Growing up, I remember how easy it was to make new friends.
Seeing the same people at school every day made it almost impossible not to bond over the shared joys and embarrassments of being a kid.
As an adult, I met many of my closest friends through work.
My 20s were a whirlwind of kind, clever, hilarious mates who were always up for a Friday night debrief at the local bar. With a glass of cheap vino in hand, we'd bond over a week's worth of frustrations — from toxic bosses and mansplaining to long hours spent slaving at the office.
Then in my early 30s, I acquired an energy-limiting disability and my world shrunk.
It was difficult for me to go to restaurants or bars, or out in the evening at all. As time passed, my disease progressed and I lost the ability to leave my home. Then I couldn't make it out of bed.
Work stopped and life stopped and, for several months, all I could do was try to survive what was happening to me.
Learning to navigate life within four walls
When your bedroom becomes your whole world, it's almost impossible to meet new people.
It's isolating and deeply lonely, not least because when healthy friends visit, it feels like you're shouting at them from across a chasm similar in size to the Grand Canyon.
The day-to-day rhythms of their regular lives are a stark reminder of what you no longer have.
As I learnt to navigate life within four walls, my phone became my window to the world.
It still feels surreal that I met some of my closest friends by tapping on a rainbow-coloured icon on my phone. But people all around the world make enduring friendships through social media, and nowhere do I see this happening more so than in the disability community.
We are experts at finding creative ways of getting access to the things we need to survive — and nothing is more important to survival than human connection.
Life-affirming love notes
Last year, I became used to waking up each morning feeling like I had the worst flu imaginable.
After several months of this, it became hard to find the motivation to keep going.
But, as I continued building friendships made online, something magical happened. Each morning, when I slid my phone off airplane mode, a collection of life-affirming love notes from my disabled friends came streaming in.
Each happy little ping represented a friend, in a city miles away from me, who intimately understood my sick life.
My new friends taught me how to rest. And how to find peace and joy in an existence that, while smaller, still has plenty of meaning.
We spent the days sending each other funny memes about our malfunctioning bodies, co-watching the latest episodes of Succession and swooning over Pedro Pascal.
The lightness I feel in these crip-spaces comes from knowing I can be vulnerable without being misunderstood. It's safe.
And the days have become infinitely better over time because of these magnificent people.
It's likely the friends I made on the internet will only ever exist inside a screen for me, and that's okay.
We may never meet in person, but I know these people like my own heart. Because of them, I felt seen and heard at a time when I needed it most.
Building a beautiful network of friends without leaving my house
There's an attitude in our society that online-only relationships can't possibly be as meaningful as those forged in real life.
People believe being "chronically online" is a character deficit and are quick to dismiss the value these spaces hold.
When you've never been locked out of the physical world due to illness or inaccessibility, it's hard to grasp the life-changing role social media plays in enabling people who are grounded in place to find community.
Social media isn't perfect, but last year it was a lifeline for me. It allowed me to connect with people whose lives had been altered exactly the same way as mine.
In some ways, it's the great equaliser, enabling relationships that transcend real-life boundaries like geography, class and ability. Because of this, it's a place where disabled and chronically ill communities thrive.
Last year, I built a beautiful network of friends without ever leaving my house.
I'm so proud of these connections and I hope everyone who needs to find them — no matter their circumstances — can do the same.
Natalia Hodgins is a writer, speaker and activist whose work explores disability rights and health equity. You can find her on Instagram.
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