Uncategorized – (Dis)Abled Creations

When Good Advice Becomes Bad Advice

Why disabled people need a different filter for self-improvement culture

There is a great deal of advice online these days. Some of this advice is absolutely excellent. Some of it has helped me severly improve my life.

And some of it, while well-intentioned-
becomes surprisingly harmful when applied to disabled people.

Recently, I came across a very sucessful entrepeneur argue that people should take complete and full responsibility for the trajectory of their lives.
Now, I understood what she meant by her statement. In many ways, I even agreed with her.

Personal responsibility matters!

But as I listened to the video, I found myself asking a few very simple questions;
How exactly am I responsible for being born with epilepsy? And –
What am I supposed to do about it?

Because, there is a vast difference between taking responsibility and control over what you do in your life, and taking responsibility for things you never controlled in the first place.

And I think many disabled people spend years carrying the guilt of that distinction.

Because,
Responsibility is not the same thing as control.

In fact, one of the most important lessons I have learned as a disabled adult is that responsibility and control are not the same thing.
– I can take responsibility for taking my medication at the apropriate times.
– I can take responsibility for laying off caffeine, alcohol and all other things that negatively affect my disagnosis.
– I can take responsibility for exersizing when my body allows it, eat well by making sure my money prioritize it, and take responsibility for how I talk to myself, how I spend my time – and generally stay on top of my health; whether physical, dental, mental or emotional.

But i cannot take responsibility for being born with epilepsy.
That is beyond my control.
I cannot take responsibility for having seizures daily, even after doing everything I possibly can to avoid them.
And when they do appear, I cannot take responsibility for getting a concussion,
for having to avoid workouts or needing longer hours of sleep, leading to not being able to wake up as early as is recommended.

And this distinction matters.

Because, many forms of self-improvement advice quietly blurs the line between what we influence and what we control.

And once those things become confused, disabled people often end up blaming themselves for circumstances they never had any control over to begin with.
Things that were never theirs to choose.

«You can do anything if you want it badly enough»

This is probably one of the most common pieces of motivational advice in the world.
And it is also one of the least accurate.

To use an example from my own life: I cannot drive a car.
This is not because I don’t want it badly enough. Nor is it because I can’t find a car to drive if needed.
No,
I cannot drive a car, because Norwegian law requires people with epilepsy to be seizure-free for at least a year, before driving. This law has changed significantly througout my life; from 3 years to 2 – and now 1. But I have never been able to reach the appropriate requirement. Which meant that I have not been able – (or allowed!) to practice driving, thus have not been able – (or allowed!) to take the test for a licence.
And no amount of motivation changes that reality for me.

I cannot simply change my seizures on bare belief alone.
And I cannot simply change the law purely by wishing it.
(And in all honesty, I would not want to either, as I would find it irresponsible!)

In a similar fashion, a paralyzed wheelchair user cannot simply decide to walk.
A blind person cannot simply decide to see.
And, a person with chronic fatigue cannot simply decide to have more energy.

We can only work with our current circumstances;

by adapting, learning and growing as people.
But we cannot simply wish biological realities out of existence.

And truthfully,
there is something strangely liberating about accepting that.
Because, once we stop fighting reality, we can begin building lives that actually fit it.

Now I still have high hopes for disabled people in the future. Hopes of high employment, through changing the current system to one more sustainable for all people.
Hopes of hight accessibility to nessesary treatment, by lowering cost, and building knowledge.
Hopes of low stigma, by making medical diagnoses more open to talk about, and hopes of a world where everyone can live, withouth feeling at fault for being born disabled.

So,
here is a list of advice, disabled people should probably leave behind…

There are a few pieces of popular advice that I think disabled people should approach with caution.

X «Your life is entirely your responsibility.»
This is partly true, but ONLY partly.
Genetics matter. Health matter – and access to healthcare matters. Economics matter, discrimination matters. And – the country you were born in matters.
Pretending otherwise is denial of reality; and no amount of empowerment speech is going to change that reality.

X «Never depend on anyone»
Humans are social creatures. And every successful person depends on someone;
Family
Friends
Partners
Parents
Assistents
Coworkers
Teachers
Communities
Doctors
Support workers.

The myth of complete independence is exactly that – a myth.

X «If you’re not succeeding, you’re making excuses.»
Sometimes people are making excuses, there’s no going around that.
Other times however, they are facing genuine barriers that they cannot cross.

Learning the difference between which is what, is a form of wisdom not easy to find.

On the other hand,
here is a list of advice worth keeping!

Fortunately, not all self-improvement advice falls apart under scrutiny.
Some of it becomes even more valuable when viewed through a disabled lens.

V: Build daily agency
Agency is not about controlling everything from hell to heaven. It’s about controlling something. It can be relatively easy things, like; making your bed, taking your medication, answering your emails or keeping track of your finances.

It can be about going to the gym, or going for a walk, or cleaning and organizing parts of your area.

Personally, my current daily agency is very simple;
– 1 task of body movement: like stretching, going for a walk, or working out with a physiotheraphist.
– 1 task of contribution to the home: cleaning, grocery shopping, making dinner or being an emotional support for the rest of my family.
– 1 task of mind growth: reading, writing, learning or slowly building a skill.
– 1 task of future-improvement: writing a blog, working on my newsletter, a future charity organization, taking pictures or videos, or slowly making my books.

Whether big or small, these tasks of daily agency do not cure my disability.
But they have four very important focus-points, that help build confidence, self-esteem, self respect, and momentum over time.

V: Focus on what you can influence
Instead of going all in at once, find something. Just something that a simple change in your daily system, weekly habits or yearly goals can influence for the better. You do not need complete controll to make progress in life, you just need a place to begin.

V: Build interdependence instead of chasing independence
Out if all the lessons I have learned in my early adulthood, this is probably the most important one;
The goal is not independence for the sake of independence.

The goal is a meaningful life.
And sometimes that includes help. Sometimes it includes support. Sometimes it includes accomodations. And there should be no shame in that.

In fact, most societies have always depended on people helping one another.
The African proverb «It takes a village» does not come from nothing.

V: Define contribution more broadly
I believe one of the greatest failures of modern society is how narrowly it defines value.
Because, contribution should not be limited to paid employment, as many people contribute through a variety of different ways;
– caregiving
– volunteering
– art
– mentoring
– friendships
– emotional support
– community building
– and countless other forms of labour that rarely appear on a payslip, yet is completely needed in any society.

«Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much.»
– Helen Keller

I think disabled people often understand this much better than most.
Because, our lives often forces us to recognize something many people spend years trying to avoid:

No one succeeds entirely alone

«Do not judge me by my successes, judge me by how many times I fell down and got back up again.»
– Nelson Mandela

This quote resonates with me far more than most productivity sloagans ever could.
Because resilience is not the absence of limitation.
It is learning how to continue despite of it.

What the research says

Psychologists, such as Edward Deci and Richard Ryan have spent decades studying what helps people thrive.

