A Different Kind of Strong

    There was a conversation that happened before I moved to Alaska that up until now, I believe only my parents were aware of. Since I obviously couldn't have an in-person interview with my future supervisor in Alaska while I was still in Virginia, it had to be done over the phone. Since the people who were interviewing me couldn't see me or observe me walking into a room, there was something I had to reveal to them. I am not required to disclose that I have a disability in a job interview, but since this job involved moving across the country to a place where mobility could potentially be more difficult for because of snow and ice, it would have been pretty irresponsible to omit that detail. I've had my share of discouraging experiences as a person with a disability when it comes to being employed, so I was really dreading this part of the conversation. Thankfully, that conversation went very well, and now here I am in Nome. I was worried that my disability would be a roadblock in many ways when moving to a new place and meeting new people, but I'm happy to say that hasn't been the case. The topic has rarely even come up, which is exactly the way I like it.
It wasn't until yesterday, when I was helping organize things over at the food bank, that I finally experienced that moment I dread, the moment of facing a task that I am not able to do. Because of who I am, I did briefly attempt to lift things that I really shouldn't have. Then I remembered that there is some very expensive hardware in my back from a scoliosis surgery that was quite an ordeal. Since I don't want to risk having to put my life on hold to get that hardware repaired just because I was doing something I shouldn't have in order to look tough, some responsible adult part of my brain kicked in and I stepped back and let other people take over.
      This is something that I've had to do many times, and it never gets easier. It's awkward standing around while everyone else does the heavy lifting. It's awkward listening to the "But you're still helpful!" coddling that often follows.  It's awkward and I dislike it more than I can even explain and I've been upset about it more times than I care to admit.
     What I often fail to realize when I am mourning my lack of physical strength is that I posses another kind of strength. It is not the kind of strength that often attracts worldly praise, but it is important nonetheless. I have the strength to be empathetic towards others, and to notice those who are easily forgotten. I also have the strength to allow myself to enjoy life, even when my first instinct is to never get too excited, because experience tells me that something could always go wrong at any time. Just like physical strength, I had to build it up. Instead of exercise, this strength is built up from constantly reminding myself to focus not on the things I can't do, but the things I can. It is built up from years of experiences like the one I had yesterday, and the ways I have chosen to react to those situations. I haven't always reacted by choosing to focus on the strengths I do have, but each time I do they get exercised just a little more.
     While I know that physical strength is something that I will never have, I am learning to focus on those other ways of being strong. And most importantly of all, I have to remember that any kind of strength, be it physical, mental or otherwise, is not something I accomplish on my own. Strength, like all things, comes from God.