Be careful what you identify with

Before I dive in, I want to send out one more gentle reminder to backers of The Fertile Void Kickstarter who have not yet filled out their shipping addresses - please do so! As of this moment there are still 35 people who have not yet filled it out. There have been 4 reminder emails, two instagram posts, individual reminder messages and now this substack article over the last two weeks letting you know that the deadline is this upcoming Monday, June 29th. Please don’t say I didn’t warn you!

If you don’t fill it out by Monday, June 29th you will of course still receive your deck, but it will not be included in the first batch sent out direct from manufacturer as we cannot hold up other people’s orders. It will be sent out via our publisher in the very late summer or early fall.

Thank you for understanding! You can access the backer survey via ANY Kickstarter project update email.

Dear Fae and Feral,

Lately I have been thinking about labels: how and what we identify with. I’ve been having really thoughtful conversations with disabled friends who are themselves wondering where they wish to place themselves, if anywhere, on this spectrum.

For years now I have been writing about disability - in the realms of neurodivergence and chronic illness and their deeply interwoven nature. Time and again I’ve discussed how disability is a verb, not necessarily a feature of one’s identity. The reason for this is simple: the society we live in was not built to favour or even accommodate those who do not fit within the narrow ideology of ableism, and so therefore we are disabled by it. It is happening to us by an eternal source. Without capitalism and ableism acting upon us, we would not be disabled. The entire need for the label would not exist. The same goes for other labels that describe many physical and/or mental challenges. Since our notion of normal is so narrow, whatever inevitably spills outside of this is pathologized.

Of course, all of mental and physical challenges are a spectrum. Some may wish to label themselves and identify with the challenges due to how inundated they feel by them, or perhaps the label itself helps to heal or cure, depending on what it is. I do not intend to shame anyone who adopts a label (or several) - each to their own. I mean, I have! I get why, and I’ll go into that momentarily.

However, this pathology has its own momentum within our systems. If we’re not careful, our identities may be swallowed up by the labels we’ve been ascribed.

Disabled writers here on Substack and other platforms have my heart - they truly do. I see myself reflected in their words and it has helped me feel more seen. I recently was criticized for sharing health information to a wider audience - but what I think many people who aren’t chronically ill or neurodivergent fail to see is that the internet can be a safe haven (and a saviour) for those of us who have been disabled by society. Pouring ourselves into The Void and having someone say, “Hey, me too! I’m here!” can feel extremely life-affirming, especially when you don’t see your own life experience reflected in your day-to-day (real) life.

But I’ve seen this affirmation turn into chronic lamentation. Once a person receives validation for their suffering, especially if they build a platform upon it, it becomes a vital part of their identity that they relive over and over. To be disabled by society is a type of trauma.

In this realm, years ago I read Jennette McCurdy’s memoir, “I’m Glad My Mom Died” - mostly due to it’s grabbing title. I mean, wow. Way to just, uh, say it. It was a well-written memoir - quite upsetting to read how Jennette’s mother treated her over the course of her life. And I’m sure there was some catharsis to getting it all down on paper, publishing it to receive reflections from a wider audience. But to be platformed for such a thing and then to tell her horror stories time and time again to whatever interviewer would listen - to me, it migrates from catharsis into something the ego must cling to. It transforms from healing to self-pathology. It becomes a prison for the psyche and therefore the body. It becomes what the nervous system knows.

It’s a tricky thing - a fine line.

Labels are wonderful things insomuch as they help someone illuminate something that has otherwise remained nebulous. Labels give form and shape to something, which is especially beneficial when it is a struggle. From my recent piece, It’s not phantasmagoria, it’s Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome:

“Something that has been with you your entire life but remained shrouded in the nebulousness of ouch, crick, crack, bruise, gasp, wobble, cramp, fog, buzz, hunch, haunch, bend, break, rip, tear, wail, bleed, undulate, wither, seize, ripple, no, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t — under capitalism, under ableism, under masking, under the umbrella of ‘function’ — this becomes surprisingly easy to dismiss as phantasmagoria. A string of wicked imaginings that create a garland of so-called ‘disease.’ Receiving a diagnosis takes the illness from the mind’s eye to the canvas, and the vision comes alive. Other people can see it now, too. It has a specific set of shapes and colour palette. The picture is rendered.

This is life saving.”

I still, and will always, believe this. But I say ‘insomuch’ because there is a line where, after you cross it, the label is no longer healthy. We must be careful not to discuss our ill-fated relationship with this rather brutalist society mired in such over-wrought lamentation that we are quite literally speaking our continued suffering into existence.

There is a huge difference between:

1. recognizing that this society (in many ways) likely caused the disability in the first place, and

2. resenting it so much that we relegate ourselves to a tangle of labels which pre-determine our ability to thrive.

We must understand that a snowball of labels accrues nothing but its own suffering as it rolls down the mountainside. We must understand that the society we live in does not care that we are using these labels to try and fight for our own sovereignty to be seen. It is not going to see us, understand us, help us. This is capitalism, for goodness sake. Capitalism is terrified of its own obsolescence, which is why it views disability as a threat. It will always be this way. It is happy to watch you label yourself because it is sitting there on its throne of washed up sea garbage with a smug smile, thinking that it can now simply focus on the ‘elite’ of society. You know, the most productive, able-bodied and beautiful among us.

The labels should only exist to help YOU feel better in your own skin, to provide YOURSELF accommodations, tenderness and patience. But in my humble opinion, that is where we ought to leave it. A label should identify a limitation, but not act as a barrier to all growth. A label should identify a need, not bar entry to all enjoyment. A label should accommodate, not be a reason to never try new things.

We must be so careful what stories we tell ourselves. Again - it is a fine line. Before I knew I am autistic I pushed far beyond my own limits every single fucking day and had no idea why I struggled, why I melted down, why I burnt out, why I felt so anxious. But then upon receiving my diagnosis, for a time I felt nothing but the oppressive limitations my neurotype pressing upon me. I was in danger of allowing that to eclipse everything, to the same extreme that I was pushing beyond my limits before. This is partially why I have chosen to write less on neurodivergence - as I am someone with a platform, and there is such a negative bent upon this topic. It is so often about how we struggle - not how we can thrive. And while of course I never wish to bypass the suffering that is squarely placed upon is by the capitalism/ableism nexus, there is much more to life. I don’t always want to be focusing on what I can’t do, or what society has taken from me. That’s not a life.

If we become vending machines dispensing reflections of suffering, how can we ever break out of that?

Maybe it’s Uranus in Gemini transiting my 1st house talking (it is) but damn, do I ever want to break out of that. It won’t abolish my own limitations or my own suffering entirely, but I’ll be gently testing the fence like the wily velociraptor that I am.

Until next time,

Love and wolves.

D xx

P.S. The Kickstarter is indeed over, but you can preorder The Fertile Void Tarot and Illuminated Magazine via my shop. We’ll be shipping those out in the fall!