‘Til You Can't: Climb Mountains to be Inspiring or Ignore the Broken Dreams of Beliefs

I don't want to inspire you with my disability and success. I want you to hear me and rethink how you engage disabled people. I don't want to inspire you with the things I've survived. I want you to hear and rethink what it takes to live a normal life under abnormal circumstances. If you're inspired by me, I'm genuinely grateful and you've also missed the point. I've written over 80,000 words on disability and complex trauma in context to contextualize a conversation that needs to be had so people like me don't have to climb mountains to live an average life. My life's not fancy and most of you probably wouldn't trade your life for mine, and I'm beyond lucky to have lived an impossible and improbable life. 

“If you got a dream, chase I it ‘Cause a dream won't chase you back. If you're gonna love somebody, hold him as long and as strong and as close as you can ‘Til you can't, ‘til you can't” (Kid Rock, ‘Til You Can't). For like fifteen years, Kid Rock was my favorite musician because he can perform literally any genre of music pretty well, and then he ruined it for me with politics. This is one of the few times that I've listened to music produced by Kid Rock in the past decade. There's a bigger point from this song though. Everything is temporary. 

Everything is temporary because nothing lasts forever. I thought I'd love Kid Rock forever and I don't anymore because I had to choose between my rebel soul and remaining born free to exit the lonely road of faith, retire the rock and roll pain train, to reminisce all summer long, on the midnight ferry, as I felt cold and empty learning time and time again that nothing lasts forever. 

‘Til You Can't struck me because I don't have to be asked to think about how short this life is. My mom's been gone for eighteen years. My dad's been gone for five years. I don't know if some other people I love are alive or dead. Next year, I'll have outlived one of my relatives who passed away when I was nineteen. They were the age I'll be in a few months. I can't go home again because someone else owns it and rebuilt it. I've spent more time away from my closest friends now than I spent with them. I can't protect my children from this world forever. I can't protect them from these stories forever. I can't make peace with everything because some doors have closed. I can't go back and stand tall where I played small. I can't go back in time as much as I love Back to the Future. 

I cherish people from different eras of my life because I can't talk to them anymore. I'll keep loving the people I love until I can't. I'll keep deconstructing my thoughts and beliefs until there's no reason to do so anymore. I'll keep proving that I can do it until I can't do it anymore. A few decades ago, I was literally taking chances to climb mountains. Months later, I got injured checking the mail and couldn't safely climb mountains anymore. I'll keep telling myself to go to work when my body resists in physical pain. I'll keep myself from reacting in professional spaces to things that trigger my fight, flight, freeze, and fawn responses until I can't think of a healthier way to respond. I'll keep showing up for you until I can't. Unfortunately for some of you, that day already came a long time ago. I'll keep living on purpose in spite of barriers until I can't do it anymore. 

“You can give your life to Jesus and he'll give you a second chance ‘Til you can't, ‘til you can't” (Kid Rock, ‘Til You Can't). I did that a long, long time ago, got baptized in the Word, got the cross tattoos in case you hadn't heard, I chose to serve the Lord in ministry, turns out that wasn't a good fit for me because I was too deep into the fucking theology, to worry about my stats. I can't do that work anymore because the pain of loss and refusal to shrink closed the door. I took my life back from Jesus, even if it wasn't mine to take, because I couldn't wait for his rescue, when I'd lived through hell on earth. I can't pretend anymore that anyone's going to save me unless they're looking at me in the mirror. 

I still believe in second chances because I'm living out the proof. I'm just changing my narrative because I can no longer mask my truth for the comfort and convenience of others. Being a disabled trauma survivor, who's still healing, while professionally thriving is incredibly difficult work. I ignored it for a really long time until I couldn't. I can't pretend I want to inspire you when I'm still working on being seen by you.