Perhaps the answer to my dating woes is to simply tell people who I am

Navigating the world of online dating presents a recurring dilemma for the author: whether and how to disclose her disability. She often opts for omission, presenting a curated version of herself that focuses on shared interests and goals, a performance designed to signal normalcy and avoid being "put in a box."

At other times, a sense of acceptance and exhaustion prompts disclosure. This comes with the unspoken plea, "please still like me," and the anxiety of whether she has presented her disability in an "able-bodied-friendly" way. The internal alarm bells ring, questioning why she feels the need to self-edit to be palatable.

This internal conflict turns dating into a chore. While she acknowledges her disability is part of her identity, it is not the entirety. Within minutes of swiping, she encounters profiles of others with disabilities, recognizing a shared experience in their word choices. Yet, even with matches, the performance continues, presenting positives while downplaying her disability as minor, as if her essence isn't enough.

Disclosure during the chat phase often results in unmatches, dead conversations, or invasive questions about her sexual activity. While many potential matches seem to accept her disability initially, the performance persists upon meeting in person. She finds herself trying to prove she is "normal" rather than stating, "this is who I am and this is where I am at."

The author is so focused on making potential partners comfortable that she neglects more crucial questions, like whether she actually likes them. Her sister's blunt observation, that she doesn't seem to like a date if she can't describe him with more enthusiasm, forces a stark realization: she has set herself up for failure by prioritizing external validation over genuine connection.