"2 and 1/2 movies till we get to St. Louis, Presley"

It's November and as most of you have probably noticed that on Facebook there's the "30 days of thankfulness" thing going on. I find that the majority of the people are still complaining about their children having the stomach virus, or their husband's being gone on business, or having to clean the house because the children have made a huge mess. I know that some people don't think before they put stuff on facebook but I just want to share what I'm thankful for and maybe it will help other's think before they "post."

It's been just Mom and I as long as I can remember. Even when she was dating someone or when she was married to my (ex) step-dad... it always felt like it was her and I against the world. I particularly think it's because she's my soulmate, and even though I've always been her little girl to protect... I always felt like I had to shield her against the bad guys, the evil of the world, and be her rock. When I became sick with CNSV, she had to stand up for me more than she would if I were healthy. In her late 20's, she had to not only be a single mother with several jobs, but she also had to take me to get chemo therapy once a month, take care of me after the the treatments and take me see doctors several times a year. I don't remember much about those days; however, I remember going to Country Mart and renting Mary-Kate and Ashley, Winnie the Pooh, Matilda, The Parent Trap, and Peppy Long Stockings videos for our 4 hour trip to St. Louis. My nanny and mom were always going to Walmart and finding me $5 videos to watch. I knew exactly how many videos to pack away for our trip. 5. At seven years old, I didn't use time. I used things that I could measure time by and I had this down to an art. Even though I spent five years doing chemotherapy, all I remember is what I see in pictures and the movies I watched in the backseat of the suburban on our way to and from St. Louis. Maybe I don't remember on purpose. Maybe that's a good thing.

My mom has always been constant. She has always been there. I asked her recently how she knew what she was doing. She said "I called nanny a lot. I asked her for advice and when she told me that she didn't know the answers because she never had to take care of a sick child... well, then I would cry and pray and do whatever I had to do to have you another day."

I really cannot imagine being a single parent in my 20's, let alone being a single parent with a child who has a terminal illness.  In ways, my disease has been a blessing. It makes the small acheivements (for most people) seem so much bigger because well... it really is. It makes each day something to remember. It makes my relationships stronger. But most of all, it makes me appreciate my momma more. It allowed me to see a side of my mom that I wouldn't have seen otherwise. My mother has been the greatest gift God has ever given me. I've never been good at protecting my mom, but she has always given everything to make sure that I was going to be okay.

One of the things that my mom always reminds me of is there's always someone who has it worse than I do. She always reminds me to be thankful for my problems and to be thankful for the health that I do have. So here's what I have to say to the Facebook world, be thankful for your child's stomach bug because it'll run it's course and leave. To the lady who has a husband who is gone on business, be thankful because your husband has a job and is willing to go the distance to make sure that he can help provide for you. To the parents who complain about their child who has toys all over the floor, be thankful because your child is physically able to make decisions, play, and live the life of a child. I'm not saying this because I have all the answers, want pity or any of the sorts; however, there are families who will be spending the holidays in the hospital with children, with their parents, with people they love. Been there, done that. Be thankful for your problems. Be thankful for the smiles, the laughs, for the time you have with loved ones because you never know when they'll be called "home."

Thank you Momma for making time for me, for being my bull dog, for celebrating the otherwise simple accomplishments with me, and for the countless videos you provided me with over those 5 years. :) I love you, Momma! I'm glad that God gave me you to call "Mom." Nobody else could have done the job better.

"Why do you want to be a counselor?"

Mr. M, the interviewer at a university that I recently met up with, asked me "Why did you choose counseling? Why didn't you pick social work, research, or clinical work?"

Three months before this, I was sitting with my aunt asking her about the interviews that I was about to embark on , about the questions they were going to ask and what they wanted to hear. She gave me a list of questions and for the most part... I didn't have a clue how to answer them. Some of the questions were, 1) Why do you want to attend this university? 2) What do you want to do in the field of counseling? and 3) why did you choose to pursue counseling? After all the hard work that I did in my undergraduate, you would think that I would have a grasp on why I wanted to do what I wanted to do! I had always found the answers to a test in the lectures of my professors and in the minds of authors... I never had to think about why I chose psychology for my major. I just did. I had to start thinking of a way to answer these questions and not embarrass myself in the process.

When it came time for my interview, I knew how to answer 2 of the 3 questions: #1 "Well, this school is known for its credentials and it has a great reputation for it's counseling program. I have big dreams and I think that if I were to be accepted then this program would not only help me achieve those dreams but go far beyond those dreams."

2) "Definitely community counseling with teens and adults.

And 3)... the dreaded #3. I didn't know how to answer this question until the time came for me to answer this at my interview. You would think that this question is simple and that everyone has a well thought out reason why they choose a master's program...

Back to where we started. Mr. M asking me the dreaded question that I had been thinking about months.
This is what came out of my mouth: "When I was 7 I had had several strokes, and growing up in a small town, I always thought of myself as different. I walk funny. My hand would pull my hair. I was in special ed from the time I was in 5th grade up until 9th grade. I thought that everybody saw me as different."

Mr. M stopped me. "You mean, unique."

