In the first year of my Masters (a humanities-based program at a prominent Canadian University), I realized that there was something that made me different from the majority of my colleagues.
Now, I know what you’re probably thinking: “Um...Jenna?. There probably weren’t many students in your class who walked in with forearm crutches…” But in this case, I’m actually not referring to my CP (Cerebral Palsy, Spastic Diplegia). Although you would be right, my physical disability did indeed distinguish me from my classmates, that particular difference is not the focus of this post.
I was sitting in my usual spot in the corner of our rather small (though well-lit) classroom, surrounded by 24 of my well-educated, compassionate, hard-working peers. Our faux-wooden desks were arranged in a wide u-shape, facing inward and leaving space at the front of the room for the professor, backed by a giant green chalkboard. Much to our dismay, and to the absolute horror of our protesting backsides, most of our classes were held in this small space – the instructors rotated in and out according to our weekly schedule.
On this particular day (I can’t remember the day of the week) we were in the middle of a heated discussion about the importance of some weighty buzz word. Our class had a string of buzz words. Words that, if spoken aloud, would always produce a lively discussion, and serve to derail the learning of any particular class. I enjoyed and feared these discussions in equal measure. Actually, upon reflection, I probably feared - rather than enjoyed - most of them.
While most of my classmates were contributing enthusiastically, I was sitting back and absorbing each new comment, each individual perspective. I listened attentively, and formed my own arguments in my head. Sometimes (very occasionally) I would think of something relevant (or what I felt was important) to say, and I would almost be brave enough to put up my hand.
First, I would plan out what I wanted to say. That usually took a minute or two, as I ironed out any potential kinks and rehearsed the words in my mind a few times, making sure I wouldn’t stumble and make a fool of myself.
Then, predictably, my heart would start to pound so loud I could hear it beat-for-beat between my ears. My palms would start to sweat, and my face would heat to an almost-unbearable temperature. Like clock-work, I would look down at my faux-wooden desk to focus my thoughts and reel in my quickened breathing.
Almost inevitably (and thankfully), by the time I worked up the nerve to speak my well-rehearsed words aloud, the class was on to another topic – another weighty buzz word.
This process repeated itself on an almost daily basis.
There are a lot of classes involved in a course-based Masters, and it turns out that there are a lot of topics that can derail well-intentioned instructors from their premeditated lesson plans.
I started to notice that this anxious reaction didn’t just happen during unanticipated ‘pop-up’ discussions. It happened in regular classes too, as I feared I would be called upon - unprovoked and unprepared - by a well-meaning professor; it happened trying to drive my mobility scooter onto the bus. For several attempts, when I first started taking my scooter aboard the OC Transpo giants, my roommate would drive it for me, get it situated, and then accompany me to my destination, so that I could avoid the panic of having everyone observe me while I navigated the narrow passageway; it happened on the pool deck at nearly every swim meet. As a competitive athlete, I used to perform atrociously whenever I felt uncomfortable or out of my depth; it happened whenever I would speak publicly, or sing the national anthem at a sports game, although I had become exceptionally good at hiding my nerves when well-rehearsed, and; it happened at church. I constantly hid amongst my group of beautiful, well-meaning, exceptionally outgoing friends, who I knew I could count on to keep up the conversation, and to provide security whenever I was feeling anxious.
The more I reflected on my repetitive and involuntary reaction in that classroom, the more I realized that I had been struggling through this same scenario my entire life. When I was around people, or specifically when I felt I was being evaluated or judged by them – which was almost always - I was in a state of hyper vigilance, and anxious out of my wits.
As I listened to my classmates talk to others and watched them grow, I realized that not everyone struggled in the same way as me. Most of my peers were beautifully articulate at the drop of a hat. Some weren’t, but if they blundered, it didn’t seem to bother them in the least. Most seemed to carry themselves and speak with a confidence that for me, had only ever felt forced.
For my Grey’s Anatomy fans out there, I was the queen of Amelia Shepherd's ‘Power Pose’ before Shanda Rhymes had even conceptualized the character of Amelia Shepherd.
Nearly every time I went into a social situation, I would take a deep breath, steel my resolve, and battle the instinct to run (albeit slowly and a little awkwardly) in the other direction.
This was especially true in situations where I knew I would be in the spotlight. As a child with a physical disability whose parents encouraged her to reach for the moon and never let anything, least of all physical limitations, get in the way of my success, spotlight situations (big, hairy, audacious ones) were hilariously (and somewhat ironically) plentiful.
