The world is full of pitfalls and false truths. They can lead us to places we don’t want to go. Or bring us back to the very spot we spend so much time and effort trying to get away from. The tiny voices in our head may tell us that those places aren’t as bad as we remember, and invite us back in.
That’s the moment when we question ourselves and quietly ask, ‘Why did I allow myself to fall into this trap again?’ Then we wonder where we might have taken a wrong turn. That was me at ten or eleven years old. All of the frustrations I had about not being able to do certain things on my own started to resurface.
All the emotions that were attached to them came rushing back as well. These things were always there, and I thought I had conquered them. But I was wrong. The fact that I didn’t like when things changed, wasn’t making for an easy transition into now being a disabled kid with not one, but two bum legs. Not only that, but I also had to keep up with my schoolwork while I was recovering from my surgery.
I had to make some sense of this – on top of fighting bouts of radiating pain and having what felt like 100-pound weights on my legs due to the double cast that I had on for months. That also led to countless hours of physical therapy, which were excruciatingly painful some days. It just seemed like the weight of having cerebral palsy was amplified by having surgery – to the point where it put me in a very uncomfortable position. I already felt like a burden by default, and I was striking out even more.
I was admittedly frustrated.
That’s saying a lot because I don’t get frustrated easily. This, however, pushed me to my breaking point. Or what I thought was my breaking point. I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or have a nervous breakdown. It was like being trapped in my own body, more so than before. I was OK when I only had my disability to deal with. I somehow felt strong because I had finally figured out how to “overcome” that part of my life.
I still had fears and doubts about it, but I knew I could rise above them. They were nothing new. Now, however, there were these other painfully heavy obstacles being thrown into the mix. My only saving grace was knowing that both of my surgeries were over, and they were going to help me in the long run.
That’s not to say I still didn’t feel angry or overwhelmed by my situation. I knew I had to have surgery. Yet, I was completely unprepared for the waves of emotion that it would bring. This was something I didn’t want to put on anyone else’s shoulders any more than I had to — although I welcomed any distraction I could find, schoolwork included. It would have been wrong of me to put that pressure on my family. So, I did the only thing
I knew how to do: put my head down and push through the pain.
In hindsight, it wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done. My determination to get through this taught me a lot about developing thicker skin, but it also made it harder to ask for help. It was even harder to deny that I needed it. I wasn’t trying to be cocky or selfish. I just wanted to grow up in my own way, and my own pain gave me that opportunity.
The one thing I relied on then, is the same thing I rely on now. It’s the ability to focus on a single task until it is finished. That also allows me to be less afraid of my daily shortcomings – and be OK with the fact that they’re always going to be there. If anything, having surgery reminded me of that.
I don’t think I will ever be “fine” with not being able to simple, everyday things on my own. It’s not anything I hold against my family, society or even myself. It’s a matter of knowing my back is always against the wall in some way, but I fight my way out.
It’s always important to remember why you do what you do. And stick with it. I found my reasons for fighting through frustration. What are yours?
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