International Women’s Day

Marie Tidball Excerpts

Thursday 12th March 2026 Commons Chamber

[Dr Marie Tidball (Penistone and Stocksbridge) (Lab)]

I thank all the women in this Chamber who really have slayed in their lane in today’s debate.

Madam Deputy Speaker:

“When they amputated my leg, they amputated a part of me. I see my body and I feel disgust, repulsion. I fear that my amputation took away my femininity, my ability to be yearned for; my womanhood pauperised. Trapped in a body that does not reflect my mind or my self.”

“Anorexia, unplanned, like an addiction, crept upon me. I ate less and became thinner. My wish: that nobody would notice my disability and I would simply disappear—a physical escapism. For the first time in my life, the eating disorder gave me control over my body; the way it looked, the way it felt. My frustration about my physical form turned into obsession; the obsession fed me where food did not: it gave me power.”

“Success became feeling bones left behind under taught skin; in knowing my pelvis protruded below a small waist, cheek bones were prominent on a smile-less face.”

“Anorexia was about the relationship between a despised body and a disciplined mind. Eventually, the mind was consumed too: a warped wasteland where fear and anger roamed. There was no escape from or for my self.”

“Weight: 4 stone 10 lbs. My body was breaking down, I was losing my hair, and my periods stopped. My menstruation ending ultimately saved me and my life. Somewhere, at the back of my head, I knew I wanted to have children. Eventually, I took the pill, my periods started again, I ate more. My desire to be a mother gave me a reason to get better, signalled a future and made me know choice once again.”

I wrote those passages 20 years ago, in my early 20s, while recovering from my last major surgery to my legs. I was anorexic for four years from age 14, and although I was physically better by the time I went to university, it took me until my mid-20s to have a healthy relationship with food.

I am not alone. Over the years, I have spoken to other disabled women about their experiences of eating disorders linked to their own body image and identity. Devastatingly, 20 years later—two decades after I wrote those passages— social attitudes towards sex, relationships and disability remain an enormous taboo, which means that disabled women are still going through that anguish, damaging their mental health, causing them to self-harm and eroding their self-esteem.

Actor and disability activist Melissa Johns, who has an upper-body limb difference, has shared her story. She said:

“I have a strong history of loathing my body. That never came from me—it came from society telling me that my body was wrong.”

Too often, disabled women’s bodies do not count.

Mum, social media influencer and wheelchair user Sophie Bradbury-Cox showed me just some comments made on her social media about the fact that she is a disabled mother. They included:

“There’s something horribly unethical about having children when you’re not able to care for yourself.”

Those damaging attitudes and a lack of awareness of the issues are leading disabled women to face barriers in public services, including accessing sexual, reproductive and maternity care.

In the last year, I have met two incredible disabled women: Carly, a Paralympian, and Sarah, an occupational therapist. Both have cerebral palsy and neither found out about their pregnancies until their second and third trimesters, respectively, because none of their clinicians considered that they might be pregnant. Carly Tait, who competed in the 2016 Paralympic games in Rio de Janeiro, soon discovered she was pregnant after retiring from professional sport. That was immediately followed by a lot of questions about whether she was capable of giving birth, in a line of conversation that she faced throughout her pregnancy.

Some people seemed to ignore Carly’s pregnancy altogether. On the last day before her maternity leave, a colleague approached her and said

“Oh my gosh! Are you pregnant?”,

showing an ableist view that someone like Carly could not possibly be pregnant. But disabled women are making babies, having babies and being brilliant mothers against the odds—odds that mean we face a 44% higher likelihood of stillbirth. That is why I have called on the Secretary of State for Health and Social Care to put inclusive maternity care for disabled women at the heart of our women’s health strategy, so that our womanhood no longer remains invisible.

But we need to go further. We need to finally embed the social model of disability into women’s healthcare, and implement the recommendations for the UK Government made by the United Nations Committee on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities in 2017. That committee found that the rights of disabled women and girls have not been systematically mainstreamed into either the gender equality or disability agendas, with disabled women facing multiple barriers to accessing sexual and reproductive health services and professionals. I have lost count of the number of disabled people I have ended up mentoring who have self-harmed and attempted suicide because of sex, relationship and disability issues not being discussed, the lack of services and the absence of professional expertise to support them.

I am proud that our Government’s reforms will engender a high-quality and inclusive curriculum for all, but that must include the representation of disabled people in personal, social, health and economic education lessons at school. We must turn the tide of public attitudes towards disabled people, and particularly empower young disabled people to have more positive perceptions of self.

There are reasons to be hopeful. Green shoots of representation are appearing on our screens. “EastEnders” is currently covering a storyline about a pregnant woman who is a wheelchair user. This season of “Bridgerton” featured a subplot with Hazel, a maid played by Gracie McGonigal, and her love interest with dashing footman, John, without ever mentioning Hazel’s limb difference.

Instagram has become a burgeoning social media platform for brilliant disabled women who are super-charging the representation of disability and desire, and of being proud and empowered about the intrinsic beauty of our bodies and our selves. They are boldly forging the conversation about us being loved and in love. They are powering the narrative on disability and dating, elucidating new language about being in inter-abled couples, and navigating difficult conversations and acceptance. It is disability cast no longer as absence but as complete, full-bodied presence. To be loved is to be seen. It is high time our society saw disabled women’s whole selves, for only then will we create a society that treats disabled women with the dignity and respect we deserve.