Going for Silver

  Several months ago, in the midst of working at a school that was performing feats of wonder to stay open during a pandemic, it came to my attention that most people don’t have an adverse reaction when the word “ventilator” comes up in casual conversation. Most people can talk about the concept of someone being put on a ventilator and then just move on to the next topic. And this is when it became abundantly clear to me that I am not most people.

When I hear that word, my throat gets tight and I start to feel what I can only describe as “out of it”, like my mind is trying to remove itself from the situation . I have very vivid memories of my parents standing next to my hospital bed explaining that my surgery had to be stopped due to a severe anaphylactic reaction, and not being able to ask any follow up questions due to the tube down my throat.  Even though I am in a safe place now, my brain recalls a scary and dangerous time and sends signals to my body that the danger has returned, and my body responds accordingly, engaging it’s fight or flight response. Thanks to all of the training I’ve had about working in trauma informed settings, I was able to determine that this response I was having was not typical and could probably fit somewhere under the umbrella of anxiety, and I knew where I could go to get help.

     I have an interesting relationship with counseling. I love the idea of it, and I have a history of putting myself in for a few sessions, and then finding reasons to stop as soon as it gets too uncomfortable. The problem in the past has been that I’ve wanted the positive results of therapy without having to do the hard work of processing my own feelings, and that’s not how it works. But this time I’m in a different place, maybe due to maturity, or maybe just time and distance from the events I need to process. 

     I never intended to admit to anyone that my reaction to the memory of a past medical  trauma sent me to therapy. I have had to work through a great deal of shame after finally admitting to myself that the medical trauma I have experienced did indeed have a negative impact on me mentally. It feels silly typing those words, but it makes sense.  Each time I would go through a traumatic medical event in my childhood and teenage years, I was praised for what people perceived as courage and strength. I learned that pretending not to be in pain, physically or mentally, earned me praise and admiration, things that are very appealing to a people pleaser like myself. 

     Furthermore, I know that some readers of this blog will be inclined to believe that I am subscribing to some liberal ideology, that I should just pull myself up by my bootstraps, pray more, go to church more. That spending an hour of my time every week talking to a professional about my feelings makes me a snowflake. I know this because when I was still an impressionable teenager, I witnessed how my church reacted to someone sharing their mental health struggles. I watched the initial support for this person gradually fade to skepticism as people very close to me began to suggest that it was time for them to stop talking about it and move on, showing that mental health was not yet a topic our congregation as a whole was comfortable with.  What I learned from these attitudes was that my church was not yet a safe place to be honest about the reality of mental health. And if you can’t be honest in God’s house, where can you be honest? 

When Prince Harry and Meghan Markle stepped away from royal duties, and Meghan bravely spoke out about her mental health, people said she was too wealthy and privileged to be depressed, which demonstrates a fundamental misunderstanding of depression. 

     And now Simone Biles, a survivor of a very public sexual assault and currently the best gymnast in the country and maybe the world, has withdrawn herself from competition for the sake of her mental health. She was wise enough at the age of twenty-four  to realize that she was not in the right mental state to compete safely, and she gracefully bowed out and stayed on the sidelines to enthusiastically support the rest of her team. And as I read the Instagram comments from uninformed trolls calling her “weak” and “a quitter”, and talking about how she’s “letting down America” as if she owes any of us anything, I know that there are teenagers and even children reading those same comments. And although I don’t have the platform of an Olympian or a Duchess, it feels important that I add my voice to the conversation, because I know what it’s like to hear these kinds of messages as a young impressionable person and prolong your own healing because of them. 

     Having depression or anxiety or any other mental health struggle does not make you weak. Your brain is an extremely complex organ that needs to be taken care of just as much as any other part of your body. And if you’re a person of faith like I am, I need you to know that God is not mad at you for going to therapy, or doing whatever healthy thing you need to do in order to heal and protect your brain. You are not depressed and/or anxious because you did not pray enough or read enough “do not be anxious” Bible verses. You are depressed and or/anxious because of very real things that are happening within the structure of your brain. God created your brain, and I feel pretty confident that God is not anything but happy about you taking care of it. 

     Right now, Simone Biles has put the topic of mental health on the world stage, and that is a wonderful thing. I am inspired by her courage and I hope that she knows that her decision is paving the way for more athletes and people in general to prioritize mental health. But in a world with a 24/7 news cycle, our attention spans are short and will soon be captured by something else. This particular moment will end, but that does not mean that it didn’t matter. I believe that each time a person in the spotlight like Meghan Markle or Simone Biles is brave enough to tell the truth about their mental health, it sends a message to the next generation about what it really means to be strong, and brave, and tough.  It sends a message that we are no longer sacrificing ourselves on the altar of approval to get the gold. We are staying true to ourselves, and using our God-given instincts to honor the needs of our minds and bodies. We are finally acknowledging that sometimes going for silver is the bravest and strongest pursuit of all. 

