Embracing the Deep End: Combatting Darkness with Glow-sticks and Sunrises

14 years ago today, at 10:04 am, I entered Lake Ontario at Baird Point, New York. I truly cannot believe it’s been 14 years since I crossed the Lake for the first time.

People told me it was impossible - they still call me crazy 😉 - but I was a 15 year old kid, with the right support network and a hefty dose of stubbornness, determined to show the world that nothing is impossible. That the only disability is a bad attitude. That faith in a Saviour who can do all things, and who strengths and sustains, is never misplaced (see Philippians 4:13).

At 15, crossing the Lake was the hardest thing I’d ever done. Or at least the most tiring. I have CP (Cerebral Palsy, Spastic Diplegia), and my body burns 2 to 3 times more energy doing everyday tasks (such as walking, or swimming) than a body without CP does. My muscles are tight, and I swim without using my legs. My arms propelled me for 32 hours and 18 minutes as I worked my way across the Lake.

I faced winds and high waves, and we had to re-direct, so that it looked like I was going back the way I had come (after 24+ hours in the water, this is a baaad feeling).

Picture yourself on the final leg of a very long race. You’re tired. Your muscles are burning. You know you’ve got enough in you to finish, but you’re not sure what will be left after that. Your coach looks at you, and tells you to trust her; for your own good, you’re going to have to start running backwards, back up the hill, across the track, or over the rocky terrain, until you can start moving forward again.

You grit your teeth, shed a tear, and stick you face in the water. Putting one arm over your head, and then another, in a familiar, repetitive pattern; turning around in the direction she’s pointed. Heading back the way you've worked so hard to come.

I had an amazing crew, supportive family, an incredible coach and Swim Master. Not to mention these incredible photos - captured moments thanks to the genius photography of Ian MacAlpine.

I had people who told me I would never succeed (my heart tucked each of those away to use as motivation when the Lake seemed especially cold and dark. The naysayers have a part in my success - thank you. Not for your encouragement, but for your doubt. I have learned in my life that doubt can be a powerfully positive force, if directed strategically and also accompanied by supportive, affirming, trustworthy voices).

I had those voices too. I had my people, and many others, who believed in me, encouraged me, and told me to never give up.

I’ve done a lot of challenging, fun, interesting things since I was 15 years old, setting out to conquer Lake Ontario. I’ve completed the longest triathlon ever recorded by a person with a disability, graduated from a masters program that was taxing both emotionally and spiritually, and started another masters program. I’ve experienced loss. Battled social anxiety and issues with self-esteem. I’ve forgotten who I was, and remembered again (see Psalm 139:13-14 and Jeremiah 29:11). I’ve leaned into the brokenness of the world, and sat in the muck and the mire with people experiencing unimaginable pain.

I’ve had some of the most incredible experiences, and overcome few really difficult ones I never imagined I would go through.

Through it all, whether in the deepest, darkest part of Lake Ontario - with a glow stick strapped to my back so that I didn’t go down unnoticed, weaving and bobbing ‘on my own’ - or celebrating from the safety and warmth of the shore, God has been faithful. I have been surrounded by a supportive, loving community, and I have experienced the peace and confidence of one who knows who she was made to be (see Galatians 4:7).

A few years ago, I started working on a special project at a post-secondary institution, assisting persons who identify as having disabilities to find paid employment through placements on campus. I have been so blessed by this opportunity, and I feel so privileged to be able to work with incredibly talented, energetic students, who are pursing their studies and work opportunities with zealousness.

Going into this work, I was a fiercely determined individual, who was well-educated, and who knew what I wanted out of life. I am still that human. But I am also more aware of the impact of stigma which surrounds persons with disabilities in our world today. It’s been 14 years since I first started saying, “the only disability is a bad attitude.” I’ve come to believe that although this is partly true (our attitudes greatly influence our perceptions and experience), there are also societal attitudes and unnecessary barriers that impact the lived experience of disability for many people.

I believe Covid-19 offers us, as a society, a unique opportunity to assess and adapt the ways we think about and approach many issues. It gives us the opportunity to evaluate our values, privilege, prejudice and biases, and to challenge ourselves to change our practices.

We have the time, should we choose to use it, to evaluate entrenched notions of ableism and other isms; to check our privilege, and to educate ourselves and our little ones.

I hope we choose to create a way forward that does not resemble the middle of Lake Ontario, alone, cold, dark, tossed about by waves (of hate, fear, misunderstanding, ignorance) that seek to upend us. Rather, I hope we choose to create a way forward that resembles the shore; warm, dry and safe - in the arms of a supportive community after the fight of our lives.

I am so very thankful that I grew up with a family and in a community that allowed me to believe in myself and to pursue my dreams. I recognize that this is my privilege, and I praise God, because I know He made me exactly as He did for a Divine and beautiful purpose.

I am proud to be me.

Let’s use the time we’ve been given to encourage inclusive, supportive, barrier-free communities filled with people who have the strength to be who they were made to be (see Psalm 139:13-14), and who rejoice in living life, spreading light, knowing that they are more than enough just as they are.

At the end of the long, cold, dark night in Lake Ontario, I encountered the most beautiful sunrise (pictured below) with the kind of warmth and beauty that reaches the deepest, darkest, most tired part of your soul. To this day, I maintain that God painted that sunrise especially for me; His lonely, cold, crazy kid battling currents and unrelenting waves.

There is always Hope, my friends. There is always Light. The night does not last forever. Let’s snap our glow sticks for one another, shed light on areas of perpetual darkness, and reach out to offer arms of support, safety and warmth. If you need a glow stick today, or a hand to get you to shore, please reach out. We are stronger together. You and me. We can choose to be a light in this world. And we are never alone (see Deuteronomy 31:8).

💕