When this Montreal-based author lost the ability to use her hands, grief became her artistic fuel

Growing up, Gabrielle Drolet dreamed of becoming a writer. In 2017, during her second year of university, she began writing culture stories for her school's student newspaper. 

Gifted in the art of words and images, her career grew as both a writer, with published features everywhere from Teen Vogue to The Walrus, and a cartoonist, with published pieces in The New Yorker.

Suddenly, in 2021, Drolet developed a condition that makes her unable to use her hands to write and draw. She struggled not only with the loss of her creative outlets and budding career, but also her ability to do simple things like cook.

Today, Drolet uses adaptive equipment like voice-to-text software and a tilting drafting table to make writing and drawing a possibility. She turned her story of navigating disability, grief and chronic pain into her debut book, Look Ma, No Hands, a look at forging ahead with humour and grit despite life's challenges.

This conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

In Look Ma, No Hands, you talk about grief as you navigated life, developing chronic pain that prevented you from writing with your hands. What was the catalyst that made you comfortable writing about grief and your personal experiences, when culturally it's still taboo?

It took a long time to get there. The first year of dealing with my symptoms, the grief of it was something that I didn't really want to address, because I felt like my symptoms were going to go away. I was grieving this thing that happened, this life that I imagined myself living, and suddenly, things were so different. I was grieving my ability to graduate school on time when I was a student, being able to do things comfortably like cooking and drawing.

It was when I started writing about grief in a small scale way, in essays or articles, that people really responded to it. We often associate grief with death more than anything, but we don't talk about the small ways that we can grieve. In talking about the really difficult feelings I was navigating, I ended up having a lot of people reach out, and that felt inspiring. It made me want to write about grief more.

Before you developed the chronic pain in your hands, you were caring for your ex-partner who experienced a similar disability. Then, a year later, you're diagnosed with your own condition. What was it like going from observing to experiencing disability?

My partner at the time had similar symptoms to me, where she developed chronic pain in her hands from playing piano and had a hard time. She was a musician by trade, studying as a piano student, and almost didn't graduate from school. It was interesting to be with someone going through that, but I could have never understood how difficult it was for her until the next year, when the roles were reversed. Suddenly, I had the same disabling pain that kept me from the thing I was studying. I realized I did not understand her or the mental toll. She was able to support me better than I was for her, because she had experienced the same thing.

In your writing about identity, you show up representing intersectional experiences, whether that be as a woman, a disabled person or a queer person. How have you navigated opening up to the world with your identity, but not being defined by it?

 always felt comfortable talking about my identity as a woman and as a queer person, because I've always been those things. I had a much harder time experiencing disability. At first, I felt uncomfortable calling myself a disabled person or writing about disability, because it's a form of marginalization that you can come into at any point in your life. I was scared I wasn't disabled enough or that I was too new to the community.

You've grown your career in both writing and images and have sold your cartoons to places like The New Yorker. When it comes to the world of editorial cartoons, how are you thinking about algorithms and journalism today in sharing your work online?

The first few years that I was cartooning, I wouldn't post my cartoons online unless I sold them somewhere. I had this idea that if it wasn't published, it's not worth sharing. As a writer, it can be really hard to build an audience with only your written work because people like seeing images. Once I started posting my drawings more, people connected with that, and it didn't matter if they hadn't sold somewhere. There have definitely been periods where I became obsessed with drawing what people will want to see, and during those periods, I did not like drawing as much. Now, I only draw stuff I like and see the impact of the way an image can connect with people. Someone might not open a long article, but they will see that one image on Instagram or Twitter and connect with it. 

Earlier this year, you were nominated for the National Newspaper Award for Editorial Cartooning, honouring the best Canadians in journalism. You became the first woman nominated in that category since the awards' inception in 1949. How did it feel being recognized?

I was so honoured to be recognized because many people don't get that privilege. 

One of the reasons women haven't been recognized in this category is that the industry is so small. Every newspaper will have a few editorial cartoonists, who tend to keep those jobs for decades. There isn't a lot of opportunity for new voices to step in, as historically, the opportunities that did exist have gone to men. I'm hopeful as one of the new voices in this space.

There are so many incredible cartoonists in Canada who are women and are doing great work.

As you've grown in your career, you've collected accolades with featured work in some of the largest media outlets in Canada and the U.S., and today your book is a bestseller on the rise. What's your relationship to success right now? 

My measure of success has shifted a lot compared to before I developed my chronic pain versus after I got my diagnosis. Before, success was writing full time, creating and publishing every single day. Now, success means working on things I care about. I'm not pushing myself to create the highest volume of work. I'm really happy that I get to work on things that I love and have people love to see it and read it.

What do you hope readers are going to take away from Look Ma, No Hands?

I hope they laugh. I hope they learn something, and I hope people expand what they believe about chronic pain. For those who have chronic pain or who are disabled, I want my book to feel like you're hanging out with a friend, a source of companionship, to find solace.

What else are you working on? Do you have any future projects in the works?

I loved writing my book; it was fun and I'm glad it's out, but the thought of writing another personal piece is very daunting. Before I started experiencing difficulty with my hands, I wanted to write a novel. I think my next major project is going to be fiction.

Look Ma, No Hands: A Chronic Pain Memoir by Gabrielle Drolet is available now, published by McClelland & Stewart, an imprint of Penguin Random House Canada.