Beautiful Day: Every Rose Has Its Thorn

This past Monday, I shared my story of Cerebral Palsy and Intersectionality at a professional conference. The takeaway, ask questions please. And, ask me what I need every time so that assuming what I need doesn't take my voice from me. The unintended takeaway, I say the F-word a lot. I do and I don't deny that, but I also have a very good understanding of time, place, and manner. My four-letter intent was to show up as my whole human and I enjoy words – all of them. Now, on to my reflections of the talk. 

First, there's six people that I have to thank for this opportunity even happening. Two of whom are my co-presenter and my current supervisor. Two more are other librarians who encouraged me to step out from behind the walls because they saw me. And, the final two are therapists where some serious work gets done. I also want to shine a light on the three people on the DEI Ad Hoc Committee that needed a disability awareness speaker last year and took a chance on me. There's a lot of other people I can thank for my life journey, but these people specifically had a hand in what I'm doing opening up about Cerebral Palsy and Intersectionality. 

As for the talk, I never have enough time, which is partly why I started this blog because I can't fit all of the stories in at once and I hope people join me for the ride and for those that attend the talks, I hope they recognize that each one is different and that's on purpose. In this one, I shared about whole humaning and I revealed what I recently learned from some early medical records. I'm like a cat and I've probably gone through a few lives, and at least two of them were in my first week of life. 

The story, my mom had a spontaneous rupture, which led to an emergency C-section delivery. On that hot Monday night in August, I decided to show up at 33 weeks (which is quite early), but when I did I couldn't breathe and the doctors had to perform “resuscitative efforts” to keep me here. I also couldn't see, my heart wasn't fully formed, and by the eighth day they discovered my brain was bleeding. All that at 3 lbs., 11 oz., and eight days on the planet. 

The way I see it, the world has been telling me no since the first minute and I've been responding, “Oh yeah? Watch me” ever since. Getting to this conference was no different in that I had something to prove that I have been and will continue to be a voice for me and my wounded inner child that just wanted to be loved and held instead of teased, bullied, and left out. I didn't want to carry your weight and mine from my adverse childhood experiences. I wanted to be protected by a father instead of afraid of his addiction. I wanted to be comforted by a mother who just wasn't there. I showed up for me in the ways that I needed. Others showed up for me in the ways that they assumed I needed. 

The assumption is disempowering. I need you to ask what I need because it changes from one thing to the next and one day to the next. I don't need your wisdom unless I seek it because my experience is different. I don't need your religion because I already had it and I don't want it. I don't need your platitudes because they're not deep enough to reach my hollowed out soul. Those aren't protective reactions. I do need your kindness, gentleness, intentionality and respect. When you ask what I need as a disabled person, you're leaving space for my power to show up. I invite your questions. I'm grateful for them because they give me an opportunity that's not always afforded to me and that opportunity is choice, voice, and autonomy. 

And, I had that on the stage at the conference. I had the opportunity to show people why I'm still here and how I choose to keep going. The opportunity to highlight the challenges you can't see with my eyesight and my trauma responses. I had the opportunity to highlight the tools that have come out of the fires I've walked through. I'm still learning about disability advocacy and my own disability. I don't expect you to know the answers, but I do invite you to ask the questions you might have. 

Thank you to all of the people who've either heard or read my stories. Your support means the world to me.