Their Self-Determination Theory suggests that well-being is strongly linked to three core needs;

-autonomy
– competence
– and relatedness

To put it in other words, people flourish not because they work harder than everyone else, but because they have meaningful choices, opportunities to succeed, and supportive relationships.

I personally believe that is a far more nuanced picture than the idea that success is purely an individual responsibility.
And honestly, feels much closer to reality.

The truth I keep returning to

Now, of course, before someone tries to take a whip at me, as I mentioned in the beginning of this post; personal responsibility is important.
And the disabled people that I know, are some of the most responsible people I have ever met.
Because, we have to be…

We track medications, we manage symptoms, we attent various appointments, and navigate systemt.
We adapt constantly!

But you cannot know what you cannot get to know – thus to us, a lecture about personal responsibility tends to fall flat.
What we need, instead, is advice that recognizes reality.
Advice that understands the difference between responsibility and blame.

And this is huge – as good advice helps us build lives within our limitations, instead of pretending those limitations do not exist.
This does not mean to never test your own limitations; we all should!
But in a safe and sustainable matter.

Because, for us, going too far too quick, very often lands us in a hospital bed,
considerably worse off then when we started.
I surpassed my limits once in my early 20’s, and ended up with a burnout, worse seizures and a massive fatigue – that I have still not recovered from almost 10 years later…

Good advice – real good advice should make people stronger.
It should not make them feel guilty for things they’ve never had the power to control.
__________________________________________

A task for you, reader…

Today, make two lists:

On the first, write down three things you genuinely have influence over.
On the second, write down three things you have been unfairly blaming yourself for.
Then compare them.

You may discover that one of the heaviest things you carry were never yours to carry in the first place.

– Silje

Spring Was Never Just a Season for Me

On forests, nervous systems, and why spring feels like ‘life returning’

There is a strong reason why spring, to me at least feels very emotional.
Not just because the sun shines longer; thus making the days lighter, and the apparant beauty visible longer. But it also seems to have a positive effect on my emotions.
Almost as if something inside my body begins waking up again, alongside the earth.

And I do not think that feeling is imaginary.

In Scandinavia, Spring especially has historically meant far more than just warmer weather. After long winters of darkness, isolation, cold and the need to survive, spring represented the light, warmth and follow up movement returning to the world, where people were once again ‘safe’ until the next wintertime.

During the spring, the ground softened. People began to gather again, and the animals reappeared with the forest accesibility.

And for thousands of years, human nervous systems adapted themselves around nature’s mechanisms.

Personally, I think about this often when I walk in the old forest behind my parents house.
The forest stretches all the way from our area to my old elementary school and beyond – ancient enough that parts of it likely existed during the viking age.

When I was a child, I used to sit there alone during school breaks. At the time I was stressed, heavily bullied and very overwhelmed.

So, instead of forcing myself into unkind, noisy social spaces, I just dissapeared into the trees. And became «The girl who talkes to trees».

And even then – before I understood disability, nervous systems, or stress regulation – my body was already aware of something important:
The forest calmed me down.
– The smell of wet earth.
– The calm movement of leaves.
– The filtered light through the branches.
– Birdsong in the sky
– And the quiet repetition of nature.

It all softened something inside me.

And now, years later ,science increasingly confirms what humans have probably, instinctively known for centuries:

Nature regulates us.

Modern research increasingly supports this instinctive human relationship with nature. As an example, studies on Shirin-yoku – the Japanese practice often translated to «forest bathing», have repeatedly shown reductions in cortisol (the body’s primary stress hormone), anxiety, blood-pressure, and nervous-system overload, after time spent in forest environments. (Sage Journals/ PubMed).

One 2019 systematic review and meta-analysis examining multiple forest-bathing studies found significantly lower cortisol levels in people exposed to forest environments compared to those mainly exposed to urban ones (PubMed).

And honestly, I do not find that surprising at all.
Because the human nevrous system was never built entirely for concrete notifications, fluorecent lights and endless urgency.

Instead, for most of human history – especially in Northern Europe – forests were a sense of safetey, shelter, medicine, sprirituality and survival ability

Furthermore, these studies on forest exposure even attribute that short exposure to green spaces can positively affect mood and cognitive recovery.
This research suggests that even short exposure to green environments can improve mood, reduce mental fatigue, and help regulate overstimulation – sometimes only within a few minutes of sensory exposure to nature (PubMed).

And to be honest, I think disabled people often feel this especially strong. Because, when your body is already overstimulated, exhausted, inflamed or neurologically overwhelmed, nature does not demand a performance from you.

A forest day does not care how productive you are.
Or how social you are. Or how much energy you have that day.
It simply allows you to exist.

«And into the forest I go, to lose my mind
and find my soul.»
– John Muir

Spring and the disabled nervous system

As was my own situation, I think that Spring can often become a kind of nervous-system reset for many disabled people. Not nesessarily in these dramatic «new beginnings» kind of way that social media often presents, but rather in the forms of «spring healing», one small step at the time.

Things like Opening a window early morning to hear the birdsong in the wind, standing in the sunlight for a few minutes. Walking slowly throughouth the day instead of constantly being efficient. Or just sitting quietly beside a tree, letting your shoulders unclench.

Perhaps these small things matter more than we think.
Because, disabled people often spend enormous amounts of time surviving in the world:
– endless appointments
– varying daily symptoms
– overstimulation and pain
– Daily masking
– Constant future uncertainty

So, spring quietly reminds the body that survival is not the only state available to us.

Historically, humans belonged to the seasons

Modern life often treats humans as seperate from nature. But historically, especially in Norther Europe, as mentioned before, seasonal rhytmic events shaped nearly everything; still do to some extend.
But earlier, this applied to nearly everything:
– Food
– Sleep
– Work
– Celebration
– Religion
– Movement
– Community

Even many Christian spring traditions in Scandinavia carry traces of older pagan seasonal rituals underneath them; fertility, symbols, grenery, fire, cleansing, sunlight and renewal. |

And maybe part of why spring affects us so deeply is because our bodies still remember those rhytms, even within modern systems.
Especially bodies that are already sensitive to change.

Disabled joy in spring

I also think that disabled joy can look very different during springtime.
Instead of social-media adapted dramatic adventures, sometimes they can be as simple as having enough energy to picnic outside in the sun, the smell of heavy rain on newly cut grass, opening a balcony/ garden door or window for fresh air – or simply realizing your nervous system feels slightly easier to control than it did two months ago.

«Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience.»
– Ralp Waldo Emerson

And while simple, I still think this counts as joyful.
Because, many of us are forced into different bodily rhytms long before we are emotionally ready for them.

Thus, perhaps what is actually happening is that springtime gently reminds us that our slower pace is not a failure in life, but a form of nature-led pace that is both peaceful and easy to commit to.

Tiny things matter!

