The joy of discovering slow play as my new normal

This International Day of People with Disabilities, The D*List is embracing play, and what that means to us as disabled people. We called for community submissions and how people incorporate play in their lives. In this submission, Kitty Wasasala describes feeling the most playful when they're without an imposed deadline.

One of my best and worst traits is my deep commitment to my own joy and play. I have always believed that, despite the horrors, I should be having as much fun as humanly possible, at every moment of my life. This was all good and well before my Long Covid took over. There’s a lot I can’t do now that I used to be able to – run around for ages with my toddler friends, dance for more than a minute at a gig, go on a hike, hold a note while singing. These activities were put on notice after my first Covid-19 infection.

My relationship to play – the way I found value and joy in my life – was challenged. I had to move and create slowly; sometimes painfully so. In some cases, I had to find entirely new ways to play at whatever pace I could sustainably maintain. In those early pandemic years, I knew that if I were to contract Covid, it would likely punish my already-weakened immune system; I was, unfortunately, correct. The virus decimated my hard-won relationship with my body and forced me to reckon with an uncomfortable and inevitable truth: Either you die young or you become disabled at some point in your life. I knew this. I understood this. But, selfishly, I wondered, what is left of this life of mine if I lose the things that nourish me?                 

After the dust settles and your new becomes normal, you learn a lot is left, actually. Yes, shockingly for some, there is still joy to be found as a disabled person! Early pandemic messaging told us that disabled lives were simply not as worthy as the lives of our able-bodied counterparts; that our untimely deaths were inevitable, that we weren’t worthy of protection. And so my undying commitment to my joy is, in part, opposition against this narrative. I demand joy from this life! I demand to play and dream and create and rest and live, at whatever pace I want!

Capitalism thrives on pace. We’re expected to make rash and impulsive decisions; to buy something that’s only on sale right now; to work for the weekend. You have to ‘earn’ your own free time, you must work until you can’t, and then you lose your value. I was a hospitality workaholic – an industry that wrung me dry, took over my life and subsequently burnt me out. When I was finally able to leave hospo, after almost 15 years, I was astounded by the amount of time I had lost – working nights will do that. Days become weeks become months, and suddenly, you’ve missed entire summers. Working in a corporate environment was a complete reset. Suddenly, my breaks weren’t monitored, my facial masking wasn’t mocked and I never had to work overtime. Most importantly, I was able to slow down and work at a sustainable pace, something I’d never been able to do before, and something that I didn’t know my body desperately needed. I began to incorporate this into other areas of my life.

I feel most playful when I’m without an imposed deadline. My autism means I’m pretty timeblind anyway, often lacking the ability to know how much time has passed when performing a task. But isn’t that a good thing? Perhaps not if you’re writing an article while waiting for your cookies to bake. Regardless, intentional, slow play is how we disconnect from the ableist systems that rely on us being joyless, malleable robots. There is resistance to be found in slowing down, in being kind to yourself, in being committed to your own joy. I don’t force myself to be creative any more; instead, I replicate environments that have helped me to create before, and then I just let myself be. The poem could take me six minutes or six months! All that matters to me is that the process is authentic and enjoyable.

Becoming disabled has actually only made me more creative. I’ve had to learn how to listen to my body and how to work with rather than against my brain, whether that be through gamifying chores, parallel play or using visual aids for scheduling. If my love for play means I lose my value to capitalism, then hooray and so be it. In the meantime, I’m learning to make peace with the fact that there are activities I can’t participate in for a while, or maybe even forever. That’s cool – I can look after the bags while you guys swim! I’m just happy to be here.

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