Finding Myself One Piece at a Time

Introduction

I’ve been trying to figure out how to write what I want to write while still marketing myself, but maybe if I write what I want to, then you’ll do the sharing for me and the titles won’t matter as much. I’d like to walk you through what I’ve been thinking about recently and I think you’ll be able to learn something from it if you’re an anxious, disabled, queer tadpole like me. As soon as I wrote anxious, the only thing I could picture was a little tadpole nervously shaking her fins back and forth. It was kind of funny though because she was so small that her whole entire body shook with nervous energy and I thought that described me. So, I’m a tadpole now.

Starting last March, I’ve really been getting into books about women’s rights, queerness and Christianity, chronic illness, social justice, and others of the sort. I learned so much in a short period of time, but I had no way to verbalize it. For the first time in years, I didn’t know what I wanted to write, not because I didn’t have any ideas, but because I didn’t know how to say it. No. That’s a lie. I didn’t want people I knew to read the things that I wanted to write about because I didn’t want to change what they thought of me. I mean, I am a recovering people-pleaser after all, haha. So, I chose to write a few key posts here and there and tried not to get too overwhelmed by the pattern of write, edit, post, repeat. Maybe I was tired of feeling like no one was reading my posts. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter right now, though. All that matters in this post is that I’m finding myself, now.

Finding Myself Through Classes

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Combining all of this newfound knowledge with two classes I am currently taking and I’ve got the perfect storm. I had been a sponge soaking in all of the knowledge but I kind figure out how to wring it out. For some reason, something’s clicked. The first class I’m talking about is kind of like an Intro to Philosophy/English class but nothing like it. It’s just that this is the best description I can think of. We’re reading The Republic of Plato, Hamlet, and Borderlands/La Fronterra. I’ve finished The Republic and started Hamlet. One thing that’s really stuck with me is an activist artist, Doris Salcedo. She has blown me away with every single piece she’s done. Learning about her reminded me of spending all of the time I did this spring in museums in Valencia, Vienna, and Amsterdam. I saw so many famous works of art, but often the ones that I really liked weren’t famous. They had a deeper meaning of some sort and there was something holding them all together. Even though some of them were completely different styles and mediums, there was almost this invisible string tying each piece together. For example, one was a copy of Beethoven’s 9th and another was a giant inflatable bouncy house wrestling ring (you had to use a ladder to get on). Those two pieces of art don’t seem at all alike and, yet, something about them drew me in. I wanted to know the story, what inspired it, and why they were creating it.

I’ve now realized that the string connecting these pieces and all of the others isn’t actually so random. The string is community. Each one of the pieces I loved did something that made me feel closer to the people around me, helped me understand the artist on some intrinsic level, or showed me a part of myself that I had never seen before. I felt connected to humanity and I felt understood.

Another thing that flooded the dam of knowledge was learning about the concept of the single story. If you haven’t listened to Adichie’s Ted Talk, you need to. However, I wrote a paper that related to The Republic and how single stories are not beneficial to the LGBTQ+ community. While doing research for it, I stumbled upon an article by a writer who shall remain nameless (a popular author in the ex-gay/side b community who has caused a lot of harm in the lives of queer Christians) titled “Love Letter to a Lesbian.” Because I was doing research stuff and needed a source for her, I read it and, oh, how my heart broke for her. This woman broke up with her love because she believed that God wanted her to repent of her (same-sex) sin. I don’t want to out-right bad mouth her, so let’s name her Candace. Then and there I understood how Candace believed she was doing the right thing, the godly thing by writing a book that has been extremely harmful to the queer community.

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The second class I’m taking that has massively expanded my mind is The Sociology of Gender. There are so many things that I don’t know about myself and about my people. After learning about indigenous feminisms, I started doing more research about my indigenous Saami roots. I also discovered a written script in China that at one point only women could read and they used it to write books and share stories without being censored to further women’s rights. Nothing is as cookie-cutter clear cut as it seems.

I made an infographic about the hashtag campaign, #NotInvisible, that was started by Senator Heidi Heitkamp to spread awareness about violence against Native American and indigenous women. I read a story about a young woman who looked like she could’ve been my cousin and how she was reported missing and murdered. Somehow, her baby survived. She is one of thousands of Native American women who goes missing and ends up being found murdered. My heart broke for her, her family, her daughter, and all of the other women that I’ve never even heard of.

