. (Elizabeth 51–56 years)
In an attempt to normalize Hannah's appearance she was advised to hang from the wall bars in her school gym each break-time, and she was also instructed to swim the backstroke. Her PE teacher's words convey a social misconception that disabled people themselves, if they try hard enough in pursuit of normality, can attain acceptance through alteration of their physical form (Philips 1999). Hannah recalled that: “I can remember her [PE teacher] shouting at me “you know you are just not trying hard enough, how do you ever expect to get better if you just don't try hard?” (Hannah 41–46 years). Normalization would appear to be the overarching imperative promoting and naturalizing the absence of disability.
As children we learn of our expected (hetero)sexuality and gendered roles; girls are often encouraged to play house and play with dolls in a caring mothering way. Nondisabled girls are subtly encouraged to aspire to marriage through stories such as Cinderella and her marriage to the handsome prince. For disabled women, some of this early socialization is present, but, crucially, not all of it. Indeed, although almost every woman mentioned playing with dolls, none remembered being encouraged to aspire to marriage or indeed to think of themselves as potential partners. These women also recalled that as children there were very few, if any, positive images of disabled children or adults in story books. Hence, the “natural” absence of disability is again equated with normalcy.
Rather, they grew up with stories that portrayed physical difference as negative and a reason for social ostracism or segregation, such as “The Hunchback of Notre Dame” and “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” (SPOD 1990a). Therefore as children they had few points of reference in terms of a positive body image or meaningful disabled adult role models. Disability is usually linked with something not right or unnatural.
The unnaturalness carries through disability and sexuality, therefore, and disabled girls learn and are reminded of their asexual status in various contexts and social interactions of everyday life from professionals, families, relatives, friends, and strangers. A number of women hence had strong memories of others’ responses to their physicality, particularly when approaching adolescence and becoming self-aware of their physical difference.
The body acts as a site of capture between others’ responses to our bodies and internalized interpretations of these responses (Hall 1999, 143). These accumulated experiences may influence an individual's present or future self-image and sexual identity, an aspect of how personal pasts weigh upon individual futures.
Many of the women interviewed recalled that sex or any topics related to sex were never discussed within their family. This led them to understand that sex was not for them; although this was not directly communicated to them, the nonmention of sex evidently conveyed family expectations of them as asexual (Gillespie-Sells, Hill, and Robbins 1998).
Parents convey their expectations to children through direct communication, but often it is what remains unspoken that most strongly conveys parental expectations. The nonmention of sex, sex education, or the possibility of their daughter having children passes on a clear message that disabled girls are not expected to participate in sexually active relationships. In general parental expectations may subtly pressure nondisabled girls to incorporate marriage and children into their future, while the converse seems to be the case for disabled girls.
As Micheline, a participant in Campling's (1981) study, recalled from her childhood at the age of 12 years old: “Sex was distinctly not talked about nor was the issue of my having children, which I had started to worry about from that day onwards” (quoted in Campling 1981, 24). Teachers may also prove significant influences in conveying societal expectations of disabled girls’ asexual status. Beth's future expectations were significantly influenced by the comments of a special school teacher:
[M]y best friend happened to say one day, “Well when I have children,” and she was basically shot down in flames for it by the teacher … who said, “Well you know girls you won't, you can't have children, so you will have to think of other things in life because you can't have children.” (Beth 36–41 years)
Such comments by an authoritative and influential figure impressed upon the girls that they were not expected to participate in intimate relationships, effectively fortifying the myth that participating in sex is something that disabled people do not do (Cooper and Guillebaud 1999). Thus, the girls were not given permission or approval to aspire to an active, enjoyable sex life. The teacher by implication communicated another social misunderstanding by insinuating that disabled female bodies are incapable of reproduction, and are therefore unsuited to pursuing feminized social roles of wife, mother, or homemaker (Lonsdale 1990).