A few gentle spring rituals

These are not productivity or self improvement projects, just a form of nervouss system kindness towards ourselves and our bodies:
– Open a window for five minutes in the spring morning
– Sit outside withouth the need to ‘do’ anything.
– Touch Moss, bark, leaves or grass intentionally
– Listen to birds instead of music once a day
– Let sunlight hit your face before you open screens (remember SPF!)
– Take a slow morning routine somewhere, if possible
– Allow yourself to notice the beauty of nature

________________________

A small task for you, reader…

This week, try to spend a few quiet minutes somewhere natural – even if its only a garden or a park bench, or even just an open window.

And ask yourself:

«What happens in my body when I stop trying to move faster than nature does?»

You do not have to bloom all at once
No part of nature ever does.

– Silje

The Beauty of a «Smaller» Life

The quiet joy of building a life that fits you

So, I wrote about a similar subject a few weeks ago, but really wanted to approach it again – from a slightly different point of view. Because, I find that there is a strange assumption in modern society, that lives worth living must always be LARGE;
Large careers, large social circles, large ambitions, large houses, and large scedules.
As if you’re always expanding, always moving – and always, aaaalways visible to everyone and everything – always!

And, in that same aspect; if your life ever becomes smaller than this, or moves a bit slower – and in general seem more contained, people often assume that something is, well – wrong.

But, I am beginning to think that maybe the opposite is true.
Because, my life is not small, not really – it’s just built around different measurements all together.
My life, built for me and my needs, are planned around adaptation, and especially the adaptation of unpredictability. Because my health can – and often have changed suddenly, and withouth warning.

And, while it is true that this kind of life requires a certain limitation to it, it also creates something else:

A profound appreciation for even the most miniscule forms of happiness!

Especially during the last few years, I have begun to believe that many disabled people experience joy a bit differently than the rest of society.
This is not necessarily because our happiness is lesser than others’s – but because we have become deeply aware of how fragile ordinary life actually can be.

So, simple things like a peaceful morning, a good cup of coffee, a clean, fresh and organized apartment, a good conversation, a creative evening before bed. – Or, in my case, any and all (positive!) changes to a general routine, can make me feel like I’m at the top of the world!

These sort of things are often treated as insignificant by the outside world, so they stop noticing when it happens. But when your body and mind is unpredictable, ordinary peace and ordinary happiness can quickly become extraordinary!

And perhaps that is why ‘disabled joy’ just to put a name to it, can feel so intense at times. Because we notice all the little things many people rush past.

«When one door of happiness closes, another opens.»
– Helen Keller/
@The American Foundation for the Blind

I should preface by making it clear that I do not nesessarily think that romantizicing illness is the way to go. Nor do I think that the loss of something due to illness should automatically become a form of inspiration.

I do however think it is important to recognize that chronic /physical- or mental diseases in life, does change the way we see things.
And in just grieving the life we imagined, we fail to notice the new, simpler forms of happiness growing beside- and in front of us.

For a long time, I though happiness existed somewhere in the future.
In becoming healthier, more independent, more productive – and just more ‘normal’. But I am healthier now in my mid 30’s than I’ve ever been. 10 years ago I was more independent than I am today, and 20 years ago I was definately more productive.
But my god, I can swear that I have never been ‘normal’ xD!

So instead, the older I get, the more I realize that ‘being happy’ is much less dramatic than what my younger self assumed.

Sometimes, it is simply building a life that your body can survive in as it is;
with enough energy, and room to breathe.
And strangely enough that simple adjustment in the way I see happiness, have not in any way made my own life emptier – in many ways it has made if fuller.

Disabled joy is still joy

I also think disabled people are often spoken about only through our suffering. (Which I too am a part of!) And this is not fair.
Because the way we are spoken about, (and at times speak about ourselves), it would seem as if our lives are automatically tragic. As if our pain cancels out all the beauty in the world.
But this is of course not the case!
Because, disabled people fall in love, create art, laugh at stupid jokes and become obsessed with books and TV shows as much as the next person.
We decorate out homes to our tastes and our advantage, drink coffe with friends and dream about our future.

We experience beauty the same way everyone else does. Somethimes even more so than other people.
Because, when you understand how quickly life can change, joy and happiness stops feeling guaranteed
– and instead starts feeling truly precious.

Another thing is that it is something deeply humane about creating a life that fits the person supposed to live in it.
And many disabled people become incredibly intentional about their surroundings.
Whether it be specific routines, lightening, blankets, specifically easy to hold mugs, a bookshelf full of creative art, musical equitment or specific decorations.
Whatever it is, I do not think this is a superficial element – not really.
Instead I think that when your body feels unstable and difficult to control, creating a form of external stability becomes a form of peace .

«The world is full of suffering, but it is also full of the overcoming of it.»
– Helen Keller
@Wikiquote.org

Modern research on well-being also increasingly suggests that happiness is not built only through achievement, but through meaning, social conncection, stability and environments that support our needs.
(arXiv; Linguistic Reflexes of Well-Being and Happiness in Echo).

And perhaps disabled people just understand this fact earlier than most, as we are often forced to ask ourselves a question many people avoid:
– What would actually makes my life feel livable?
Not impressive, nor profitable. Not even socially admired,
but livable.

For me, that means living in a stable home, where I can be financially relaxed. It means sleeping enough (between 10-12 hours ), and have a clear, relaxed routine in the morning and in the evening, as I very easily get stressed. It means committing time to write and to other forms of creativity (mostly every week) to feel a sense of meaning in my days, and to workout to keep growing strong. It also means leaving enough time to eat, to hang out with friends every month, and enough time to just sit with my thoughts. And lastly, it means opening up space for a monthly spark of ‘flexible form of happiness’ come whatever may.

So sure, from the outside my life may not seem very big or impressive.
It is slower than many other’s , with far less noise and far less friction.
But it is carefully structured to function for ME.
The amount of peace I need, the ability to be as creative as I can manage. To fill it with all kinds of beauty and meaning that makes sense to me, even if no one else gets it.

It is also filled with joy; small and big, wide and narrow. And to me that matters much more than living big just for the sake of it, ever could…

___________________________

A small task for you, reader…
Tonight, try to notics one small thing that genuinely made your day better:
– A drink?
– A routine?
– A moment of stillness?
– A clean room?
– A good text message?
– A book?
– Or a soft blanket?

Then ask yourself;
«What makes this insignificant? What would make it not so?».

Maybe happiness is not always found in building a bigger life.
Maybe sometimes, it is found in building one that fits your own size!

– Silje

The Lie of Disabled Equality

On contradiction, exclusions, and the truths society avoids to talk about

Society refuses to fully include disabled people, while simultaneously resenting the cost of excluding us.
– Silje Elsrud Yttervik

From my point of view, there is something deeply contradictory in the way modern society treats disabled people. On the one hand: we are told that all humans deserve dignity. That discrimination is wrong, that modern society values inclusion, and that all human lives matter equally.

On the other hand: the systems modern societies have built for their citizens, tell a very different story.
Within these systems – we; the disabled, are treated as massive burdens from the moment we require support.