Random Things That Connected the Dots

The most recent thing that’s helped me is I’ve been listening to Dolly Parton’s America. The first thing I remember ever learning about Dolly Parton was that she had big boobs. After that, I knew she had grown up really poor but was now rich. I, definitely, know a lot more about her now. She is most certainly not a dumb blonde (that’s a reference for those of you who live under a rock like I have). I have a completely different respect–not only for her–but also for both of my grandmothers who grew up in the south around the same time she did. Poor southern women have made way more sacrifices for you than you might think (assuming you’re a woman reading this).

There’s one last thing I want to tell you about. I had to give a presentation in another class. Halfway through the class I ended up moving from my chair to my bed because my POTS was not having it. I gave a presentation that I was really worried about from my bed and having not been super interactive the rest of the class, the zoom chat was blowing up with comments from my peers about how amazing the presentation was and I was. I didn’t know what to say. I think I understood that I was able to connect with people like the artists had been able to connect with me. This presentation was 100% myself. There were rainbows everywhere and I spent hours editing the transitions because I wanted it to look put together. For some reason, I still didn’t think that was enough because, damn, I underestimated myself way more than I realized.

Finding My Disabled Self

Thanks to Sarah Ramey’s relatively new book, The Lady’s Handbook for Her Mysterious Illness, I’ve been thinking a lot about my health…my chronic illnesses…my disability. I’m coming to terms with the fact that I may never get 100% better. To be honest, I don’t think I ever really had 100% to begin with. I mean, I was born a month early, around four years old I was sick nonstop, at five, I sprained my right ankle for the first time and then the left back and forth for at least six months (I could only stand in pools), my motor skills were awful, I did speech therapy for a lisp, I have hardly any depth perception at night, and the list could go on. When my physical health started getting worse, I ignored it until people were worried and telling me about it. At first, I blamed it on the C-PTSD and Depression and Anxiety, but that stopped working when I began feeling like I was about to pass out all the time and felt like I couldn’t physically open my eyes from exhaustion.

For a long time, I didn’t believe myself and I still struggle to believe myself today because neither of my parents believed me when I told them about my mental illness and, to some extent, this as well (p.s. trusting yourself is a good and healthy thing; don’t let anyone tell you otherwise). Thankfully Sarah’s book (even though it’s not perfect), has helped me to trust myself and, also, start grieving over my health and what could’ve been. There are so many things that I used to love, that I can’t do anymore or am in a lot of pain/difficulty when doing so, now. The list currently includes singing, eating gluten, typing, driving (with great difficulty, don’t worry it’s not impossible) writing, drawing, calligraphy on paper, wearing bras, playing soccer, picking things up off the floor, sleeping, doing the dishes, baking, going shopping, traveling, standing, and I’m sure there are many more that I’m not thinking of. This isn’t normal for an eighteen year old, nor is this something I would fake (I do not have the kind of money for that) or wish upon anyone else. I miss the ‘me’ who didn’t have to embrace Hades.

Conclusion

Together, these things culminated in me recovering my words and having something worth fighting for. I don’t want any woman who is disabled or otherwise to not be believed by the doctors treating her. I don’t want any other woman to experience medical trauma like Sarah did and, then, be gaslit about it. Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women should not be an epidemic (and with barely any awareness). Queer people should be able to love themselves no matter what family they grow up in. Women’s lives are worth fighting for and I have plenty of words on that (if you couldn’t tell). So from now on, I’m going to write the way I want to and the world just has to deal with it.

I wanted to let you know that I am here and I am growing, I write as myself, now, and for us as a purposefully connected community. I’m speaking up for myself, making space for the silenced today, and fighting through my words because writing is my mjölnir and protesting/traditional activism isn’t possible for me right now. Maybe, one day women won’t have to fight for their health to be taken seriously or for Native American women to be just as safe as everyone else. Until then, I won’t give up hope that the world can change for the better and that making space for myself is making space for all of the other queer, disabled, indigenous, mentally ill women out there. If any of those are you, remember that you are seen. So many women have fought for you to have the rights and freedom you have today. Now, it’s your turn to pick up the torch. Don’t turn your back on yourself because you will be found (cue Dear Evan Hansen).