Disabled young people may also learn of their asexual status from their peer group. Sara was educated in a mainstream school where she was the only disabled pupil. She recalled a fellow pupil making an inadvertent comment to her, verbalizing her presumed asexuality and implying her unsuitability as a prospective sexual partner:
[O]ne of the boys that I was dancing with said, “You know you'll never be able to have babies” … he wasn't being mean or anything… that just stuck with me.… I thought it was just hurtful. He didn't say it to be hurtful, but it was. (Sara 41–46 years)
Boadicea, a teenager in the late-1960s, remarked that, although the ’60s heralded the beginnings of a sexual revolution for women, societal attitudes toward disabled girls and young women remained unaffected. Societal responses to her impairment, and the asexual identity imposed upon her as a result, made it difficult for Boadicea to develop a positive sexual identity:
Disabled young women … were generally and continue to be perceived as asexual beings … seen as vulnerable, needing to be protected, asexual. Disabled young people don't indulge in sex, they don't need to and, also, it would be totally wrong if they did, it would be immoral if they did. (Boadicea, 46–51 years, her emphasis)
A number of the older women in the study clearly remembered being totally unprepared for the bodily changes that puberty would bring. Some women reported receiving absolutely no sex education from their parents or preparation for the onset of menstruation, indicating a lack of expectation that disabled girls would experience the physical consequences of being female (Morris 1994).
Hurried, necessary explanations may also simply be indicative of a social reluctance to discuss bodily functions that are culturally taboo rather than a deliberate denial of sexuality or sexual potential; but the impression is nonetheless of a particular intensity or awkwardness bound up in the non-transmission of relevant information on such matters to disabled girls, as revealed by the interviewees.
While at school very few nondisabled or disabled people receive good sex education (SPOD 1990b). Most of the women aged over fifty years old reported that they received no sex education at all, and that it was common for young people to be uninformed and totally ignorant about sexual intimacy. Younger women recalled receiving limited sex education in the guise of biology or personal hygiene classes. Many women referred to gaining information about the facts of life or mechanics of sex, but not in a form that was necessarily relevant or useful to them. These are given, taken for granted bodily functions for nondisabled girls and women but not for disabled girls or women. These were usually just one or two classes and tended to be sex segregated. Only one woman who attended special school recalled sex education being part of the educational curriculum, included in a biology course. It is perhaps significant that for subjects such as science and biology, pupils walked the short distance from the segregated special unit to join mainstream classes in the neighboring school. Therefore, the special school had no involvement in the delivery of sex education.
Disabled people in general and disabled women in particular are often perceived as childlike or asexual. Hence, systems of social regulation evolve that exercise normative control over individuals (Turner 2001), and in the case of disabled women normative controls involve conformity with expected social rolelessness (Fine and Asch 1988). Disabled women are rarely seen as appropriate for traditional female roles of motherhood or reproduction (Hansen 2002). Consequently, girls feel like they had to normalize their bodies. Family members, or those in a position of influence, may assume the role of societal supervisors who explicitly or more subtly convey their lack of expectation with respect to future adult lives. These beliefs, based upon the presumption of disabled women's deficiency in intimate relationships, childbearing, or mothering, may involve attempts to influence women's decisions and self-expectations through supervisory approval or disapproval. Parents may protect their daughters from potential male attention by dressing them in a dowdy or old-fashioned manner, but in the case of young disabled women, the same may be the case for other reasons. Where girls or young women require personal assistance to dress, due to a disability, it appears that clothes are often chosen on the basis of ease of dressing rather than style or fashion (Campling 1979, 1981). Boadicea, for example, identified her mother as the main person who chose and purchased her clothes, tending to buy items that reflected her own views on practicability rather than Boadicea's own taste or age.
As a young teenager in the early 1960s Elizabeth recalled being conscious that the prospect of her becoming a nun was far more palatable to her parents, as the subject was constantly discussed, than were the possibilities of her marrying and having children—possibilities that were never mentioned.
[H]e [a priest] always thought I would make a good nun, because I was disabled, that was the reason … she will never get married, she'll never have a family of her own, she might as well come into the convent and he was always on at my parents’…. I think my parents did believe that I would go into the convent. (Elizabeth 51–56 years)
Similarly, in the mid-1960s, Boadicea became acutely aware of her family's lack of expectations for her adult life when she overheard a group of her female relatives discussing her future prospects: “[they were] saying that of course she will never get a husband, nobody is going to want to marry a blind girl” (Boadicea 46–51 years). These remarks were evidently made on the assumption that Boadicea's visual impairment rendered her undesirable to potential partners and unsuitable as a sexual partner or wife.
