Coming Out of Our Shells from the Danger Zone

After 30 years, I spent time in community with others who live with Cerebral Palsy. For the span of a weekend, I did not struggle to feel seen, heard, respected, or understood. I just was. I spent the weekend leading up to World Cerebral Palsy Day, which is October 6th, networking and socializing with others in the CP community. I've been working to find the words beyond, “it was incredible*, or “it was one of the most important things in my life,” to adequately describe what these ultimately few hours meant for me. 

I've been in a lot of rooms of belonging in my life. From decades in the Church, to the fellowship of the rooms (if you know, you know), to hanging out with wrestling fans, to attending video game conventions, to the wonderful belonging that was my college experience. Those were all life moments. And now, I added another one. One of the key differences here is that I was seen for what I carry internally and externally. It's almost so meaningful that it's overwhelming for me. I've never really experienced anything quite like it. 

I'm going to try and describe the feeling for you. Imagine being in a room full of people you just met, who know you, without knowing you. Who know what it feels like from the inside out. I was very aware of how emotionally intense this experience was for me. It was an in the moment awareness. I could feel the waves of emotional energy crashing through my body. Every second was as I shared with the group, “an unmasking and then undoing.” 

At this point, I've spoken a lot about my life with CP. It's usually to groups of professional peers and non-disabled people. Instead of telling that story, I shared with this group of other Cerebral Palsy adherents, why I went public with my story (the unfiltered version that probably doesn't make me look as good), what it was like for me to reconstruct my medical history and to find out that I almost died during the birth process (not ever knowing that part of the story), and most importantly what it was like for me to be in a room full of other people who had CP for the first time in 30 years. I had one friend in college with CP, wherever you are Maggie, I hope you're doing well. 

I had to come to reckoning with my imposter feelings. I had to sit with the question that in a room full of other people like me, what do I bring to the table? Typically, I'm one of one. In this setting, however, I was one of many, the majority. That's an interesting feeling. I was a well of emotion, trying to cool them beneath the surface with a little humor and some bourbon. I knew that I could just let the emotion be because I probably wasn't the only one feeling something along those lines. 

I didn't do a very good job beforehand to explain to people why I was going to this event or what it meant to me because I was going to hang out with strangers. People I'd never met. I was charting unknown waters for myself. In some way I felt like I had to justify why I was willing to travel across the country to do some kind of networking all about CP. I didn't explain this well to anyone. Not to myself, not to my wife, not to my kids, not to my peers, and so on. I even waited until the last minute to acknowledge it at work. I didn't really know how to describe what this event was supposed to be or what it meant for me. That was beforehand. I'm having an equally hard time articulating the aftermath but for a very different reason. This was so profound for me. And all I really did was network with people. 

It was hard to leave the event because it didn't want to leave the feeling of belonging behind. I wanted to feel that way forever. I didn't want to return to having to explain myself for why I'm tired, for why I move slower, for this or for that. As I'm writing this, I've literally spent all day recovering from the travel. I even lamented my schedule for the remainder of the week because it's pretty stacked (most of that will be over by the time you read this) but I know that my break from the pushing and grinding is over. 

If any of my fellow participants in this event, read this post, I just want to thank you. First, I want to thank you for showing up. Second, I want to thank you for helping me to sit with it all and be unmasked and share stories with you effortlessly. I've never felt anything like that. Some things have come close, but this was special. I'm forever grateful to you all just for being there. 

I won't wait 30 years again. I'm grateful that I said I wanted to do this on my birthday and that people contributed to my efforts to get there. Even people that didn't didn't really grasp why I was doing this or why it was important. I know that I don't savor in the good for very long and that I probably focus more on what you don't understand about me then what you do, but I'm grateful for you helping me to show up to an event that you didn't understand, that I couldn't articulate, that would allow me to be me in every sense of the word, and ultimately enrich my life for a couple of days.