And this arises many questions within me. Like:

why are disabled accomodations viewed as such an inconvenience?
Why are disabled workers so often excluded from the workforce, despite laws that strictly forbids said exclusion?
Why are those of us recieving disability support spoken about, as if we are stealing from everyone else?

And perhaps most importantly:
Why -and how are disabled people expected to survive independently, in a system that actively refuse to include us?

The Impossible contradiction

If one takes a second to really think about these things, it becoms pretty obvious that society often demands two completely incompatible things from those of us who are disabled:
1) Be independent.
2) Accept that no one wants to hire you for pay, and that no one wants to provide you with livable means.

And when those two realities clash, it is us – the disabled, who are blamed for the outcome.
As if our illnesses, disabilities and/or cognitive dysfunctions, are moral failures.
And, as if being born different from the ‘assumed’ standard, is somehow a personal crime.

And unfortionately, more than anything, these types of impossible contradictions mirrors a society in which (generally speaking), disabled lives have no value on their own – and the remaining population lacks the integrity to clearly admit it.

What I want my work to say

If there is one truth I want my own work to cover, it is this:
Disabled people are not lacking in value – it is the systems surrounding us that are lacking in imagination.
Contribution does not only exist in the forms society currently rewards.
Not everyone can survive inside rigid, square – fitted structures, built on endless fake energy, social performance and constant productivity.

But that does not mean we have nothing to offer!

Some people contribute through care. Some through creativity. Others through things like writing, thinking, organizing, supporting, observing, teaching, or just surviving .

And many disabled people spend their entire lives adapting in ways that require the most extraordinary resillience – only for that resillience to be ignored, because it doesn’t fit traditional systems of labour.

The questions society refuses to answer

There is also a much darker truth underneath all of this.
Because, at some point this contradiction becomes impossible to ignore.

Now, I do not think most people consciously hate disabled people. I do, however believe that many people lack critical thinking skills, and that many of these people are – simply put, deeply uncomfortable with us.
Because remember; independence is fragile. Health is temporary, And anyone can become dependent, at any moment. And instead of confronting this fear, society at large tends to project it onto others, and we – the disabled, remind people of this fact.

Which in itself opens an even worse thinking process…
Because, if society acts as if disabled people are fundamentally unworthy of support… then what exactly is the only logical alternative?
That is the question most people rarely wish to follow to it’s conclusion.

Because,
If a society refuses to give disabled people a sustainable form of paid work.
And people within said society believes disabled people should not recieve support.
And if survival requires this support in the form of money, housing, healthcare, food and stability…
Then what exactly is the intended outcome for the disabled people who cannot survive independently without it?

I mean, there are only a limitied number of logical conclutions to this.
Either:

Society must meaningfully accomodate disabled existence
accept that human value is not tied to their ability
and create systems where disabled people can survive with dignity

OR
Society must admit that it is comfortable allowing disabled people to dissapear quietly through death, poverty, neglect, institutionalization, abandonment, or selective prevention before birth.

Now, I do want to preface that I DO NOT want this to happen!
But, from a current point of view, this is the only logical conclution.
WHICH SOUNDS INSANE?!

And what hurts the most as a fellow disabled person, is not that disabled people don’t understand this logic – it is that many of us understand it perfectly, while the society around us insist on pretending otherwise.

What i actually want

Personally, I do not want any pity. And I do not want forced inspiration narratives. What I do want from people, however, is Integrity. I want honesty.
I want disabled people to become a natural part of society. Not as a symbol of something bad that could happen to anyone – but as people, point blank.

And if modern society, and the members of said society cannot provide that inclusion, then at least have the integrity to openly admit it!
Instead of pretending that equality already exist – admit that it doesn’t.

Because pretending disabled people are fully included while systemically excluding us, is just another form of cruel ignorance.
__________________________________________________

A small task for you, reader…

The next time you hear someone complain about disabled people recieving support, pause for a moment and ask yourself:

«what realistic alternative is actually being offered?»
If people cannot access work, cannot access pay, stability, and cannot access accommodation.
– What exactly are they expected to do?

Sometimes, in my opinion, the most uncomfortable questions, reveals the clearest truths.

– Silje

Your Life Does Not Have to Be Big to Be Meaningful

On grief, ordinary lives, and learning to build a life that actually fits you

I think one of the hardest things about illness is not always the pain or unpredictability itself.
Sometimes, it is the quiet loss of scale. The realization that your life may become smaller, move slower and be more contained than you once imagined.

Whether we personally agree with it or not, we live in a world currently obsessed with ambition and visibility. And the- (to me at least) unfortionate practice that constant movement, whether foreward or backwards, is the only way to go.

Part of this we are taught from childhood, that meaningful lives are (always) big; filled with travel, with sucess, with movement, noise, achievement, and constant expansion.
So- what happens when your own body no longer allows you to expand? When survival itself requires limitation?

According to most of the popular movies I watched growing up, those incapable of living big – and incapable of expansion, would simply roll over and die. That way we the viewers, wouldn’t have to ask questions about sustainability and practicality – for no one in need of those explanaitions were alive anyway.

So for a long time in my teenage years and early adulthood, I though the «expansion» of my disability, was me being punished for not following ‘normal’ life protocol. I travelled instead of studying, then studied instead of settling, and as my disability got worse, I didn’t roll over, give up or give in to being treated poorly.
Don’t get me wrong – I was still grieving, just not what I was preopared for.
I though I was grieving a future that illness had taken from me;
– Careers I had imagined
– Energy I had assumed was obvious
– And the version of myself I thought I was destined to become.

Over time, however, I have started to realize something rather interesting;
that this person never really existed.
Instead, she was an idea; a projection of me, built almost entirely around what society values; like productivity, independence, high achievement and speed.

Because, when the truth is to be told, I do not actually want a life that destroys me in the process of sustaining itself «according to social protocol». And I do not want a career that I cannot control.

Now, don’t get me wrong; parts of said dream were real.
I have always been ambitious, I have always had many ideas and many creative suggestions in life. But – I have also, always been slow in doing things. And done said things, built entirely around an energy that constantly wanders up and down.
And because of this, I do not want a life so large that I cannot rest inside it. Or so large that I cannot be there for my family or my friends.

From a disabled person’s perspective, I think this is something we are (litterally) forced to understand earlier than most people.
We learn, often painfully so, that life has to be meaningful without being massive.
That joy can exist in very small spaces.
Through the work of quiet apartments, or stable routines. Through books stacked beside your bed, or a warm morning coffe/ tea. Through writing a blog – (Hello! xD) and doing so at your own pace, or even just creating something meaningful from your own home.

Many people dismiss these things as «small» – and therefore pointless or unessecary. But every decade, a bunch of books, education and health-related research point to these small things as the foundation of everything else positive in your life.
And when I look at the people I know, who’s lives are the fullest,and happiest – they’re most often built on these tiny, practical daily elements.

