Dan and I took pictures after church on Sunday, and they turned out beautifully.
It was a gorgeous Michigan fall day, with colorful leaves covering the ground. We both were proudly wearing our Reformation Day red, and we were happy to capture the moment together.
But something else made these pictures special to me.
I did not try to crop out my power wheelchair.
That might not seem like a big deal, but it got me thinking.
Multiple Sclerosis took away my ability to walk, but power wheelchairs have given me something incredibly important.
Independence.
A powerchair has been part of my life for more than 24 years. I’ve been through several since I lost my ability to walk, and I have intentionally named every one of them. My current chair is Wicked, my emerald green princess that was right there with us in those pictures Sunday.
These chairs are a vital part of how I live and access my life. They get me where I want to go, help me participate in activities I enjoy, and allow me to experience life alongside Dan.
That doesn’t mean I love everything about using one.
I was talking about my disdain for my chair’s seatbelt with a fellow powerchair user at my recent AnCan MS support group meeting.
My feelings may seem silly, but that seatbelt has often bothered me. Well, maybe not the seatbelt itself, but what it signifies.
I use mine. I rely on it. I understand why it is important. But sometimes, it feels demoralizing. I am a grown woman, for goodness’ sake, and I need a seatbelt?
At times, I feel restricted and tethered. It can feel like being strapped down or locked in, which directly clashes with the independence my powerchair provides. The seatbelt can feel like a barrier to my autonomy and a constant visual reminder of my disability and why I need the chair in the first place.
Ugh.
I can appreciate everything my powerchair gives me and still struggle with the reminders of what MS has taken away.
It’s so true that gratitude and frustration can coexist. Oh, the joys of being human.
But when Dan and I took those pictures, I didn’t feel the need to hide my chair. It didn’t diminish the beauty of the moment, our relationship, or the joy of a beautiful autumn afternoon.
When I look at those pictures, I don’t see a powerchair that should have been cropped out.
I see us.
Living with MS has taught me that independence doesn’t always look the way we imagined it would. Sometimes, it has wheels, a joystick, and yes, even a seatbelt.
For our photo, I let my powerchair stay right where it belongs: in the picture.
And I’m glad I did.
Sometimes, the most beautiful pictures are the ones where we stop trying to crop out the parts of our lives that make us who we are.