I looked at him with a smile and said, "No. I saw myself as different... like somehow, I was less human than everybody else in my school, in my small town. I wasn't what I would have called 'normal.' I felt as though every time I stepped in a room that people noticed me for all the wrong reasons. That they couldn't see who I really was because my shell was in the way. Then... Then I moved 2 and half hours away from that small town and went to the University of Central Arkansas. I quickly realized that people were too busy with their own lives to notice that I walk with a limp, that my hand doesn't work, that I might need a little more time to complete a task. It wasn't until I moved away that I began to see myself as Presley Darby. That I am a unique individual and not "different". That I can bring to the world a different point-of-view and that's a good thing. So to answer your question, Mr. M... The reason I want to be a counselor instead of a social worker, researcher or do anything else is because I want to help others see that they are more than what meets the eye. That they are unique individuals. That it is okay to not be okay. That they are who they are and that they have something to bring to the table."

I left everything out there in the open. I was honest with Mr. M and myself. I think somewhere in midst of Mr. Scole's class, college tests, studying, and being a lost college student... I forgot why I chose psychology as my major in the first place. It wasn't until I was put under pressure that I could finally let myself remember that, "oh yeah, I was a 'different' kid at one time," and that's why I want to be a counselor.

I know several people who are in college and/or about to graduate and if I could offer any advice to you (no matter if you are going for further education or not) would be to strip everything down to the basics. Why do you think that you would be good at this profession? Why did you choose this company/master's program? What skills do you have that others may not? What makes you... you? Be honest with yourself. There's no textbook out there that knows all the answers to who YOU are. Trust me... I looked for one with my name on it. Be confident and go after what you want. Nobody else is going to go after your dreams for you.

The D Word

So today my mom text me "call me :)" I knew that something HAD to be up. She said "I have some really great news! The counselor wants you to come talk to her 7th and 8th graders about 'being different'." At first, I was really excited about this because my major is in psychology and in doing motivational speaking I would be addressing an issue that is being dealt with in this age. I got off the phone with my mom, still excited... then it hit me. I can barely get in front of my college classmates and tell them "my name, my major, and something interesting about myself" (college students understand what I'm talking about). I began to think about why I have a problem speaking in front of my peers.

In high school, I was always the last one to ask for help. Literally. I'd wait till the last student left the classroom to get help from the teacher. I didn't want the other students to think that I was stupid. I also didn't have that many friends because I was afraid of being regretted so I didn't try to make friends. The friends I did have often had to stand up for me... which I hated. I didn't have hundreds of boyfriends like the other girls in my class. I didn't have a boy ask me out for my junior prom... or my senior prom. Actually I asked my best friend to take me to my senior prom (by the way I got queen). Anyways... I always thought that there was something wrong with me. That there was some hidden reason why people didn't like me... that there was something that scared people away from me. And I was right. It's the D Word. I'm definitely the D Word.

Let me clarify something. When I was seven years old, I dropped on the playground for no apparent reason. I was a healthy 1st grader. I was a softball player, I was a dancer, I was right handed, I was a straight A student (yeah I know... I was only in 1st grade but still), I was smart. Then all of a sudden I was none of those things. I had three strokes at the age of seven. I couldn't walk, talk, eat by myself, I couldn't write... none of those things. I was no longer labeled your "NORMAL" child. I was diagnosed with Primary Angiitis of The Central Nervous System. I was on chemo therapy for 5 years thereafter being diagnosed. I was excepted to live past a few years. A "normal" child doesn't go through all of these things. I obliviously learned to write again... just with my left hand. I learned to talk, to eat, to walk for the second time around. However, I was always aware that I was not like everyone else... that I was very very different.

From the time of my strokes til about 8th grade, my "bad" arm would do some crazy crap. It would crumble up people's papers, it would grab people, it would grab my hair, it would do all of these things that would just embarrass me so bad. My arm was my own enemy... I could almost hear it saying "I'm gonna make you loath me. I'm gonna make you so self conscious that you won't be able to look people in the eye." And my arm sure did do just that. I grew up embarrassed of what had become of my body. My body didn't work like everyone else's. I was never going to be the basketball player, the cheerleader, or the track star. My brain was and is forever damaged. My brain isn't like everyone else's. I often get my thoughts backwards. I stumble over my words when I talking about something serious. And a part of me hated that because I was not supposed to be this person. I was supposed to be a dancer, a math whiz, a softball player, a cheerleader.

Different. Society, the media, the world says it's the D-Word. Think of how many different races are on the cover of Cosmo, Seventeen, and Teen Vogue. Now, how many people do you see on the covers of those magazines with people who have a disability? You see more representation of different races than you ever see of disabilities. You don't see a woman with her seeing eye dog. You don't see a young boy in a wheel chair. You don't see a young girl with a hand that won't let go of her hair, people, or the paper that she was doing her homework on. YOU DON'T SEE IT. So being different is bad... right? If you don't look like the people on the covers of the magazines, if you aren't skinny like the girls on Pretty Little Liars, if you don't have the clothes that the girls from The Lying Game have, if you don't have a cute boyfriend, if you don't have a husband by the time your 25, if you don't lose the baby fat within a week of having your baby... you are different. You know what! If that's the kind of person you have to be to be a part of society... then you can just keep all that junk. I'd rather be the D Word.

Back to the 7th and 8th graders that I will have the chance to talk to. I have a crazy arm. I have a limpy leg. I have a weird brain that doesn't always work the way I want it to. It's nothing to be ashamed of. It's ok. It's a part of me. I'm not the average person. I don't set my standards to be the average person. I strive to be so much more. I strive to be the best person I can be. I strive to make the best grades that I can make. I strive to represent my disability. I strive to be different from the rest of the world. I strive to be Presley Darby.  If different is what I am then so be it. I'm glad for it.