Many people with physical disabilities have romantic lives and

In the words of Jeanne Phillips, “Many people with physical disabilities have romantic lives and good marriages to partners who see past their disabilities and recognize all of the things they can do.” These words, though spoken with gentleness, carry a mighty force of truth. They remind us that the essence of love is not confined to the flesh, nor to the body’s strength, but to the spirit that dwells within. Where the world is quick to judge by appearance, love is wiser—it sees deeper, beyond the scar, beyond the wound, beyond the chair or the crutch, to the soul that burns with the same longing, the same dignity, the same power to give and to receive.

The ancients knew this truth, though not all remembered it. In the Stoic teachings of Epictetus—himself born into slavery and lameness—we find the wisdom that the body is but a vessel, while the mind and will are the true masters of life. Though his form was limited, his spirit soared, and his words still inspire hearts centuries later. So too in love: the body may falter, but the heart remains whole, capable of passion, of loyalty, of romantic devotion. To dismiss one for their disability is to blind oneself to treasures greater than sight can show.

Consider the story of Franklin Delano Roosevelt, once struck by polio, his legs made powerless. Many would have thought such a man diminished, unfit for greatness. And yet by his wife Eleanor’s unwavering companionship, and by his own indomitable will, he not only led a nation through its darkest trials but also nurtured a marriage that was enduring, complex, and profoundly human. His life reminds us that disability does not erase the power to love, to lead, or to inspire. Indeed, it may sharpen the soul, deepening its capacity for empathy and connection.

Jeanne Phillips speaks of marriages where partners see past the body’s limits and recognize what a person can do. This is love in its truest form, for it is not blind, as some poets falsely claim—it sees with clarity. It sees both the challenge and the triumph, and chooses to honor the whole person. Such love is stronger than superficial desire, for it is founded on respect, on admiration, on recognition of the beloved’s full humanity. This is not pity, but partnership; not charity, but covenant.

And yet the world often fails to understand. Too many still assume that those with physical disabilities are excluded from passion, from tenderness, from intimacy. This ignorance is itself a kind of blindness, more crippling than any bodily ailment. For in truth, those who have walked through suffering often love more fiercely, more faithfully, than those who have never been tested. The heart that has endured pain knows the worth of joy. The soul that has faced rejection knows the treasure of acceptance.

The lesson, then, is clear: do not measure love by the body, but by the spirit. See in every person not what is missing, but what is present, not what is weakened, but what is strong. In this lies the power of true romance—to love another not for perfection, but for wholeness of being. The ancients knew that every vessel, however cracked, can still carry the water of life; so too can every soul, however marked by struggle, carry and pour forth the wine of love.

And what should you do in your own life? Open your eyes to the deeper vision. Do not let the shallow standards of the world dictate who is worthy of affection. Look instead with the heart, and see the courage, the laughter, the dreams, and the gifts of those around you. If you love, let your love be whole—seeing both the scars and the strengths, and finding in them a beauty greater than any surface could hold. In this way, you will walk in the wisdom of the ages: that love belongs to all, and that the bonds of marriage and romance are made not by flawless bodies, but by steadfast souls.