Columnist Samantha Renke shares her thoughts on dating as a disabled person
It’s ok to be Disabled and single – here’s why. At the start of my writing career, it seemed all anyone wanted from me was articles about dating. Back then, I’d eagerly oblige. Truth be told, my dating pool was shallow… think toddler’s paddling pool. Like many young Disabled people, I faced relentless ableism. At school and college, I wasn’t asked out; peer pressure saw to that. Dating apps were no better: a mix of ignorance, outright cruelty, and a hint of pity.
Then there were those who crossed a different line. Some were chasing a fetish. Others wanted to keep me hidden – I became the ‘dirty little secret’. That has gradually chipped away at my self-worth, and left me carrying a quiet but persistent belief: that I was unlovable.
VOYEURISTIC
At the same time, I was being asked to write about my sex life, to give dating advice, even to explain how I masturbate. It didn’t take long to realise I wasn’t being asked to educate; I was being asked to satisfy curiosity. It felt voyeuristic, not empowering.
Still, I wrote. I didn’t want to reinforce the narrative that I was unlucky in love, so I’d overcompensate. I exaggerated and tried to present a version of myself that felt more ‘acceptable’. Other times, I protested too much, insisting we can have sex and we make great partners. But, underneath it all, the message was the same: please love me.
Back then, so much of my self-worth was tied to being someone’s girlfriend. It felt like proof that I was ‘normal’; proof that Disability wasn’t the tragedy people assumed it to be. I didn’t want to be a stereotype. I didn’t want to be excluded from conversations about relationships, or met with that sympathetic head tilt when I said I was single.
LOVE THYSELF
But now, as I settle into my fourth decade, still single – and absolutely not ready to mingle – something has shifted. I’m calm. I’m content. I’m happy.
Like everything in my life, I’ve done this at my own pace. For years, I thought my happiness had to mirror that of my pre-Disabled peers: partner, relationship, shared home, conventional milestones. I spent so much time trying to fit that mould.
But the truth is, I’m not like most of my peers. And, for a long time, I never actually asked myself what I wanted.
And now, at 40, the answer is simple: I like my own company. I like my life as it is, with my cats, my space, my independence.
I want to understand myself more deeply, without comparison. Because the more you invest in yourself, the less power other people’s expectations have over you.
So yes, I’m single – and I’m choosing that, for now. Because here’s the part we don’t say enough: dating as a Disabled person can be tough. Really tough. It can be exhausting, dehumanising, and emotionally draining. And it’s ok to admit that.
Being Disabled and single is not a failure. It is not something to be pitied or fixed. Sometimes, it’s an act of self-preservation.