Campbell's Question

      Hello friend. I don’t know when or if you will ever actually read this, but I’m writing it anyway with the hope that it might mean something to you one day. I was friends with your mom before you were even born. We even traveled to Honduras together. She’s my good friend, so you and your sister are like two extra little bonus friends that didn’t get a say in the matter quite yet. You hold a special place in my heart, because I prayed for you to exist before you did. When your mom told me you were going to be born, I was mini golfing with the youth group. I’m not sure she was prepared for the amount of ruckus that occurred when she made her announcement. We were all so excited to meet you. I was at a meeting at church when I found out you had been born, and I was so overwhelmed with happiness that I cried all the way home. Now you’re a living breathing person, asking me questions and telling me stories like we’re best friends, even when you haven’t seen me in months. I know most of that is because you inherited your mother’s outgoing personality and would probably talk to any old stranger who showed up on your front porch, but I like to think some of it is because we have a connection. 

     The first time we met, you were two weeks old and for a second while I was holding you, you looked me directly in the eye. Many people will probably think that I imagined this because it’s not typical for babies to make eye contact that early, but I remember it quite clearly because that was one of the few moments when I thought that maybe I didn’t want to move to Alaska after all, because maybe I would rather stay close so I could watch you grow up. But moving to Alaska was the right choice for me, and so now I watch you grow up through Snapchat videos and only see you and your family in person once or twice a year.

    I was able to come see your family over my Christmas vacation, in a carefully planned outdoor visit. It’s wild to me that you are living through a worldwide pandemic that you will most likely not remember. It might be good that this will probably be a thing of the past before your long term memory has fully formed, because a lot of the way people have been treating each other during this time is nothing to be admired.

     Anyway, towards the end of my visit, it happened. I think I was actually getting up to leave when you said, “Why are you walking like that?’ and it hit me like a ton of bricks. By the time I’d regained my composure enough to answer your question, you had already lost interest. I gave you the same answer I give most children, about how my spine didn’t form the way yours did before I was born, so the way I walk looks different than the way you walk.  I don’t know if you really understood, but you accepted my answer and moved on to the next thing. The interaction was over in less than a minute, but I’ve thought about it a lot and I wish I had answered your question right away, instead of spending several seconds in silent shock, as if I haven’t heard this question from dozens of other children throughout my life. I’d just never heard it from you.

     Your  question felt like the end of something, and it was an ending I wasn’t prepared for. You’re no longer a baby unaware of the world around you. You’re old enough to make observations and ask questions. You’re old enough to understand that people have differences, and that probably means you’re old enough to start forming ideas and opinions about what you observe, and old enough to make judgments. Your parents are both good people, so I’m confident that you will continue to be taught the right way to treat others. I just know that like all humans, you will have plenty of influences outside of your home that will show you all of the wrong ways to treat people. So for that reason I wish I had a more poignant response to your question , but honestly I thought I had at least another year to prepare. I guess that little baby who could maintain eye contact at two weeks is continuing to hit her milestones early.

      As I reflect on my less than perfect response to your very legitimate question, I am hopeful that my words will be buoyed by other sources that will have a positive impact on how you perceive other people. Maybe you will be part of the first generation of people who are able to be fully inclusive. Maybe you’ll grow up in a world where treating people differently because they are different than you never even crosses your mind. That’s a lot to hope for, but there are lots of people working hard to create that kind of world for you to grow up in. I am not talking about a world where people’s differences are not noticed, because that doesn’t do anyone any good. I’m talking about a world where people make space for each other’s differences instead of seeing them as a threat.

     I’ve grown up being an involuntary “inspiration” to a lot of people, some of whom I’m not even particularly close with. The simple fact that I am able to live independently sometimes makes people fall all over themselves with admiration, and it occasionally gets tiring to be on the receiving end of that kind of energy. So what I’m hoping is that if I can inspire you in some way, it won’t just be because I was born with something that I have no control over. I hope I can inspire you to do what you were meant to do, even if other people don’t understand. I don’t know exactly what that will look like for you, but I hope you will spend far less time and energy than I did worrying about all of the people who don’t understand your life choices. I want to let you in on a little secret that most women don’t figure out until they are even older than me. When you grow up, you don’t owe anyone an explanation for how you choose to live your life, unless you are doing something that harms others. The choices you make about how to live your life are between you and God. Take advice from a few good friends and then, to quote one of mine and your mom’s favorite authors, “let the rest burn.” 

     Well, this letter is getting long and I’m still not entirely sure I’ve said what I’m trying to say. I guess if I could go back and answer your question, I would say pretty much the same thing. My spine formed differently than yours, and so I walk differently than you. It is simultaneously a simple fact and a big deal that helped shape the course of my life. But it doesn’t define me, and after some thought, I’ve decided it really doesn’t define anything about my relationship to you. I am who I am, and you are who you are, and I’m glad we know each other. I hope that as you get older and have more freedom to make your own choices, you will choose to keep me in your life in some way. No pressure or anything, but I am the reason you know what a musk ox is. You’re already one of my favorite humans, so just keep doing what you’re doing. I love you.