The exhausting expectation of being extraordinary

Despite this, many societies rarely allows disabled people to simply exist normally.
Instead, we are expected to be inspirational. Expected to be resilient – and, more than anything, expected to be both positive and productive, on line with everyone else.
Not to mention, endlessly grateful – for being allowed to be alive!

Now, I am not claiming that disabled people can’t be these things! Some are, some aren’t – we are as different as everyone else in the world after all.
But it seems as if ordinary ‘disabled existence’ is not enough on its own. As if we must constantly prove that our lives still hold value.

However, the more I think about it, the more I begin to think there is something deeply cruel in these expectations.
Because, it teaches disabled people, regardless of who they are – that in order to step out of ‘unjust lines’ (which is nessesary for human evolution), we must first earn it. That acting slowly must be justified. That our lives are only respectable of they overcome themselves.

And perhaps that is why so many of us struggle to accept quieter lives – not because they are bad, but because we have been taught to see them as less worthy.

Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@mischievous_penguins?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Casey Horner</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/low-angle-photography-of-trees-at-daytime-4rDCa5hBlCs?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a> — Image by: Casey Horner @Unsplash

Why our spaces matter so much

I also think this is why many disabled people become deeply attached to their environments. To our routines, carefully organized spaces, comforting objects – lightening, textures, books and decoration (or lack thereof!). To some this is simply practical: a wheelchair needs easy space to get around, a blind person needs to know where to find things, a light sensitive person needs less bright lights, and a person with easily broken joints need softer spaces in their environments.

From the outside I bet my own space can seem excessively organized, or unessesarily decorated; but to me, a calm and quiet space is very important in order to rest. When your body is unpredictable, your closest environment becomes a form of stability. It becomes something you can shape and change at your own will – when everything else seems out of your control.

There is a reason I bought certain decorations, technology and familiar items with me to medical rehabilitation: the way some people bring coffee machines, blankets, candles or favourite mugs.
They are things than can ground you to a new environment, with the use of an old routine. They remind us that we are people – not just patients. That our lives belong to us.

And maybe that is part of what I am slowly learning now; that a meaningful life does not have to look impressive from the outside.
It does not need to be fast, or loud, or endlessly productive.

It just have to be livable.

A life where your body can breathe, your nervous system is not constantlty at war with your surroundings, and where ambition exists alongside rest, instead of replacing it entirely.

And when one thinks about it, perhaps that kind of life is not small at all.

____________________________________

A task for you, reader!

Tonight, look around the space you live in and ask yourself
«What part og this space makes me feel the most grounded; the most like myself?»

Maybe it’s something as small as a chair, a blanket, a shelf of books, a routine you follow, or even a calm corner…

Whatever it is, allow yourself to appreciate it as a beautiful part of the life you’re building.
Because, whether quiet or loud, big or small; all lives deserves beauty!

– Silje

The Hardest Part Was Coming Home

When you leave medical-treatment, there is something no one really preopares you for.
It is not illness itself, nor is it the routines you’ve come to recognize.
Its not even the mental and physical exhaustion of planning, packing, unpacking and resetting. It’s quite litterally coming home.

While I touched on this a few weeks back, and (tecnically) was preopared for it – the true impact of coming back home really hit me right in the face this week!

Because, while in treatment, everything has a structure to it. Your days are held, limits respected (or at the very least acknowledged!) – and when you need to, litterally laying in bed all day feels totally normal.
So in a way, this daily structure acts as a rhytm that moves around your body, instead of constantly pushing against it.

And then suddenly, you come home.
And from one day to the next, it’s as if the world expects you to fit back into a life that no longer fits you.
The structure is removed, and everyone (including yourself btw!) keeps pushing your body and your mind into a rhytm that doesnt sound right anymore.

When real life begins again

No matter how hard you try, coming home from medical rehabilitation is not a return to life as you know it. Instead, it is a negotiation between what you learned in treatment, and what real life demands of you.
You try yur best to hold on to the routines that helped you grow as a person, while also recognizing that your daily structure has completely changed. You may be aware of your limits, but real life is often messier. Much less predictable, not to mention less forgiving.

So as the days go by, you encounter expectations; spoken and unspoken. Things that needs to get done. Things you feel responsible for, even if no one explicitly asked you to carry said responsibility.
– And slowly, almost without noticing, you begin to strech yourself again.

Spring cleaning with a body that has limits

In my case, the diswasher broke about a week after my return (which I had nothing to do with, btw!) – but it was older, and it was bound to happen.
The fact that it happened at this particular time of the year, however – doesn’t exactly help!

Spring in Norway comes with its own structural rhytms; light returning, (most) people’s energy rising, and with it, the almost ritualistic need to clean, reset, and start fresh.
And I am definately a part of that!

At current, I live in a basement apartment in my parent’s house. I pay nothing to live here, and because of that – I feel a deep responsibility to contribute; especially through cleaning.

The thing is: my own space takes maybe five minutes to clean. I am very tidy, very structured – and I organize (litterally!) all of my belongings every season.

The rest of the house is another story all together. Due to this, cleaning – and especially Spring Cleaning becomes something else entirely. Its not a quick task to finish and complete, but an ongoing cycle, that no matter how much I do – seems to return within a few days.

So it leaves me either feeling constantly tired and irritated at the lack of organized, tidy spaces – or stressed out of my mind from trying to keep it organized and tidy!
And because I feel grateful to be able to live here – truly grateful – I keep doing it.

I do it, even when my body doesn’t quite have the capacity.
Even when I know – realistically, that I only have the energy to do it once a week.
And I keep doing it, even when it starts to take from the things I am trying to build on my own.

You can be grateful and still overwhelmed

Personally, I think this is the part many people (myself incluced) struggle to accept. Because, I am grateful – and I am overwhelmed!
Both are true!

I am grateful to have a place to live, and grateful for the support of my family through decades of balancing and navigating diseased/ disabled-realities, with life experience.
I am grateful that I don’t stand alone through this.

But I am also highly stressed;
Physically exhausted from trying to balance exersize, cleaning and basic health goals, and mentally drained from the constant awareness of what still needs to be done.

And perhaps, most importantly – I am fully aware that much of this pressure is internal. After all, no one is forcing me to clean beyond what I can manage. No one here (beyond myself!) is demanding perfection.
But gratitude, when it turns into obligations, can feel very heavy.

It can make you prioritize everything except yourself – and call it responsibility.

When helping starts to cost too much

As we keep pushing ourselves to keep going, there is a quiet line somewhere, between contributing and overextending.
And I think coming home has made that line very, very visible for me!

On the one hand, I want to help, give back, and be someone who contributes – yet on the other, I am also someone with a body and mind that has limits.
And when I ignore said limits – when I clean instead of resting, push instead of pacing – and on the whole, choose responsibility over sustainability – it can cost me!

It costs me stability, it affects my sleep, my stress levels rise – and it depletes my ability to focus on the things I enjoy doing; the things I am trying to build. Whether it be work opportunities, creative projects or even my future potential as a whole.
And this is not a fair trade.