As I grew, I learned to ignore the instinct that told me to run in the opposite direction of the crowd. I squared my shoulders, and adapted to every single spotlight that circled my experience.
I spoke at public gatherings of more than 5000 people; I became the ambassador (on two separate occasions) for a large national organization for persons with disabilities; I swam lakes and held press conferences in the name of philanthropy; I wrote and delivered addresses to audiences of all sizes, and; I adapted to living life as a person with a physical disability, in a world that is often not made for me.
I now know that my experience isn’t that of the universal human. Not everyone shrinks back from an offer of help from a stranger because they fear being burdensome; not everyone has to fight with themselves to speak up in a classroom filled with their peers. Some don’t. Some do a little. Some do a lot. I do a lot.
The insecurities that become a reality only in adulthood haven’t helped my inability to embrace experiences without fear. However, now that I understand that not everyone struggles in the same way, I do find it easier to be kind to myself, and to speak up when I’m feeling overwhelmed our out of my depth.
My struggle is an interesting one as a Christ-follower. I fully embrace the words of Philippians 4:6, which encourages us to not be anxious about anything. I committed that one to memory a long time ago. It hasn’t made my feelings ‘go away’, but it has certainly helped, and has given me a great deal of Peace. I still struggle (almost daily) with internalized anxiety, which usually manifests somatically (in my body, with physical symptoms), but I am more than grateful that when I struggle, I am loved by a God who is strong enough to shoulder my burdens, and who walks through the calm and the storm with me.
Because of my faith, and all thanks to grace, I never have to face the deep end alone.
I recognize that the world isn’t perfect (no, really?), that I am far from perfect, and that Jesus uses our imperfections as a light in the world. I’m more than a little grateful that He uses imperfect, broken, doubtful people to reach and teach and love imperfect, broken, doubtful people.
I will probably never be 100% comfortable in a crowd of people, and I will always have to fight with myself to take up space in a room.
But that's ok; I'll keep fighting.
If you are someone who easily takes up space (who dives into the metaphorical deep end without a second thought and with an eloquent and nearly clean dive), I would encourage you to look out for those of us who are more hesitant - we may still be contemplating getting our toes wet.
Give us time to process and freak out and get comfortable so that we can say something if we choose to. And when we do say something, I would encourage you to listen. In most cases, people like me only say something if they’ve had a considerable amount of time to think about it, if they consider it is so important that they are able to push it past the tightly locked gate that sits at the base of their throat, or, if they trust you enough to be open, honest and potentially a little foolish in front of you.
If you are someone who struggles with a particular weakness(es) (aren't we all??) I would encourage you to remember your worth; you are beautiful, valued and eternally loved. Your perspectives and opinions are important, and they deserve to be heard. Your uniqueness and vulnerabilities and strengths make you a beautiful, broken human with so much value to share with the world.
Take a risk today; take a few steps toward the deep end. I for one would love to listen to what you have to say. Even if we don’t agree, we can always learn from one another.
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I am only speaking of my own experience, and endeavouring to embrace my weakness with vulnerability and courage. I am in no way suggesting that it is either necessary or encouraged to ‘muscle through’. Talk to your doctor about supports such as therapeutic practices, counselling, community support groups, crisis lines or medications that may be helpful if you struggle with mental health. The community is full of cost-conscious supports that may be helpful if you find that you are struggling, or if you are experiencing heightened stress or symptoms that are out-of-the ordinary for you.
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Wherever you find yourself today, your journey is beautiful. You are valued and eternally loved. I’m on a journey of self-reflection and discovery – courageously and vulnerably embracing all of the broken, beautiful parts that make me, me.
I recognize that God created me with a unique and important purpose, and I hope that you find strength and encouragement in this revelation of my weakness.
Sometimes, I don’t fight it as hard as I should, and truthfully, in the virtual world necessitated by Covid-19, I sometimes find that I don’t have to push myself very hard at all; social interactions don’t seem nearly as intimidating, overwhelming or deep (really, I’m so punny!) when you can turn your video off, engage with neighbours in 2D reality, or push off an invitation of togetherness without ever actually speaking to anyone. This transition has done wonders for my stress levels, but, I know I’m going to have to fight extra hard when life is once again unmasked (again with the puns – this is getting ridiculous!)
I’m aiming to embrace my differences and use them to spread a little light in this world. To recognize that my struggles and uniqueness can act as a lighthouse for others who are out in the deep end, embracing a storm or struggling to swim to shore.
Let’s dive into the deep end together, and embrace our weakness with courage, and vulnerability.
I’m already in my power pose – are you?
💕