Burden: How A Trip To The Beach Changed My Relationship With My Body
- Themi Alexandra
- 3 days ago
- 6 min read
Athens has taught me a lot about myself, my body, and my disability. It also challenged each from day one. Eventually things eased and I found my body confidence growing while my reliance on my cane diminished. Some things truly do just need time to work themselves out or in the case of me and my body, time to acclimate.
Which is why it was all the more disorienting when I found myself using my cane again in Vouliagmeni. This trip is about Athens, period. I’ve been to the islands and they’re just as incredible as they look. I wasn’t looking for a proper island vacation. I wanted the lived experience of being in a city long enough to feel like a local. Yet I couldn’t come this far to a peninsula and not get in water…for this water loving woman, that would be criminal.
Vouliagmeni was the perfect solution to my aquatic desire. A seaside suburb less than 15 miles south of Athens, it’s also referred to as the Athenian Riviera for its ace location on the Aegean sea. It kept me on the mainland, put me near water, and brought me somewhere new in Greece, I couldn’t resist.
Two days to get my fill of the sea and my favorite reading nook, a beach lounger. I came to Vouliagmeni ready to relax. After a month in Athens, I was looking for a little isigia (peace and quiet) and a break for my body from all the walking and navigating uneven terrain.
I got quiet. My body didn’t get a break. When I thought about going to the beach, I didn’t imagine stairs. The beach had a small set of six stairs without a railing. I find going up stairs without a railing is more manageable because of momentum and if you fall it’s likely forward. I find going down without a railing scarier and the risk of falling higher even if it's only a handful of stairs like at the beach. I took them slowly without thinking about going back to the room for my cane.
When I returned later that afternoon I brought my cane. My cane became a beach accessory like sunglasses or sunscreen. That made me sad. The cane made me feel self conscious and embarrassed. And I was ashamed and embarrassed for having these feelings. The feelings felt like a blow back in my acceptance journey. I was feeling so empowered and proud to use my cane in Athens because it gave me confidence in my body and ability. I was grateful for the cane on the city streets. At the beach I felt embarrassed and out of place.
Maybe it’s because it was my first time using it in that setting and the first time you do anything different or hard it’s uncomfortable. Like the first time I brought my cane to work I was self conscious and by the end of that first day I was less so. Maybe I just needed time to adjust. Or maybe it’s conditioning. The beach has a sexy image. A place for sun, sand, and skimpy clothes. A mobility aid wasn’t meshing with my previous programming on beach attire or accessories.
My perception was clashing with my reality. But the reality is I was grateful for its assistance. Not just for the stairs but for the terrain. Vouliagmeni is a rock beach. Not my first or my last, but it will be the last time I come unprepared. I wasn’t planning on this getaway so I didn’t have a proper beach shoe. I wore walking sandals that lacked the stability and traction I needed on the rocks. Enter my cane for a stable helping hand yet again.
I didn’t anticipate needing my cane for my beach weekend, but I brought it “just in case.” It’s like the emergency phone numbers you leave on the fridge, you don’t actually want to use them. I was disappointed that just that case came to be. It felt like a step back after all the progress I was making navigating the Athens streets aid free. I laid in the sun and let my mind laze about all the feelings my cane was stirring up. As my eyes got lost on the horizon I let my mind locate the source of my disappointment.
It’s not just about the cane or needing it at the beach. I’m tired of things being hard. I was expecting a break and I got a reminder that there is no break from being disabled. The hardest truth to swallow is that I’m having a difficult time recognizing things are different. My body is different. My needs are different. My fears are different. My wants are different.
I used to fear rejection from men because of my disability. My thinking was that my disability made me undesirable. I have laid that fear to rest. I am owning my disability like never before. A real turning point of ownership of both my disability and desirability was entering the Fab over 40 contest (see Cover Girl). I showed up in a national contest as a proud disabled woman owning every bit of her femininity and ability.
I have never been more confident of who I am and how I am. Now that I stand proud in my identity I have a new fear: no one will want to take me and my disability on. If I have proven capable of anything, it is that I can support myself. I am not looking for someone to take care of me. I am looking to share the load with someone. As the goddess Alanis put it in All I Really Want, “what I wouldn’t give to find a kindred.” To find a kindred who can help me and support me would be a real comfort. The comfort of knowing I don’t have to do it all on my own.
It’s not a question of can I do it on my own? I take an enormous amount of pride in doing it on my own every day. This is not a question of ability. This is a desire for more. More support. More help. Not because I need it but because I want it.
Like the song this post takes its name from, Foy Vance’s “Burden,” it's about wanting someone’s help to carry your burden (whatever yours may be). Vance writes about helping a friend “when the weight’s too heavy but you won’t let go.” He offers to carry his brother’s burden in a song of help and hope. He gives the perspective of someone on the outside who can see what the person stuck inside can’t. I would welcome that outsider perspective because sometimes I’m too close to it to see past it.
I debated about sharing these thoughts. Not because of their vulnerability but because they felt like admitting defeat. I am a proudly independent woman. Yet as one of my favorite meditations recently reminded me, “I can be independent and still need support. And it’s okay to be both. I allow myself to be both.”
I allow myself to be both by sharing these feelings. I also open the door to more conversation on disability and independence, disability and support, not to mention disability and romance. These are not mainstream topics. I want to normalize the conversation. Not just for myself, but for any disabled person out there who might feel alone. Who might feel like they’re the only person not partnered. I celebrate disability pride every day I show up in my body as it is. I commemorate this Disability Pride Month with a reminder that you can be proud of your disability and have complicated feelings about it. It is okay to feel both. You are not alone.
Disability Pride Month is about changing the way people think about disability. In order to do that we need to hear from more disabled voices. Another goal of this month is to “promote the belief that disability is a natural and beautiful part of human diversity” (Chronically Jenni). This also requires more representation, more voices, more stories. Mine is one of many.
*For more on Disability Pride Month See Chronically Jenni’s excellent post
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