Beth also mentioned subtle expectations for her adult life as conveyed by her parents and teachers. Beth's interpretation of these messages was that her adult life would not include relationships or social roles of wife or mother: “I wouldn't get married, I wouldn't have relationships, and I certainly would never be a mother, that's the sort of message that you got— and sex, but disabled people don't have sex [laughs]” (Beth 36–41 years).
Beth noted that teachers in her special school subtly and more often explicitly conveyed their expectations of her adult life. Angie, a participant in Campling's (1981) study, recalled that when she was fourteen a teacher had intimated the social expectation of her nonparticipation in any feminized roles. At the end of a cooking lesson in which Angie had prepared a salad, the teacher remarked: “What a good job you've made of that, you would have made someone a good wife” (Campling 1981, 9).
The teacher's turn of phrase that Angie would have made a good wife conveys to the young teenager that the teacher's expectation is that she will not aspire to or indeed attain the role of a wife, an assumption made upon the basis of Angie's impairment and consequent supposed inappropriate role.
A number of women made reference to the fact that their parents and close relatives had never mentioned or discussed the possibility of them marrying or having children. Kent has suggested that it is the subjects that are not spoken about which shape disabled women's self-expectations and voice others’ expectations of disabled women. Kent has written of her own experience of the way in which unspoken expectations conveyed a clear message to her as a young blind woman:
I was seldom encouraged to say: “When I grow up I'll get married and have babies.” Instead, my intellectual growth was nurtured. I very definitely received the unspoken message that I would need the independence of a profession, as I could not count on having the support of a husband. (Kent 1987, 82)
It is noteworthy that in Kent's case there was an expectation that she could be academically “bright” and could have a career whereas, for many of the women who participated in this study neither was considered an option by their families. The “natural” or “traditional” adult female wife and motherhood roles were perceived as privileged spaces for disabled women.
Disabled women's active participation as partners, wives, or mothers at the center of the domestic sphere continues to be regarded as an exception to the rule. Their presence in the capacity of wife or mother is often regarded as extraordinary (Michalko 2002): and, put bluntly and using a construction that should now be familiar, they are matter “out of place” (Creswell 1996; Sibley 1995) in the context of the domestic environment with an active woman supposedly at its heart.
Despite young disabled women's exclusion from family assumptions of marriage and childbearing, some are nonetheless taught the basics of housekeeping (Rae 1993). Yet, even here it has been found that low parental expectations of an individual's ability to contribute to the domestic routine adversely impacts opportunities to do so (Hirst and Baldwin 1994). Individuals who require personal assistance or adaptation to the physical environment are likely to have very limited or no experience of managing domestic affairs.
Susan was clear that her mother did not expect her to be able to “cope” living out of the parental home. Boadicea had a similar experience following the breakdown of her marriage: when she was offered a local authority house, her mother voiced her expectation that Boadicea “would never be able to manage by herself,” and as a result she agreed to remain in the parental home. Susan noted that the inaccessibility of the kitchen in her parents’ home also presented a barrier to her participation in this space. More telling from her narrative is the construction of the kitchen as a dangerous place, full of potential hazards. Perhaps prompted by her mother's desire to protect Susan from harm, this approach is arguably more fitting toward the education of a small child rather than that of a young woman. Exclusion from the kitchen created a barrier to Susan's opportunities to learn to cook, a basic skill required for independent living:
“When I lived with my mother, it was a big ‘no no’ for me to go into the kitchen because there was so many things that could happen, I could spill pots over me” (Susan 41–46 years). Boadicea recounted something similar: “She [mother] would do the cooking, I would ask her if it was okay for me to do the cooking but she said no” (Boadicea 46–51 years).