What I am trying to learn now

If being in treatment taught me anything, it is this;
Structure is not something you leave behing when you go home. It is something you have to protect!
This means making choices that might feel uncomfortable;
cleaning less, resting more, allowing for things to be imperfect – and allowing myself to prioritize long-term stability, over short-term satisfaction.

It means accepting that contributing does not have to mean exhausting myself to the point of breaking. And that not doing so, to protect my own healt – is fully my own responsibility.

A small pause

So yesterday I chose something different, I took a small break.
A small break from cleaning, a break from writing – and just paused.
Instead I went to the hairdresser, and sat down while someone tended to my hair.
I brought a book to read, was served coffe and snacks – and a weight was lifted off my shoulders.
No cleaning. No fixing, and no adjusting.
Just sitting, reading and existing in my own space.
And maybe that, more than anything, is what coming home is really about;
refusing to return to what was – but slowly learning how to live,

differently than before.
—————————————

A bend in the road is not the end of the road…Unless you fail to make the turn. – Helen Keller

A small task for you, reader…

Before you go to bed tonight, take a moment and ask yourself;
– What is one thing I can let be good enough this week?

Then allow yourself – fully – to leave it there.
Remember, rebuilding a life is not about doing everything. It is about picking and choosing what really matters, and letting the rest wait…

– Silje

Rebuilding a Life in the middle of Medical-Rehabilitation

What no one tells you. What you learn over time.
And what living with illness really means.

As I mentioned in my previous post. I have been away for a while.
For the past two months I have been admitted to a specialist hospital for the first part of a – (most likely) two-part medical-rehabilitation. In short, this means lazer-focusing on changing medication and their effects on my body and my brain, and simply resetting. The hope throughout this, is a persons own ability to make their life better and more sustainable long-term, especially those of us born physically (dis)abled.

However, as many experience through these situations; there is a vast difference between being treated for something, and learning how to live.
For many, medical-rehabilitation can help stabilize a body. It can offer a healthier life structure, expertise – and temporary safety. But rehabilitation itself cannot rebuild a life. That part happens very slowly, mostly outside of what anyone formally teaches you – and it is entirely your own responsibility!

This, however does not mean that you cannot get help. But what I’ve learned; through time and through many admittances, is that rebuilding your life during illness is not about starting over from scratch. Instead, it’s about learning how to adjust to new, often unexpected aspects of live – without completely loosing yourself in the process.

Bringing your life with you

One of the most important things I have learned is that rehabilitation should not exist in isolation from your real life.
You are not just a patient – you are a person.
A person with hobbies, with interests, routines, thoughts, feelings and needs – different things that make your life yours – and makes it different from others’s.

So, whatever makes your life feel exiting to exist in; bring it with you!
Bring said hobbies, routines, needs and feelings; parts of your daily, weekly, and monthly life that still works in different settings. Habits that create structure, rituals that makes your daily life feel safe and familiar, instead of cold and overtly clinical.

For me, that meant bringing my cozy blanket, Apple Tv, laptop, camera and small decortative objects – so that my morning routine of journaling while drinking coffee and watching something on youtube; and my evening ritual of eating fruits, while relaxing to a liked TVseries is pretty much the same.
I use my cozy blanket when I sleep or relax, I workout at the same days, I buy groceries at the same days – and buy mostly the same stuff!
For someone else that might include bringing their iced-coffe maker, their sodastream for sparkling water – or a whole bag full of books.

For someone who’s never experienced longer admittances this might seem strange, but in reality it’s not. These things, whatever they are – are anchors to you, and to your life. They remind you that your life is not on hold, it has just changed location.

Knowing when to accept help

During an admittance, there is also a quiet shift that happens over time – one that can be much more difficult, especially if you are someone used to managing on your own. Because, slowly you begin to understand the difference between what you can improve, and what you should not have to carry alone.

Rehabilitation – in any shape of form is not about trying something harder, grinding untill the next massive disaster happens; it’s about opening up and allowing professionals to step in where you need it.
This might include talking with and working out with a physiotheraphist. It might mean neurological support, mental health care, structure – and not to mention guidance built on professional knowledge.

This does not mean that you have failed at life; it just means that you are choosing a way of living that is sustainable (as opposed to survivable!) – which is especially designed for you.

Living with illness is not the same as «giving up»

Personally, I’ve lost count of the amount of times certain family members would bite their teeth and complain that I’m still not seizure free – and «how are they not able to find something that ‘cures’ you of epilepsy – when XYZ became seizure free after a certain medication.
In reality we are all research-rabbits, and there is no way of knowing for certain how different people react to different medication, treatments or operations.
None of these things are witout risks – but we all hope they can help improve the parts of our lives we are unhappy with.

More than anything, this is probably the hardest part of rehabilitation. Because, the first way of improving your life, is accepting the difference between your own situation and what you once imagined.
This does not have to mean that your current life is worse from your imagination. Similarly, it does not have to mean that everything is meaningless. But you do have to accept the difference, and accept that this difference requires a certain re-balance in the grand sceme of things.

Living with illness does not mean letting go of ambition. It simply means re-defining those ambitions in a way that sustains your life properly, instead of completely breaking it apart.

So, if you are in said situation; ask yourself:
– What is possible for me (now), and how may I realistically improve those possibilities?
– What kind of life can I build that I can actually sustain? (and how can I do this?)
– What values/ morals/ goals matters enough for me to keep, even if everything else shifts and changes?

Remember; ambition does not dissapear and die through a variety of life experiences, they simply change shape.
And sometimes, with the right support, they become more realistic, and easier to reach then they ever were before.

In my own experience, especially through this admittance, with the help of professionals able to see things from a perspective very different from my own – my ambitions have only risen higher , yet seem easier to accomplish then they ever were before.

Gratitude, without illusion

There is one thing that needs to be mentioned, however;
the healtcare system (even here in Norway) is not perfect. Not even close.
In many cases there are gaps, delays, limitations and frustrations. And these things can most often only be felt when you are the one inside it.

And yet – I am still massively grateful.
Because, as someone who spent a large portion of my late teens – earliest adulthood moving position througout the world, I am fully aware that what I have access to is something many people do not. Many people navigate illness fully on their own, with varying resources, high uncertainty – and with far less support.

And gratitude does not mean ignoring what is broken in my own current system; it means recognizing what does exist, while also hoping for (and voting for!) – better.

What living with illness really means

Living with illness is not a single realisation. It is something you learn to deal with again, and again – over time.
Wheter this means learning to adjust your life to new situations, while still holding on to who you are, or learning to accept help when help appears. It might also mean resting more, without loosing all hope of future betterment, and rebuilding without feeling like you are starting from nothing.

This is not an easy pact. It does not happen overnight. And more than anything, it is not something someone else can fully teach you.

But it is possible!
And over time, piece by piece, it becomes a life (yours!) again.

