For the last year and a half, I've been working on being more confident in myself. It's quite easy to do when I'm surrounded by the same people everyday. My classmates. My professors. My friends and family. These people lift me up, they see me for my passion, my love of helping, my intelligence, my heart. I often forget that the other people in this world are not like the people that I let in my little bubble. When I walk into Walmart, I keep my eyes fixed on the ground. I don't look around at people's faces. I'm probably that "cold hearted lady" that never says hello to you unless you say hello first. It's nothing against you, it's just people have had a way of putting me down without even knowing it. Today, I was reminded of this.
I love art. All kinds of art. So today Justin and I decided to go to Theatresquared. It's a live theater here in Fayetteville. I was beyond excited to see Great Expectations by Charles Dickens. I knew this play would be wonderful, I mean, how could it not be?! We got our tickets and headed to the restroom before the play started. Afterward, I met Justin in the hallway. He looked as if he was uncomfortable about something. When I asked him what was up, he looked around to make sure nobody heard him. Apparently there was a gentleman who had been watching me walk to the restroom. While Justin was waiting in line to use the restroom, the man asked him "Why does she limp?"
When I heard this little story from Justin, I was trying to reach into my "counselor" self to have empathy on his poorly filtered question; however, I am human and got upset by this. I kept thinking "what if this was a first date? How embarrassing would that have been?!" and "since when is it okay to ask a total stranger what's the matter with his friend?"
I try not to speak for everybody who has a disability. I know that for each person there is a different circumstance, a different attitude, a different feeling. I am only speaking for the ones of us that have accepted the lifestyle, the ones who want to educate the general public, and the ones who fight against discrimination. Most of us appreciate if you just ask politely. You are not pointing out anything that we don't already know. Yeah, I have a limpy leg and crazy arm... that's nothing new. It's not like I have toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my shoe. Yeah, I'm different and you know what...? So are you :)
It has taken me a long time to come to terms with my disability. Some days I'm on top of the world. Other days I'm dragging my limpy leg two steps backwards. It's not easy. Everyday is a struggle, everyday a new worry, everyday a new obstacle, everyday I wake up to find that I'm still me. There are times when I make jokes about my disability. If you don't laugh, you'll cry. That is my mom and I's motto for life.
Like I was telling Justin earlier today, disability does not discriminate. It affects all ages, races, abilities, sex, etc. If you see someone who is struggling, go see if he needs help. If you are wanting to know what happened to an individual, ask in a kind and caring manner to the person who possesses the disability. The average population, they like to associate what a person with a disability has with something that they can firmly grasp in their own life. For example, "Oh, I had to get a knee replacement when I was 65. I totally understand your struggle." For many people with disabilities, they find this offensive. To the disabled community, the average person does not know what it is like to wake up day after day with a body fighting it's owner. To say that one totally understands what it is like... it's like the individual is putting himself on the same playing field as the disabled community.We do not want sympathy. We just want to be recognized as being human.
I want to encourage ya'll to spend some time with an individual who has a disability. Ask them how they live day to day, what they do differently than the average person, how does the general public make them feel about themselves, and what do they enjoy doing during their free time. You may be surprised by their answers :)
Sunday, December 4, 2016
Sunday, July 3, 2016
Learning to get back up
Before my strokes, I was involved in T-Ball, ballet, tap, clogging and many other physical activities. I remember never thinking much of it. Every kid my age was involved in some kind of activity. It would be weird to meet a seven year old who wasn't in dance, a sport, or music lessons of some sort. At this age, children were learning to tie their shoes (if they hadn't mastered that already), riding a bike without training wheels, and how to shoot a basketball. I took my abilities for granted. After surviving three strokes, rounds of chemotherapy, physical and occupational therapy, it dawned on me that I would never be quite as good at physical activities as I was before my brain became so messed up. I tried to play softball the following year but I became too aggitated and would cry everytime that I couldn't do something right. So I quit. I never went back to dance because I was having trouble with keeping my balance and my foot wouldn't move near as fast as it had before. Heck, I was just doing good to walk, talk and write. I had to start completely over when it came to my physical being. I would never learn how to ride a bicycle, or how to tie my shoes or shoot a basketball quite like the rest of my peers did.
Many people do not know just how green with envy I am of people who have the ability to dance. I plaster a smile on my face when I hear about peoples children taking jazz, tap and ballet. I tell them that I used to be a dancer too... not that I can't dance now but I tend to make a fool out of myself on purpose so that at least I can laugh at myself and maybe it won't hurt so bad if someone laughed at me too. This was a technique I learned early on in life from my mother. We would often go into walmart and an older woman would see me and say "Oh you poor thing..." My mother would quickly turn around and say"Poor thing?? She's fine!" and then we go laughing at how I couldn't let go of the shopping cart or how I would say "I'd like for him to hold my bad hand. I'd never let him go AND I could blame it on my stupid hand!" This technique was known as "If you don't laugh, you'll cry." Little did I know that this phrase would be burned into my mind and become quite handy as I entered into the tourchous world known as "high school."
Watching people "Ohhing and awwing" over their children's ability to dance and play sports was something that I always longed for. Sure, I could sing, read, do crafts and I was fascinated by sciences but, for me, that wasn't something that I was necessarily proud of. I choose these activities because I couldn't do what I really wanted to do and I didn't want to be mad at myself or God so I didn't try to do those physical activities that I longed to be apart of. I wanted to be happy with the abilities I had developed and forget the skills and achievements that were stolen from me at such an early age.