The exclusion of these women from the domestic space may well have been intended to protect them, but would inevitably lead to their dependence upon others to prepare and cook meals for them, with all manner of consequences later on. “Normal” in public space is the art of “passing”: “Even though we are all different, not all differences are noticed” (Michalko and Titchkosky 2001, 202). The normalization process inherently magnifies physical difference because it focuses primarily on alteration of the body's physical appearance (Tremain 2002).
Asexual stereotypes of disabled women are sustained by contemporary media images where they are often portrayed as being in need of care and assistance, being unable to undertake feminized roles. For example, a Royal National Institute of Blind People (RNIB) 2002 poster campaign to “raise awareness of sight loss” implied blind women could not fulfill the roles of wife or mother because amongst other things, they could not host a dinner party, undertake housework, care for children, read their children stories, or make their child smile (Jennings 2002). The very nature of charity advertising tends to fortify negative attitudes toward disabled women's sexual eligibility and capabilities as lovers, wives, and mothers.
Positive images of disabled women and men rarely appear in mainstream media such as magazines, newspapers, films, or television (Butler 1999). On the rare occasions when they do appear, they are asexually objectified, whereas nondisabled women's bodies are sexually objectified. Women are bombarded with physical images of “beauty” and “femininity” through media representations. While these images represent an ideal unobtainable to the majority of the female population, disabled women are often physically displaced from what constitutes a “normal” body, let alone from those highly valued as beautiful, desirable, and sexually eligible (Lons dale 1990; Shakespeare, Gillespie-Sells, & Davies 1996; Wendell 1996; Gillespie-Sells et al. 1998). The body beautiful fixation in heterosexual, gay, and lesbian sexualized environments effectively displaces disabled women as potential sexual partners (Finger 1992; Watson 2000), in a similar manner to how pregnant women are placed off limits as suitable sexual partners, being equally regarded as sexually unavailable (Longhurst 2001).
Although attitudes toward sex are more liberal in contemporary society, attitudes toward disabled people having sex have changed at a much slower pace. As a result disabled people are often spatially and socially excluded from sexual expression. Drawing further upon in-depth interviews, we will explore in detail the spatial and social processes that influence disabled women's sexual expression and participation in intimate relationships.
Disabled people are not often welcome in contexts where sex is on the agenda. For example, nightclub and social venues may aim to cater for young people, fashionable people and beautiful people. Steps, narrow entrances, flashing lights, smoke and loud noise may all prove barriers to disabled people's participation. (Shakespeare et al. 1996, 88)
The inaccessible nature of the built environment has a significant influence on disabled individuals’ presence and participation in social spaces. Factors such as inaccessible social venues and a lack of accessible public transport exacerbate social exclusion. Even today, when affordable accessible transport is available, for example Handicabs (based in Edinburgh), the service does not facilitate social inclusion or spontaneity; it can only be used for two journeys per week, and must be booked forty-eight hours in advance. Taxis, as an alternative mode of transport to social venues or events, may be prohibitively expensive for disabled people, especially for those with low incomes or those who are reliant upon benefits as their main source of income. Therefore, for some women, their opportunities to meet others, form relationships, and participate in sexually intimate relationships will be strongly dependent upon the nature of the physical environment to be negotiated in the process.
The advent of the Disability Discrimination Act (DDA 1995) has positively influenced new building and adaptations to existing venues, and this has resulted in an increase in accessible social venues. Although social spaces are becoming increasingly accessible, disabled people's participation in such spaces nonetheless often requires planning. Jenny talked about some of the environmental and practical considerations that had to be made when socializing with visually impaired friends:
[Y]ou end up going to the same places because you know it's easy to get to the loo, it's easy to get to the bar, the staff will read you the menu…. You want to sit where there's room for the guide dogs, those of us that are long cane users getting to the loo, getting somewhere near a taxi rank or near transport and that is a major consideration…. You have got to be psyched up to try somewhere new because you are never really sure of the reaction of the staff. (Jenny 41–46 years)
Some adaptations to the built environment may be compliant with legislation, but their design or installation undertaken without consideration for, or consultation with, disabled people may render the facilities unusable. Taken-for-granted facilities available to nondisabled patrons are often not available to disabled customers, a prime example being the provision of accessible toilet facilities, the lack of which restricts disabled peoples’ participation in social spaces. As Sara commented:
[M]ost pubs and clubs I can't get into or I can't go to the toilet in, and it's fine to get into some place but you have to be able to go to the toilet in order to be socially free: to go out you have to be able to pee. (Sara 41–46 years)
Furthermore, these facilities are often kept locked, reducing disabled adults to a childlike status where they have to seek permission to use the toilet, which may be regarded as a subtle form of abuse toward disabled people (MacFarlane 1994). The wider social environment has very much evolved in the absence of disabled people, and as a consequence the presence of diverse physicalities disrupts mainstream social spaces (Chouinard 1999) because nondisabled people are often unsure of how to respond to disabled people's presence. Therefore, while changing the physical environment is essential to facilitate the access of disabled people in social settings, attitudes and behavior toward disabled people also need to change (Butler and Bowlby 1997). As Sara again commented: “but as far as going out and stuff, it's always a novelty to see a disabled person out.… They are amazed that we're out mixing among the other humans you know” (Sara 45 years).