– Silje 🙂

Paused, Not Broken

«On re-entering the hospital, and the kind of progress no one sees»

For myself, and for many people I know – there’s a particular kind of silence that arrives when you realize you’re going back to the hospital.
It’s not particularly ‘good’ or particularly ‘bad’ – it’s just there; like a quiet recalibration.

In able-bodied culture, hospital admissions are most often framed as setbacks. Or as proof that something went wrong; evidence that you failed to manage your life correctly. For those of us with physical/ chronic disabilities, however – this is not the case.
Sure, it might be that way for some of us, people are different after all – but I’d go as far as to say that for the vast majority of disabled people, hospital admissions is almost like a form of necessary maintenance strategy…
And later this month, this type of maintenence is coming back to me.

Now, I’ve already been admitted to the hospital many times in my life, and probably will be again, several more – but it always makes me feel hopefull yet anxious in the days and weeks ahead. Hopeful, that my doctors might finally find a way to make my epilepsy less apparent in my daily life, and anxious about collapsing my entire life again, without knowing how long. If this sounds too excessive – the last time I was admitted to a hospital, I ended up being there for almost 3 years!

This time I am being admitted to a specialist hospital that I’ve never been to before, and will probably be staying for several weeks, at the least.
Of couse, while this in itself is not the end of anything I’ve already built in my life, it does require a heavy pause from it.
And pauses, in a world seemingly obsessed with gaining momentum, is deeply misunderstood.

Progress is not linear when your body isn’t either
Disabled progress does not look like a straight upward line. Instead it loops, stalls, contracts or expands – moving in spirals rather than ladders.
And because of that; sometimes, the most responsible thing you can do is to step out of daily life and hand parts of your survival back to professionals – as maintenance without them becomes unsustainable.

Hospitals are often framed as places of last resort. And in many ways they are. Not because diabled people wait too long to mainenance, but because support is rarely offered before a crisis. So, while going back to a specialist ward can be proof that I’m still here, going for it – I won’t lie and say I’m not scared. Scared that I’ll get as ‘drugged up’ by wrong meds as I got the last time, scared that I’ll gain a bunch of weight without my usual training group, or scared that I won’t be able to come back to my daily life once finished.

The invisible logistics of being «paused»
While I am very happy I was able to be admittet this early on in the year, I’d be lying if I said it was all good, always. Because it’s not. What people rarely see, is that hospital admmissions don’t begin on admission day itself.
Instead, they often begin weeks earlier, with things to organize, meetings to move, appointments that must be cancelled or postponed.
Fort some people, finances must be adjusted; – and the packing! The packing for all the things you might need and want, all the while fearing that the routines you’ve worked hard to build will just fall flat; and make you build them again.

Being treated is not the same as being absent
One of the hardest things about re-entering the hospital, is how quickly disabled people are erased from public life.
As if we’re dissapearing from timelines , and conversations about the future, just because the systems around you don’t know what to do about people who need ongoing care – while also having ongoing ambitions.
But being absent from public productivity, is (luckily enough!) not the same as being absent from meaning.

So while I might be paused in one sense; as an example, I don’t know whether I’ll have enough time to write in my blog. However, other things will still continue in the background; ideas fermenting, recilience recalibrating, boundaries changing – hopefully turning me intoo something even stronger than before.

What I want ot say before I go
This is not me starting over – I’m just continuing down a different path, tending to the conditions that makes continuation possible.

If you yourself is someone preoparing for an(other) admission, a round of treatment, a pause you didn’t ask for – or anything of the sort, remember – we’ve all done it before, we can do it again!

– Silje

When Resiliance Becomes a Weapon:

(On survival, sanctuary, and the quiet rebellion of disabled joy).

Since I was a small child, one slightly strange thing I have noticed, is how disabled people (in general) are praised for our resilience – far, far more than we are supported in life.

We are told that we are strong.
We are called Inspiring.
Now, neither of these thing are wrong! But I find it odd that we are applauded for enduring systems that were never built for us – and then quietly abandoned by those same systems once the applause fades.

Resilience, in its original sense, is not violent. It is a human capacity to bend without breaking. To adapt, and to survive changes.
So whenever such applause reaches me – my first though has never been to feel proud of myself ( I am Norwegian after all!) – Instead, I see it as an admittance from those healthy and wealthy, that they would (according to their behaviour) never be able to adapt to anything out of the ordinary.

And this is a problem. Because, when resilience is demanded by institutions, and appointed to (not by) certain individuals, it becomes something else entirely; it becomes a tool of deflection. A way for these systems and institutions to say: «We don’t have to change our ways – just look how well you’re coping!». Instead of questioning why some people have to cope at all.

This in itself would not have been such an irritation, if it weren’t for the fact that WHEN disabled people actually ask for accomodations, we are often met by admiration instead of action.
When we ask for rest, we are reminded of how much we have already endured. When we ask for safety, we are told – implicitly or explicitly – that we don’t need it, we’ve after all managed so far.

As if we’re part of some form of ‘endurance theater’.

So, many disabled people retreat inward instead.
Being at home becomes not only a preference, but a necessity. And it’s not because we are antisocial – or afraid of life. Not at all! It’s because public life often remains relentlessly hostile to disabled bodies and minds.

The amount of people I’ve seen online and in public who seems jelaous of me, for being unable to work – while having (litterally) no understanding of what that means in terms of daily energy, amount of needed sleep and actual ability, is insane!
These people are talking about the supposed ability to take monthly vacations, and I’m like –I need up to 17 hours of sleep. What vacation are you talking about?

At home however, those of us with disabilities can sit down and rest withouth giving an explanation.
We can lie down when needed to without justifying it for anyone, and structure our days around our daily energy, our nervous system, our fatigue – or our daily pain.

And yet, I’ve found that even this sanctuary is often framed as a failure, through comments like;

«You should get out more».
«You’ll feel better if you try».
«You can’t hide forever».

What many of these comments miss, is that for many of us, home is where we are finally allowed to exist.

This is where joy enters the conversation – awkwardly, defiantly, and often unwelcome.
Because, while many abled people are unaware of their own behaviour against us, disabled joy is very often treated with suspicion. It’s almost as, if we’re not visibly struggling in life, our needs are questioned. If we are happy, our daily suffering is minimized. If we laugh, rest, create, love or obsess over a show, a book or a small ritual – it is seen as evidence that things «arent that bad!«.

But joy does not cancel our needs.
And resting is not the same as recovering.
For many disabled people, joy is not a reward for surviving – it’s the reason survival is possible at all!

To find pleasure in a hostile world is not naïveté.
It’s a form of resistance.

Now, to get back at the task at hand, all these things combined, what makes the misuse of resilience so painful is not just what it asks of us – but what it allows others to avoid.

If disabled individuals are resilient by default, workplaces don’t have to change.
If we are strong, then policies don’t need to bend to current realities.
If we endure hostility quietly, then no one has to sit with the discomfort of systemic failure.

And so, resilience becomes a conventional narrative – one thing that celebrates individual survival while leaving collective responsibility untouched.

