July arrives like a golden wave – fast, full and blinding. Everything blooms – everyone moves, and I… pause.
Personally, I’ve always perferred the colder months. In winter, society seems to move closer to my rhytm; the days are shorter and slower, people operate slower, and general rest is not only expected, but also respected.
Summer on the other hand, tends to surge forward. Everyone seems to be bursting into high-gear; vacations, festivals, sleepless nights – doing more, going faster, chasing light as if its running out (which for those of us in Scandinavia it litterally is come fall).
Additionally, the warmt of summer is pressing, and the air grows thick with newfound humidity. And I, in my invisibly disabled body, feel the gap widen between what the world expects of me, versus what I can offer…
So, as you can probably imagine, I’ve never felt entirely at home in the heat of summer. The sun shines bright, but I crave the shadows. Not out of sadness – but for sanctuary and the need for rest.
Throughout my life, my disability has taugh me many things. Perhaps the deepest of these is this;
Rest is not weakness. Rest is wisdom.
Especially (but not only) in the Western-world, exhaustion is treated like a badge. In such cultures, doing less is seen as a failure. But, for disabled people, doing less is often not a choice – it’s a lifeline! And in a season that celebrates motion, brightness, and constant energy, it can feel like being completely out of synch with society.
To use myself as an example; yesterday I had a lunch with some of the people I go to physiotheraphy with. The buss home takes about 20 minutes, and as I was feeling pretty good, I decided not to call a cab (which takes only 5 minutes, but is extremely expensive). Halfway home I apparantly had a massive seizure on the buss, the first ‘buss seizure’ since moving back here five years ago. I knew this was a possibility, as I’ve been having majour seizures every week for the past two months, but I felt alright and thought I would manage.
Luckily, a very kind gentleman called the ambulance, and I was safely followed home. However, it took me over 30 minutes to fully get back from the seizure, and I slept the entire rest of the day.
I had many plans that I wanted to get done yesterday, but ended up doing none of them. This is not uncommon. For many disabled people, summer becomes a season that exposes difference. Because, while other’s need for rest stems from the nature outside (such as the lack of energy with winter’s lack of sun), disabled people – especially those of us who suffers from fatigue; we experience this all year around, as our lack of energy comes from genetic-, neurologic- or other physical, internal issues.
So when others accelerate during the summer, our limits become more visible. When other’s glow, we might ‘wilt’. This is the reality of having disabilities. And for many of us, resting is a daily necessity.
As disability-advocate As Tricia Hersey of The Nap Ministry says:
«Rest is resistance. Rest is a beautiful interruption to a system that views us as machines.
It’s a divine right. We will rest.»
– Tricia Hersey
Resting interrupts the demand to always be «on», always be producing and always be performing. And that interruption can be healing – not just for the body, but for the soul. So while others sprint intoo summer, I will make a different choice. By slowing down on purpose, claiming stillness – not as defeat, but rather as depth of joy.
Because, joy isn’t always loud, fast, sweaty or crowded. It doesn’t need fireworks or festivals (althought even I can enjoy that at times!). Instead, the depth of summer joy can live in enjoying a slow morning coffee while listening to birds chirping, in reading a book in a quiet, shadowy corner, in picking (and tasting!) ripe forest fruit – or in wearing soft, easy – breezy fabrics while smelling the air. It lives in drinking cold drinks, taking a nap without the fear of wasting time – or very, very carefully taking a swim in the lake.
No matter how small, these moments matter. They might not be what summer ‘should’ look like. But they are what summer looks like too me. And that is enough!
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In the North, we know how to rest. We know the hush of snow, the stillness of night that falls early and stays long. In winter, everyone understands fatigue, and there is space for slowness.
But the summer season asks us to shine. And when we cant – when our bodies protests, and protects us – it’s very easy to be left behind.
But, what if we didn’t see our own rest as retreat, but rather as a return –
To breath
To joy
To being, not performing.
“Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer’s day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.”
– John Lubbock
So this July – in order to create your very own Disabled Summer Story, I invite you to do less – not out of lack, but love.
I invite you to celebrate rest as richness. To notice joy not only as large spectacles, but also as small seeds.
Let your summer be slow. Listen to your body. Let joy come gently. Because, you are not late. You are not lazy. You are simply living at your own pace – and that is beautiful!
And if the world races ahead, let it!
You are not behind.
– You are exactly where you need to be.
– Silje