For some disabled women, the very nature of their impairment, for example, a visual impairment, can create difficulties in responding to or even noticing initial contact from others such as eye contact, facial expressions, or some other engaging flirtatious communication. Due to a general lack of social disability awareness, a visually impaired woman's lack of response may be misinterpreted by nondisabled men as disinterest, aloofness, or unfriendliness (Butler 1999).
Negative ascriptions are compounded by social understandings of pieces of equipment that enable women to retain their independence. Long canes, crutches, and wheelchairs, for instance, are socially ascribed symbols of dependence, confinement, and limitation rather than associated with independence, liberation, and ability (Thomas 2002). These cold metallic pieces of equipment are not socially regarded as an integral part of a sexually attractive body. Sara declared that, as a disabled woman, she was conscious that men did not always regard her as a sexual being or as a prospective sexual partner:
With so much emphasis and value placed upon physical appearance, the women interviewees noted that it was during their teenage years that they became aware of “feeling different” from their nondisabled peers. Sara spoke of the moment that she realized her physicality was noticeably different from those around her in the mainstream secondary school that she attended:
I was 11 or 12 … I walked into the school gym for a dance and I thought, “I'm not like these people,” and believe it or not it's the first time I remember and, it's just weird, before that I was totally oblivious to the fact that I didn't move around the way everybody else did. (Sara 41–46 years)
Hannah also spoke of first noticing her physical difference as a teenager when she started to dress in a sexualized way, wearing tight fitting clothes: “It was at that point that I realized my body was a different shape on either side, because I've got a wee short side and I've got a long side so for the first time I really noticed” (Hannah 41–46 years). Hannah also felt “different” because of her feelings around her sexuality and her dawning sense of sexual attraction toward other women. She felt she had “buried” this unnoticeable difference, and “latched onto” her physical difference as an explanation of her feelings of being set apart from her nondisabled peers. A number of the women referred to their teenage years as a particularly painful and upsetting time in their lives, much of which may be attributed to society's response to their impairment. Claire, who also attended mainstream school, talked similarly of experiencing disablist attitudes. She had clear memories of regular humiliation, verbal abuse, and ridicule by nondisabled contemporaries, and this treatment had adversely affected her self-esteem and confidence during her teenage years.
The manner in which we communicate may be considered a noticeable difference: for instance, where an individual's speech is impaired or he or she uses symbol boards or books of pictures, sign language, or other human aids to communication, such as lip speakers or sign language interpreters. There is an assumption that speech impairment equates with lower intellectual capacity, and this results in social interactions where people adopt a patronizing tone similar to one used by adults when they are engaging with children (Knight and Brent 1998). Annie spoke of being conscious about the links that society makes between physical appearance, mode of communication, and intellectual capacity:
I think people see my impairment and they make assumptions about what I can and cannot do, and I think that, with a speech impairment, quite a lot of them probably see me as being stupid or mentally retarded [sic] in some way. (Annie 26–31 years)
Annie noted that people often spoke to her in a patronizing or condescending manner, negating her status as an adult, and at the same time potentially negating her possibilities for developing relationships and sexual partnerships. Sara also spoke of societal assumptions that erroneously equate physical appearance with intellectual capacity: “people assuming that, [because] I walk differently than they do, that I also think differently than they do” (Sara 41–46 years).