Some of you know, I have recently taken up an interest in ice skating. Last week, I ordered myself some ice skates and started looking up ways to improve my balance on the ice. I was beyond excited when I returned to the Jone's Center for the public session. I was ready to see how these skates would feel and how they would glide. Of course, I didn't realize that there was such a big difference in hockey and figure skates. "What is this jagged edge on the toe for?" I thought when I got to looking at my skates. I would quickly learn that the jagged edge was for making me fall flat on my butt/knees/ and/or head. This jagged edge was NOT my friend. I took a moment to look around at all the children, adolescents, and adults who were clearly way better at this than myself. Then I saw her. She looked like a ballerina on the ice. She skated frontward, backward, did a triple axel, and with such ease. She made it look easy. I was in awe. Every hand gesture was fluid and precise. Every movement her legs made had a purpose. I couldn't help but think "That could've been me if this hadn't happened! Ugh!" As I wobbled and strained my back in order to keep my balance, I would look at the clock. 3:00pm. I decided that I was going to stay another hour. I was going to make this work. And that's when I went down for the third time. It happened so quickly that I didn't have time to grab the wall but yet, for my eyes, it was like it was in slow motion. And there I was. Laying on the ice. When I got up, I looked like I just came from Winter Wonder Land as I had shaving of ice all over my black yoga pants and the back of my jacket.
As I walked to my car, sulking over my less than successful day, I couldn't help but think of the many goals I had set out for myself. I did not achieve what I wanted to achieve. I wanted to be be able to say that I didn't fall down. That I was half way graceful. That I was able to help someone else up off the ice. Then as I was getting ready for a hot bath, filled with epsom salts and lavender bubbles, a very still voice whispered in my ear. "You learned to get back up like you have many times before. You don't give yourself enough credit. You did that all by yourself and with so many more physical obstacles than the others."
I may never be able to be like that girl who was a ballerina on the ice, who moved with such grace, but I bet that she has had her own obstacles to overcome as well. So tomorrow when I wake up with my bruised right hip, my banged up knee and all my muscels in my stomache are sore from helping me balance, I'm going to try to remember what that still small voice said. I learned to get back up by myself. That that is an achievement in and of itself.
Many people do not know just how green with envy I am of people who have the ability to dance. I plaster a smile on my face when I hear about peoples children taking jazz, tap and ballet. I tell them that I used to be a dancer too... not that I can't dance now but I tend to make a fool out of myself on purpose so that at least I can laugh at myself and maybe it won't hurt so bad if someone laughed at me too. This was a technique I learned early on in life from my mother. We would often go into walmart and an older woman would see me and say "Oh you poor thing..." My mother would quickly turn around and say"Poor thing?? She's fine!" and then we go laughing at how I couldn't let go of the shopping cart or how I would say "I'd like for him to hold my bad hand. I'd never let him go AND I could blame it on my stupid hand!" This technique was known as "If you don't laugh, you'll cry." Little did I know that this phrase would be burned into my mind and become quite handy as I entered into the tourchous world known as "high school."
Watching people "Ohhing and awwing" over their children's ability to dance and play sports was something that I always longed for. Sure, I could sing, read, do crafts and I was fascinated by sciences but, for me, that wasn't something that I was necessarily proud of. I choose these activities because I couldn't do what I really wanted to do and I didn't want to be mad at myself or God so I didn't try to do those physical activities that I longed to be apart of. I wanted to be happy with the abilities I had developed and forget the skills and achievements that were stolen from me at such an early age.
Some of you know, I have recently taken up an interest in ice skating. Last week, I ordered myself some ice skates and started looking up ways to improve my balance on the ice. I was beyond excited when I returned to the Jone's Center for the public session. I was ready to see how these skates would feel and how they would glide. Of course, I didn't realize that there was such a big difference in hockey and figure skates. "What is this jagged edge on the toe for?" I thought when I got to looking at my skates. I would quickly learn that the jagged edge was for making me fall flat on my butt/knees/ and/or head. This jagged edge was NOT my friend. I took a moment to look around at all the children, adolescents, and adults who were clearly way better at this than myself. Then I saw her. She looked like a ballerina on the ice. She skated frontward, backward, did a triple axel, and with such ease. She made it look easy. I was in awe. Every hand gesture was fluid and precise. Every movement her legs made had a purpose. I couldn't help but think "That could've been me if this hadn't happened! Ugh!" As I wobbled and strained my back in order to keep my balance, I would look at the clock. 3:00pm. I decided that I was going to stay another hour. I was going to make this work. And that's when I went down for the third time. It happened so quickly that I didn't have time to grab the wall but yet, for my eyes, it was like it was in slow motion. And there I was. Laying on the ice. When I got up, I looked like I just came from Winter Wonder Land as I had shaving of ice all over my black yoga pants and the back of my jacket.
As I walked to my car, sulking over my less than successful day, I couldn't help but think of the many goals I had set out for myself. I did not achieve what I wanted to achieve. I wanted to be be able to say that I didn't fall down. That I was half way graceful. That I was able to help someone else up off the ice. Then as I was getting ready for a hot bath, filled with epsom salts and lavender bubbles, a very still voice whispered in my ear. "You learned to get back up like you have many times before. You don't give yourself enough credit. You did that all by yourself and with so many more physical obstacles than the others."
I may never be able to be like that girl who was a ballerina on the ice, who moved with such grace, but I bet that she has had her own obstacles to overcome as well. So tomorrow when I wake up with my bruised right hip, my banged up knee and all my muscels in my stomache are sore from helping me balance, I'm going to try to remember what that still small voice said. I learned to get back up by myself. That that is an achievement in and of itself.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)