Rosie Jones: ‘I never felt like being disabled was a bad thing’ (original) (raw)

Andrea

Rosie was my first pregnancy and it was a normal one. The complications only happened at birth when her shoulder got stuck. It’s called shoulder dystocia. Rosie didn’t breathe for 17 minutes and that’s when the brain damage occurred. It was a very frightening time for me and Rob, Rosie’s dad. We had no idea what the future would hold.

But it wasn’t long before we could see that, though she wasn’t meeting the same physical milestones as other children, there was something in Rosie that stopped us from worrying too much. She was bright and intelligent, very aware of everything going on around her. Even as a baby she had a great sense of humour. We didn’t know whether she’d ever be able to walk or talk, but the intellect was there, the curiosity, the fun-loving nature. She has always found a way to compensate.

Rosie has ataxic cerebral palsy, which means her muscles are very soft and she’s a bit floppy. She’s prone to falling over. But cognitively there is nothing wrong at all. And being born in 1990 was perfect because this was the age of technology. She was always allowed a laptop at the local comprehensive, where she absolutely thrived. Her brother, Oliver, whom she adored, was born four and a half years later. She was by then a very single-minded individual. We all fell in line with her; she had this way of putting everyone at ease.

Generally I’d say she was a very happy child. She coped well and never let anything get the better of her. Maybe some things were occasionally said at school, but she didn’t have the time to worry about it. Her ambition was to be a writer or a journalist and she studied English at Huddersfield University. We were always very protective of her, obviously, but we wanted to give her the independence she craved too.

When she went to London for a Channel 4 production training scheme in 2011, that was a whole different board game. I worried. How would she cope — physically, logistically? How would she get around town? When we dropped her off it was probably the worst time in my life. She later told me that if I’d said to her she should stay home, she would have done. But it was a giant leap for her. Suddenly she was writing comedy for people like Jimmy Carr, and then was appearing on panel shows herself and doing stand-up. I’m a nervous person. I was an assistant head teacher at a secondary school and doing assemblies made me feel sick, so how Rosie can stand in front of an audience of thousands for Comic Relief amazes me.

The pair in Bridlington, where Rosie was born, in 1991

The pair in Bridlington, where Rosie was born, in 1991

A lot of comedians have a dark side but there isn’t one with Rosie. There is her disability, and she’s just putting herself out there. She gets trolled a lot and we try to talk it through. There is much more support than abuse but I do find it very upsetting.

She came out to us when she was 28, and I think she had to because it was in one of her stand-up shows. I suppose that is quite late but it took her a while to come to terms with her sexuality. As she jokes herself: she was already disabled, she couldn’t tick another box as well, could she? The news wasn’t shocking to us.

She acts as well now and has been in Silent Witness, Casualty and has just done Call the Midwife. We don’t have to boast about Rosie because there are plenty of people around us who boast for us. But as a family we are all incredibly proud of her. We feel like we’re involved in a Rosie community and that’s just lovely.

Rosie

I think I always knew I was disabled. Even from the age of three or four I was aware that other children my age could walk and run, and that I didn’t learn those things until I was much older. But I don’t remember a single gut punch, like, “Oh, wait a minute I’m disabled!” Because of my mum, I never felt like it was a bad thing. Me having cerebral palsy was as normal as having brown hair, and both my parents made me feel I should never be ashamed. Quite the contrary: I owned it.

I did enjoy school but teenage girls can be vicious. As a child I put my head down and just went into warrior mode, but in retrospect I realise that I did have to adapt and change myself in order to fit in. At home, though, I was always 100 per cent my normal, loud, gregarious self. I remember my mum telling me, when I was 15, that I should never change who I am, and that she loved me for me. Having that instilled in me when I was still working out who I was gave me such confidence.

When I got into stand-up comedy I started to notice a shift in terms of what it was. Even just ten years ago a comedian would more likely than not be a white, straight, middle-class, fast-talking, non-disabled male. But now I see a lot more diversity, and a lot more camaraderie too. When I do shows such as 8 Out of 10 Cats and The Big Fat Quiz of the Year, comedians are supportive of one another. I’ve become such good friends with Katherine Ryan, Nish Kumar, James Acaster, Joe Lycett. We look out for each other.

Of course for all the support I do get, I get an awful lot of negativity and abuse too, perhaps more than any other comedian going right now. Comedy is subjective and women always get trolled online, but when you’re disabled like me, with a speech difference, that opens up even more hate. I did a documentary on it, Am I a R*tard?, but I still don’t understand why it happens. Perhaps when you are disabled, society either feels as though it should feel sorry for you or else celebrate you for being a hero at the Paralympics. I don’t fall into either of those camps. I’m a comedian, I’m not particularly inspirational and I’m also not a victim. So what am I to people? Some trolls can be angry at the world and so if they see me being unapologetically myself, swearing, talking about having sex and living my dream — then, well, how dare I! Sorry, I’m ranting, aren’t I?

I’ve learnt how to deal with it, ignore it and rationalise it, but I hate that my mum has to see it. She does check up on me a lot to make sure I’m OK. And I am.

We’re very close. At the moment I’m single but she’ll know as soon as I do start seeing someone. I don’t want to sound saccharine here, but when I think back to Mum having me in 1990, a 26-year-old with a disabled daughter, not knowing if I would ever walk or talk, or what the extent of my disability would be, and then to watch over me, to nurture me and to let me fly while putting her own worries aside well, she’s just the most incredible person I know.

Strange habits

Andrea on Rosie
As a child she would eat her roast dinner in alphabetical order: carrots, chicken, mash, parsnips, peas, roast potato, Yorkshire pudding

Rosie on Andrea
Whenever she wants to eat some cheese on toast, she gives this certain smile that’s dedicated to her love of cheddar

Rosie Jones is on tour; rosiejonescomedy.com. Out of Order will launch later this month on Comedy Central