Laura spoke of concealing her visual impairment as a means of protecting herself from societal responses to impairment, especially disablist attitudes. “Passing” as nondisabled facilitates social acceptance and inclusion in everyday life (Bruegemann 2001). The energy, time, and effort involved in passing is immense, however, and is usually expended at great personal cost to the individual (Hansen 2002). Passing may be regarded as “an act of repression” (Michalko 2002, 10) where individuals deliberately conceal part of their identity. To return to Laura, she revealed that: “from that day on for several, well for the next fifteen years, I kind of denied that I had a visual impairment and actually put myself under a tremendous amount of strain to do it” (Laura 46–51 years).
French wrote of her childhood denial of her visual impairment as a means of self-protection from negative responses to her impairment, and as a means of gaining societal acceptance and approval primarily from her family: “By denying the reality of my disability I protected myself from the anxiety, disapproval, frustration and disappointment of the adults in my life” (French 1993, 70). Thomas also spoke of concealing her impairment in response to social messages regarding “noticeable difference”:
I was born without a left hand, an impairment which I began to conceal at some point in my childhood (probably around 9 or 10 years of age). This childhood concealment strategy has left a long legacy. I still struggle with the “reveal or not to reveal” dilemma, and more often than not will hide my “hand” and “pass” as normal. (Thomas 1999, 54)
Many people act as conduits of social messages, primarily parents, doctors, teachers, and friends, but even complete strangers may display a resistance to embracing diversity and in effect tell the disabled person that, in order to gain social acceptance, noticeable difference should be minimized (Thomas 1999). Claire spoke of differential treatment depending on whether she was using her long cane or not. If she walked into someone when not using it, this would usually be met with a hostile or abusive response, whereas when using her long cane, identifying herself as a blind person, other people tended to move out of her way or treated her in a patronizing manner. Thus, there was further demonstration of how disabled women can be in effect set aside or ignored. It would seem that disability is often treated as disruptive, out of place, or unnatural in public space.
Many of the women interviewed talked of developing positive self-identities primarily through involvement in the disabled people's movement and disability arts. It became apparent, that as the women had grown older, they had begun to work more constructively with the difference caused by their disability, relating to it in a more self-conscious manner perhaps. The conscious creation of positive self-identities was often borne out of a negative normalizing past where as girls, women were subjected to normalizing assumptions and techniques, persuading them that their bodily difference was bad, inappropriate, in need of correction, rendering it invisible if at all possible so that they might be socially accepted.
Some women spoke of consciously making space for themselves on their own terms, so that they no longer feel obliged to conceal their impairments but, rather, feel able to assert their positive self-identities as disabled women. Adele spoke of using callipers [braces] and crutches to coerce her body into the normative standing position, something drilled into her as the right thing to do when younger. Now, she talked positively of her decision to discard these mobility aids in favor of using a wheelchair: “So they [the crutches and callipers (braces)] got put in the bin and I just used my wheelchair and that was like a liberation” (Adele 51–56 years).
Although Adele's decision was liberating for her, she made reference to her immediate family's disapproval and disappointment at her decision, which was perceived by them to indicate that she had “given up on trying to be like one of them.” She remade and reclaimed space on her own terms
Laura spoke positively of her decision to stop hiding her impairment, but instead to be proud of her identity as a disabled woman: “I thought, Sod it, this not being able to see is part of me and I'm not denying it anymore and I'm not going to be embarrassed about it, so I sort of came out the closet and started doing Disability Equality Training” (Laura 46–51 years).
Laura had discussed the tremendous strain that hiding her impairment had caused her, emphasizing her sense of relief at making a decision to come out as a visually impaired woman. Veronica put much time and energy into concealing her sexuality. As a wheelchair user concealing her impairment was not an option. It would seem that any act of repression may be detrimental to an individual's well-being, although in psychoanalytic theory there may be good reasons why an individual may repress things; for example, as part of a self-survival mechanism regardless of whether it be denial of an impairment or sexuality.
