For the love of Blog if there's one thing that really gets this girl a wee bit frustrated it's the overuse of hashtags!
Look, I kind of get it. You use hashtags as a means of categorising a post, a photo and an idea so that when other people are looking for similar posts, photos and ideas they can search using the hashtag they're interested in and, bingo! There you go! A whole pile of relevant (and often irrelevant) stuff to trawl through. It's quick, it's easy and sometimes easier than Googling.
But lately I've been seeing a lot of hashtags in relation to the word dwarf and it's making me do a #headdesk and #facepalm at the very sight of it.
For the purposes of not being trawled by hashtag users I'm going to write a general list here (some made up, some not) without the hashtag symbol so you'll see the object of my ire.
Hashtag:
Dwarfproblems
Dwarfkickingass
Healthydwarf
Fitdwarf
Prouddwarf
Dwarfconqueringtheks
Dwarfstrength
Sexydwarf
Grumpydwarf
Sleepydwarf
Dwarfonamission
Seriousdwarf
Gaydwarf
Dwarfparty
Dwarfhittingthetown
Thisdwarfiskickinggoals
Get the picture?
I totally understand, accept and applaud everyone who embraces their short stature. I do. I too am in a place where I love being in my own skin and I celebrate this body I'm in and love all the experiences it's given me. I have met the most incredible people and done some amazing things that I may not have done if I missed out on the random mutation that resulted in achondroplasia.
But...
It's not my identifier. It's the genetic anomaly that makes up my physical stature. It's part of who I am physically but achondroplasia/short stature/dwarfism is not me. It doesn't come into play with everything I do. If I'm eating a healthy meal or running ten kilometres or doing my grocery shopping or paying my taxes there's not a hashtag in front of it to identify that there's something unique about me doing it simply because I have achondroplasia. I'm simply getting out there and living.
Actually, I don't really give my dwarfism much of a thought most of the time - unless I am writing this blog or doing some public speaking or seeing a medical specialist. That's when I do a lot of thinking about it.
I'm not ashamed of it; not by any means. In fact, especially since taking the time to care for and appreciate this body I've had a newfound sense of pride in it's strength and the way it just keeps on keeping on even as Father Time marches across my face and makes these joints a little more stiff as the years go by.
I am not ashamed to go out in public, despite society's curiosity and occasional rudeness. I speak openly to others about dwarfism, answering questions and explaining issues involved. I enter into discussions surrounding disability, inclusion and diversity.
But I don't constantly refer to myself as a dwarf and I am baffled and curious regarding those like me who do. It's not that I disagree with it...I'm just sincerely curious about the reasons why they do. I'm told that they're proud to have dwarfism. Maybe I can relate to that in the way I am proud to be an independent woman, a mother and a runner.
But I don't have the same pride in being a dwarf because I don't see it as something that defines me - in the same way that my hazel eyes and brownish-greyish hair don't define me as a person. My height isn't me. My dwarfism isn't me.
It's just part of what I look like.
