July rolls around, and everyone is talking about freedom and independence. Reminds me of my own conception of freedom—which really has nothing to do with fireworks or parades. It's more subdued for me. It's being able to go out to eat at normal dinner time without spending the whole night in the bathroom.
Chronic illness is odd like that. It takes these normal things—dinner, for Pete's sake—and turns them into these gigantic hurdles. My anniversary is coming up and I have to put so much thought into which meal we should eat out and which restaurant food I want to risk. And that's when it hit me: freedom is not always made up of giant moments. Other times, it's about picking a restaurant without worrying about the consequences.
I remember the exact time that I knew that things had to change. When I was hospitalized I was freezing, and that is when BeWell was born. I obviously would want a comfortable fabric with IV access.
That's the issue with normal clothes when you're dealing with health issues—they're designed for bodies that work perfectly all the time. Constrictive waistbands that press against tender areas. Sleeves that require you to actually dislocate your shoulder just to fit in. Scratchy tags that feel like sandpaper when your skin is ultra-sensitive.
You start thinking you're broken. But this is what I've learned: the clothes are broken, not us. (ok maybe we are broken too)
My initial IV Zip Hoodie was a lifesaver. Full arm access for hospitals and blood work, brilliance. I no longer contort myself trying to keep up blankets or wear oversized clothes. The fabric felt nice but not sticky, and the seams flattened against me rather than puckering.
Sounds simple, right? But when you've spent many medical moments struggling with your clothes, simple sounds revolutionary.
These aren't medical devices or hospital gowns. They're real clothing that just happens to be aware that bodies are messy. Front zippers for people who can't lift their arms above their heads. Elastic waistbands that that have stretch. Pants that function when you need leg access.
It's clothing that understands.
This is what bothers me about how adaptive clothing has been talked about—they're doing it like it's this specialized thing for this small minority of individuals. Wrong.
My 67-year-old mom loves IV hoodies and only gets blood work.
We're not some tiny minority. We're your family member, your workmate, your pal. We're people who have to get dressed without it being a circus.
I detest that word sometimes—dignity. It sounds so proper and distant. But there is something about being able to get dressed that just. means something. It means something in a way that it's hard to explain to people who've never had it taken away from you.
When I am able to dress myself independently, without pain, without assistance, without theatrics—I am myself again. Not a patient, or a burden, or someone who must be managed. Just me, deciding what to wear, moving on with my day.
That is everything.
Some with ports worry about showing their breasts. Some with leg injections worry about showing their bums. Now we can have some dignity.
I made BeWell after another frustrating cold hospital stay. We have an entirely different approach there—actually take into account how people with health challenges exist and move and live in the world.
All of the garments we make have this thoughtfulness to them. Like, someone just sat down and actually considered what it would be like to get dressed when you've got limited mobility, or chronic pain, or sensory issues. The result is clothing that doesn't necessarily look fantastic, but it does work.
And here's where we go completely crazy: we don't ask you to have to give up function or style. You can have both. You should have both.
This July 4th, while everyone else is thinking about political freedom and national independence, I'm thinking about personal freedom. The freedom to choose my own clothes. The freedom to get dressed without needing a recovery period. The freedom to feel comfortable in my own skin and my own clothes.
For me and those of us who exist with health challenges, adaptive clothes isn't about making life easier by a little bit. It's about making life possible on our own terms. It's about not having to beg for accommodations with something as mundane as getting dressed. It's about having options instead of limitations.
That's my definition of independence. And honestly? It's pretty revolutionary.
It's not the fancy, industrial-appearing hardware, but all the fancy little design compromises that make it easier to dress—magnetic fasteners rather than buttons, elastic and airy at other places, flat seams that won't irritate. Basically, clothes designed by people who understand that bodies are complex.
Not at all. Anyone who desires more comfortable, easier apparel can utilize it. I know a number of individuals who utilize adaptive apparel after surgery, in pregnancy, or simply because they find that they prefer the comfort of them.
This question always makes me laugh—of course you can! Good adaptive clothing doesn't look "medical" or institutional. It just looks like regular clothing that happens to be a heck of a lot more comfortable and simpler to get on.
When getting dressed isn't a hassle, you have energy left over for other things. You don't need help. You can dress your clothes for the way you want to look, not the way you can actually wear. It's bigger than it sounds.
BeWell. Clothing that is compatible with our medical needs instead of against them without losing either style or dignity.
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