Veronica spoke positively of coming out of the closet. Brown suggests that the closet describes the denial, concealment, erasure, or ignorance of lesbians and gay men (Brown 2000, 1). Likewise, the need to pass as non-disabled reflects the socially valued visible attributes of “normalcy.”
The notion of hiding or concealment of those who do not have a place in the world unless they pass as something they are not, can also be translated to disability. By coming out Laura self-identified as a disabled person. Choosing to come out of the closet represents a powerful act of positive self-identification (Linton 1998), and also serves to turn socially valued physicality on its head. In addition, for Veronica, her self-identification as a lesbian freed her from heteronormative sexual oppression and enabled her to explore and express her lesbian sexuality.
I used to be anorexic … when I came out all the kind of things like that disappeared … I feel like I've come alive within the past four years … because I feel I can finally be me, I can finally be the person I want to be. (Veronica 21–26 years)
Boadicea spoke of resisting societal expectations that were impressed upon her by close family members to glamorize her body. She considered it ironic that as a blind woman she was nonetheless expected to present a sighted image of femininity. She talked of her decision to stop wearing makeup:
What made it really ridiculous is that I had to present a sighted image, what they thought as beauty, what they thought as feminine…. [The decision not to wear makeup] was a conscious effort on my part to reject all of that sighted stuff. (Boadicea 46–51 years)
Although Sara spoke positively of her self-identity, she was conscious that contemporary society remains transfixed by physical appearance. Gill (2001, 353) refers to the insider experience of disability as “a persistent and disquieting sense of mistaken identity,” where disabled people find the identities they have forged and present to society are dismissed by others in favor of stereotypical identity ascriptions:
“I love living my life, they [nondisabled society] see my crutches, they see that I walk differently, and my friends that are really my friends are the ones that are really clued up: they see the other person that I am…. I don't mind that I walk differently, I just wish they could see who I am, I'm proud of me, every inch of me, I just wish they could get away from the superficial stuff” (Sara 41–46 years). Laura echoed such claims: “They say your impairment shapes you, and I don't think I would want to be a different person, you know I'm happy in my skin now, I'm happy with who I am” (Laura 46–51 years).
It would appear that the adoption of positive self-identities enable disabled women to challenge and to counteract the negative identities and stereotypes imposed on them by others (Swain, French, and Cameron 2003). A positive self-concept is often in conflict with wider social understandings of disability: “[G]uys … they think of disabled women as being nice people or whatever, or courageous people, but I don't think that at first glance would think of them as being dating material” (Sara 41–46 years).
A participant in Gow's (2000) study was acutely aware that in sexualized social environments, where sex is on the agenda (Shakespeare et al. 1996), her presence was peripheral. Although she shared the space, she was not regarded as sexually equitable: “I wear lipstick, I wear everything. And they still think you're a wee girl. Because you're in a wheelchair, I'm a young child. Because I'm in a wheelchair” (Gow 2000, 164).
Socially relegated to childlike status, sexuality is considered to be inappropriate or absent. Despite her best efforts to counteract the asexual identity imposed upon her, this young woman was acutely aware of her asexual status through a complex mix of social responses to both her body and her wheelchair.
Leslie, a participant in Watson's (2000) study, noted a change in her sexual status when she acquired an impairment: “meeting up with guys and things like that—that virtually has not happened since I've become disabled” (Watson 2000, 147).
In the highly sexualized social scene of Western culture, perfect, glamorous, and beautiful bodies are welcomed, celebrated, and sought after as sexual partners (Limaye 2003; Gillespie-Sells et al. 1998). Disabled women's bodies are not regarded in these terms; rather they are not considered to be sexually available, akin to the manner in which pregnant women's bodies are regarded as sexually unavailable (Longhurst 2001; Watson 2000). Disabled women are similarly placed off limits in terms of sexual availability and are therefore not considered to be part of the game in terms of flirtation, sexual initiation, or courtship rules (Longhurst 2001). Disabled women are effectively sexually set aside (Michalko 2002): “In a sense, to be treated as a sexual object is a ‘privilege’ that non-disabled women have, and disabled women do not” (Tremain 1992, 26).