Now, I’m going to state this very bluntly, because euphemism have protected cruelty for far too long. So, excuse my reductio ad absurdum – but, think about it:
If abled-bodied individuals are so jelaous and angry of those of us born with disabilities and thus are paid a tiny amount to afford medications, food and housing cost; there’s only 4 logical ways to end that.
1.) Abortion due to disability should be legal up until late term
2.) (Litteral) killing of born, disabled babies should be legal.
3.) Workplaces should accommodate for all kinds of disease and disabilities, and pay should be enough to survive off.
OR,
4.) If you’re born disabled, you should remain payless and homeless untill you roll over and die (see 1 and 2).

If the first, second and fourth option feels abhorrent – as they should, then only one of them remains. And if that cost feels unfair to the able-bodied, then the truth is simpler than they’d like: endurance has always been a part of the social contract. They’ve just never had to carry it before.

Because, the current narrative is paid and carried in exhaustion, isolation and shortened lives.

I do not think disabled people should need to be more resilient.
Instead, the world at large needs systems that do not require constant resilience just to exist within them.

We need homes that are sanctuaries and societies that are livable. Where there is room for joy that does not invalidate pain.
And we need to stop mistaking survival for success.

Because resilience, when demanded instead of supported, is no longer a virtue.

It’s a warning sign.
That untill everyone is safe – no one is.

– Silje

Quiet Bodies , Loud Hearts

Some gifts arrive wrapped in glitter. Others arrive quietly, and you only realise what they are when your tight chest loosens.
This Christmas, for me – that gift was the show’Heated Rivalry‘; truly a gift that just kept on giving!

Having read the book carefully crafted by Rachel Reid some years ago – like the hopeless romantic I am, I did not expect to like this adaptation. Like every other christmas-time, I just needed something to watch in order to get over how tired I was, the way many disabled bodies get tired towards the end of the year.
However, I can happily say I was completely mistaken in all of my assumptions.

Briefly explained; Heated Rivalry is a TV-show made by the Canadian streeming-service Crave, by writer and director Jacob Tierny, based on the previously mentioned book by Rachel Reid. The story follows the hidden romance between two arch-rivaling Hockey players; Shane Hollander (Hudson Williams) and Ilya Rozanov (Connor Storrie), through a decade- long affair.

When craft exceeds budget
In general, Heated Rivalry should not work as well as it does; it had a modest budget, resisted spectacle in favour of carefully adapting a well-written book, and seemed – despite several highly sexual scenes, both restrained and emotionally intelligent when needed.
And watching these characters that I already loved and could, in ways recognize myself in, practically come alive on screen, felt like recognition mixed with representation.
And in a matter of weeks, the show went completely viral – not just among queer audiences, but among straight women, hockey fans, and people who usually don’t watch romance at all.
This does not happen by accident. And is a clear example of a very good script, mixed with awesome acting, and superb editing style.

In some ways, the virality of Heated Rivalry reminds me of the 3rd season of ‘Skam‘ when it came out, almost 10 years ago. Much in the same way, it had a very modest production – yet had people all over the world going completely nuts!
The clear commonality between the two shows is the fearlessness in them. Yes, shows that feature romances between two boys/ men tend to have many viewers also outside the queer community. But, beyond that – it’s the fearless realism mixed with hopeful fantasy that gets people hooked.

From what I have seen, the only backlash Heated Rivalry have gotten, is its lack of hefty homophobia (thus far). But from where I stand, that is part of the beauty of it. Because, within the concept of «art illustrating life illustating art» – a better reality for queer people has to start somewhere, might as well be through fantasy.

Within the art of Heated rivalry, the camera lingers instead of rushing around. The script allows for all kinds of emotions – and desire and yearning is shown as a form of gravity pulling two people towards each other, long before either of them has the language to describe why.

It is truly, withouth exaggeration, one of the best screen adaptations I have ever watched. Not because it amplifies the book – but because it listens to it.

Bisexuality that doesn’t explain itself
One of the main characters in the story is a russian bisexual man. And crucially, it doesn’t ask him to teach us what that means to him.
Sure, there are bits and pieces along the way that gives viewers a sense of his sexuality; Ilya likes girls, but he also likes Shane. Ilya is not completely gay – etc etc. But what I thought was very nicely done, is how the show does not give the character an urgency to clarify, it just comes across bit by bit.

As a bisexual person myself – and even more so, a bisexual person raised within Northern European/ Eastern European cultures; things stoicism, emotional economy, and the belief that you endure rather than confess, often follows you through life.
As such, this kind of representation matters deeply, because it reflects how painfully private bisexuality often looks, especially in men.

In Reid’s writing, desire is often described as something that has been there all along, waiting, and the show perserves that truth beautifully.
Or to put it differently; the attraction between the characters is instant, but the meaning of it takes years to confess.

Nine of them to be exact…

Neurodivergence, routine and bodies with rules
The other half of the story resonated with me just as strongly, though in a different register. While it does not become canon in the first book (nor does it in the show), but one of the protagonists still reads as neurodivergent.
Not through official diagnosis, but through behaviour;
The need for routine,
the distress at disorder,
and the way control becomes a safety mechanism.

As someone born with epilepsy, I recognized this immediately.
My own body too, has clear rules that I follow, in an attempt to keep my brain happy and healthy.
My days are shaped by thresholds I don’t get to negotiate with, whether I would want to or not.
I know very well that my energy is finite, and that overstimulation has clear, at times dangerous consequences.
And let’s be real – chaos is not romantic if it costs you days of recovery.

What Heated Rivalry does very well is that it doesn’t frame this as a weakness within the character, it’s a structure. Shane is still one of the best hockey-players in the world, and his structural mechanisms is his way of surviving high-pressure environments, while his nervous system runs differently than his teammates.

That kind of portrayal is rare to find. And for disabled viewers it lands quietly, but sets deep positive trails.

Desire that grows instead of explodes
Heated Rivalry s is not a story about forbidden love in a dramatic sense. It’s a story about inevitability;
Two people meet too early,
they keep choosing the wrong moment,
building a habit around secrecy – that eventually becomes unbearable.

In the book, Reid often returns to the idea that what Ilya and Shane have is «only supposed to be physical» – until it very clearly isn’t, and their love for eachother is practically slapping them in the face. And the shows does a wonderful job of keeping this tension intact.
What begins as lust becomes attachment to eachother, then something heavier that finally demands a reckoning.

And in a way, I find that there is something profoundly hopeful in this for disabled and queer people alike:
That being a little slow at it, does not mean an absence from it (read that whichever way you want).
That some truths need a little time to become safe enough to surface.

Why this mattered to me, now
For me, I think this show came at exactly the right time.
Not because my life is easy – but because I’ve learned to recognize (and appreciate) joyful , potentially tranformative things when they appear.

Heated Rivalry reminded me that representation and love doesn’t have to scream and shout to be real. That bodies and minds with constraints still get to want -and be wanted, to choose and belong.

And I am incredibly grateful for it!

– Silje