Dating Diaries: Navigating dating while queer and disabled

Happy International Pride Month for all who celebrate! What better way to enjoy the month than by talking about the trials and tribulations of dating while queer and disabled?

My understanding of queer identity in Aotearoa was that being queer means existing unapologetically, being loud, and, my favourite, being colourful. But as someone who can barely dress herself most days, the struggle to express myself and be my authentically queer self dwindles fast. It also makes presenting myself in the oh-so-scary realm of dating harder when most days I'm dressed more like Adam Sandler than Jem from Jem and the Holograms. I interviewed pals Lillith and Rae to weigh in on navigating dating while queer and disabled. Let's get into it.

What have been your best and worst experiences with direct questions about your disability on dating apps?

Lilith (she/her): I don't usually get questions about my disability on dating apps. I feel people see my profile, and even though I say I'm disabled, it doesn't affect my looks, so they don't ask much. It isn't until we meet, that some people have asked. Oftentimes the question is, "so what happened to your leg?" To which I usually just say I have a disability in my joints, but I do feel very annoyed when people push me to say more than that before I want to do so. I think they don't realise they are essentially asking for very private medical information.

How do you feel being queer and disabled has shaped your dating life, for better or worse?

Lilith: This is an interesting question... I had a partner who was also disabled, and that definitely brought us closer. However, now in retrospect, I think that my chronic fatigue made it more difficult for me to notice a lot of red flags, since I was very cognitively impaired at the time.... I also had a harder time expressing myself because I was not only struggling with forming words in general, but also, English isn't my first language.... my disability definitely made me more vulnerable, more than I could see.

We all have this idea when we’re younger of how dating would/should look, mine was sadly based on too much Angus, Thongs and Perfect Snogging, which oddly enough made the stakes seem less daunting. But sigh that was pre-app dating and before realising how inaccessible most venues can be, making planning dates an anxiety-filled fever dream at times.

How have you navigated dating within the mainstream queer community, and have you felt welcomed?

Lilith: It hasn't been great. Most venues are not disability friendly, and I often need to cancel last minute because of flares. I feel welcomed in theory, as in, people would be very nice, but rarely do I see seating specifically for people with disabilities, which is very disappointing. Producers do better!

Rae (they/them): I feel like my options are limited and I am reluctant to "put myself out there", and worry that I'm not equipped to be a good partner, or that my diminished capacity makes me unworthy.

For most people, disability disclosure is a deeply personal decision. There’s no “right” way to talk about it. Disclosure looks different for everyone, as disabilities can be visible, invisible, contextual, and/or situational. Relying heavily on dating apps or on the obligatory setup by one's mates, it’s hard to describe what you need and are looking for in a partner when you already feel out of depth and have no idea what to expect. Don’t even get me started on bios and prompts.

What are your top green flags in a partner regarding their approach to your disability or access needs?

Rae: Being willing to advocate for me when I need it, willingness to change certain habits or behaviours that might be triggering to me, and patience for my diminished capacity.

Some people choose to lead with their identity, either talking about their disability frankly on or before a first date, or noting themselves as disabled in their dating app bio. Some people might also include photos of themselves with an accessibility or mobility aid on their profile or social media (I often add one with my cane or my splints).

Rae: I guess that there's some intersection between my queerness and my illness, and that therefore any kind of judgment someone might have about my illness automatically includes something about who I am as a person, maybe e.g. "I don't like mentally ill people".

Let's face it, dating is HARD and at times discouraging. But finding those local queer communities and setting roots within them made a huge difference for me. After years of countless embarrassing dates, I was lucky to find my partner (online, which is wild). Sometimes the apps truly do work, and here's hoping they work for you.

Havilah Arendse is part of our Community Reporters Programme for 2026. This programme supports The D*List's commitment to nurturing the next generation of disabled storytellers in Aotearoa. You can read more about our Community Reporters Programme here.