The notion of disabled women being off limits in terms of sexual availability, or their assumed unsuitability as appropriate sexual partners, seems to have changed little over time; as Elizabeth experienced in the nineteen sixties and as Theresa currently experiences: “I was standing at a bus stop this night going out to the dancing at the time, and I heard this guy at the back saying, ‘Oh! She's all right, but oh! Oh! Look, look she's got a calliper (brace) on her leg’” (Elizabeth 51–56 years).
Theresa talked of numerous occasions in her local pub where men had approached her, chatted her up, and were interested in her. However, when Theresa harnessed up her guide dog making herself identifiable as a blind woman, men usually responded by sexually setting her aside:
[He said] “oh I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry,” and I'm like, “Why are you sorry?” I get that a lot, people apologizing for having spoken to me.… Or they've been chatting me up and they're like, “Oh I shouldn't have been chatting you up, you're blind,” and I'm like “Why?” I find that one a weird one. (Theresa 36–41 years)
The notion of disabled women as substandard or unsuitable sexual partners is also illustrated in Goffman (1968), where a young woman recalls her realization of being sexually set aside:
I think the first realization of my situation, and the first intense grief resulting from this realization, came one day, very casually, when a group of us in our early teens had gone to the beach for the day. I was lying on the sand, and I guess the fellows and girls thought I was asleep. One of the fellows said, “I like Domenica very much, but I would never go out with a blind girl.” I cannot think of any prejudice which so completely rejects you. (quoted in Goffman 1968, 47)
Similar experiences were recalled by many of the women, revealing a theme to do with the intertwining of social space and the complexities of sexual citizenship. In some instances, nondisabled men who find disabled women attractive may possibly be considered to have deviant sexual tendencies, as Theresa's experience illustrates:
One of the guys in the pub had been chatting me up he was really interested in me.… Another guy had told me that someone was slagging him and calling him a pervert because he was wanting to go out with a blind girl, and I was like “so how does that make him a pervert?” (Theresa 36-41 years)
This being said, a high proportion of blind women who participated in this study also reported experience of domestic abuse. It seems that men with controlling tendencies or abusive behaviors may pursue a blind woman as they consider her to be easily controlled (Claire Jennings, Personal communication with Hazel McFarlane, January 2002). Although Jenny did not explicitly discuss domestic abuse, she was conscious of this element in social space:
I'm always suspicious of people who pester us. You do get folk who will come and chat you up … chatting up the wee blind bird…. Sometimes you tend to attract folk that think “Oh! Well this is one, I can do her a favor and ask her out and manipulate her.” (Jenny 36–41 years)
In social space, disabled women, perhaps more so than nondisabled women, have to be able to decipher the difference between genuine individuals and those with ulterior motives, something that may be particularly problematic for some women who may have experienced sexual rejection in the past and may be flattered by sexual attention and the prospect of a relationship. The very presence of disabled women on the social scene is slowly shifting the social terrain. No longer as tightly constrained by social regulation and domestic dictate, disabled women are making and shaping public and private space on their own terms (Creswell 1997; Hansen 2009).
Social and cultural attitudes toward disabled people and disabled women in particular, remain largely unchanged. The able body is a privileged body and disability is perceived as naturally absent. Many women are dealing with entrenched social attitudes and perceptions of normality, traditional gender roles, sexuality (or the lack thereof), on a daily basis. Indeed, the very presence of disabled women is often framed as unnatural or disruptive. These spaces have evolved with little or any consideration of disability except as an add-on or afterthought. Caught up in a legacy of limitation, abnormality, and lack of expectation many disabled women have had few if any opportunities to be in social spaces or public spaces to claim even the most traditional female roles of partner, wife, or mother. However, even in the face of strong negative social pressures, disabled women are reclaiming, rebuilding, and reshaping these spaces to fit their needs in positive ways that suit them.
1. Utilizing a participatory action research approach through the lens of disability geography and with twenty women, aged twenty-one to sixty-six living in central Scotland. Nine women had vision impairments, and eleven had physical impairments. All the women chose their own pseudonyms (McFarlane, 2004).
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