That is, it really is OK to see the good in everything.  I really don’t have to feel guilty.  For example, my reaction to my advocacy being shut down at the school.  Do I still get emotional about it? Yes.  Do I find myself requiring some mental health assistance lately because of things like this affecting self-esteem in a couple areas of my life? Yes.   Do I feel shame about my emotions? Yes.  But perhaps maybe it’s not shame as much as it is feeling self-conscious.  Self-conscious that I actually want to go  “This hurts but, yes! I make them uncomfortable.  That means I’m doing something right in the realm of advocacy and social change.  Score! :-)”

And when it comes to the emotions, even the ones that make me feel really uncomfortable, like anger and depression, I find myself celebrating, “Thank goodness I’m experiencing life and I am not desensitized or so angry that I can’t see other people ‘s struggles.”

Okay, to be honest, the last one is still more subconscious then the be brave narrative.  However, the point is I am getting there.  I’m getting to a point where if someone said to me “You can make everyone rally behind you in a positive way and you can change the world tomorrow.  And have no spasms.  You would never run into another naysayer,” it would be tempting to be honest, especially about the naysayer bit.

But I hope my response would be  “No I like my teacher.” Meaning of course the teacher of challenge.  Spasms hurt.  But they pass.  Skepticism hurts, but it only motivates me to show the strength of what works for me.  Discrimination hurts.  And it must end.  But, until then, it gives me purpose.

Sometimes, I don’t have this perspective.  But I am trying to because I know it’s the most effective treatment I have ever had.  I’m not ignorant of structural problems.  I’m saying it’s still good to be me.

So, look up. You might find silver.

Elisa writes infrequently, so I was quite happy when this article, from issue 3140 near the end of October was nominated because I agree that it’s one of her best–balancing hopefulness with reality, all wrapped in a solid read with a kicker ending line.

Sky

I truly believe that sometimes the best teachers don’t come from books and the classroom but from family.  In my case this is my dad’s cousin who my sister and I affectionately call Aunt Margaret.  When we were talking recently, she said something that finally cleared up a stumbling block in my perspective.  We were talking about inspiration and having a positive perspective.  She pointed out that while she has sayings to remind her that there are no bad days, there’s a difference between that and hard days.  This perspective is something I have struggled with for months.

That is, it really is OK to see the good in everything.  I really don’t have to feel guilty.  For example, my reaction to my advocacy being shut down at the school.  Do I still get emotional about it? Yes.  Do I find myself requiring some mental health assistance lately because of things like this affecting self-esteem in a couple areas of my life? Yes.   Do I feel shame about my emotions? Yes.  But perhaps maybe it’s not shame as much as it is feeling self-conscious.  Self-conscious that I actually want to go  “This hurts but… Yes! I make them uncomfortable.  That means I’m doing something right in the realm of advocacy and social change.  Score! :-)”

And when it comes to the emotions, even the ones that make me feel really uncomfortable, like anger and depression, I find myself celebrating, “Thank goodness I’m experiencing life and I am not desensitized or so angry that I can’t see other people ‘s struggles.”

Okay, to be honest, the last one is still more subconscious then the be brave narrative.  However, the point is I am getting there.  I’m getting to a point where if someone said to me “You can make everyone rally behind you in a positive way and you can change the world tomorrow.  And have no spasms.  You would never run into another naysayer,” it would be tempting to be honest, especially about the naysayer bit.

But I hope my response would be  “No I like my teacher.” Meaning of course the teacher of challenge.  Spasms hurt.  But they pass.  Skepticism hurts, but it only motivates me to show the strength of what works for me.  Discrimination hurts.  And it must end.  But, until then, it gives me purpose..

Sometimes, I don’t have this perspective.  But I am trying to because I know it’s the most effective treatment I have ever had.  I’m not ignorant of structural problems.  I’m saying it’s still good to be me.

So, look up. You might find silver.

Safety wall number one.  It’s too good to be true.

Marie has heavenly, childlike “everything is so totally awesome” vibe.  I love it, but for a few weeks I was jealous of it—simply on the basis that I did not allow myself to get too enthusiastic over small things, because my family would look at me funny and strangers would think I’m dumb.  That was the story in my head to keep me safe from being hurt.  However, I have seen too many good people be afraid to live because of being hurt.  It took me awhile, but now I really like her perspective.  Especially since I am also allowing myself to ask for help, and just cry when I need to.

Safety Wall number two.  People pleasing is dangerous.

This one was the problem of definition and, again, self-permission.  You see, for me, people pleasing has always been defined as please, please, please like me!  In contrast, my colleague defines people pleasing as acts of service in the form of affirmation.  Put another way the difference between anxious grasping and self-assured helping.  Even so, I think I will still use a different term.

I have a couple more safety walls, but I would have to go back and think about what Marie is saying a bit more.  But these are the two I really remember.  I also understand that because of different life experiences in dynamics and other areas my perspective is still my own  (Young, 1997).  Meaning, my colleague has given the gift of insight but how that plays out in me is going to be different than how it plays out in her.  You can give the paint brushes that you use to a sibling, but the painting may be different because of different styles and colour choices.  Either way, again I give my thanks.

I am grateful because even though it was embarrassing to realize how much of a wheelchair pessimist I actually was, it got me thinking.  Which is something that breaks down walls and gives freedom.

References

Young, I.  M.  (1997).  Asymmetrical reciprocity: On moral respect, wonder, and enlarged             thought.  Constellations, 3(3), 340-363.

Sometimes you just have to say things simply.  I feel everybody gets acknowledgement in feminist scholarship but those with disabilities.  Further, I feel the response to the concerns I raised to the humanities department about some of their courses, although there was some progress, could be said to be hypocritical.  This is because, notwithstanding revisions began because of my advocacy about this issue, I cannot be completely sure it is happening.

Why?  Because the women and gender department does not feel it necessary to post the announcement that they are doing this on the AU website.  To be clear, I’m not saying that they’re not doing it.  I’m saying they gave themselves a loophole so it may not become a top priority, like it has been for other minority groups in recent years.

To those groups I am very happy for you that people acknowledge your pain and I simply feel left out, and a nuisance; it’s not fair.

I feel like the spoiled toddler who pulled my hair because I was using a walker and so getting all the attention when he was visiting.  I don’t mean to be like this, but I just wanted a turn to be seen as a dynamic being with empowering stories, to be told “Yes, I’m sorry.  There’s been a mistake; it was our problem.”  Or “Thank you for trying to ask the student union to get funding for a critical disability theory expert as that is what we need to get more courses and perhaps a degree program in this area, but we have it under control, and here’s how.”  I received the last part, but it was without the plan of action, really, and they closed the file.

Yes, it’s a success that they actually see me as a nuisance and not someone easily deterred by vague promises and reassurances.  It is a success that, because of my paper, revision is taking place.

That’s nothing to sneeze at, but I still feel sick and tired of being presented as sick and tired in course material.  Then when I try to mention something to the very people who say that typecasting someone is discriminatory, they tell me to F off, in a professional fashion, of course.  And then I find myself going over how, in 1991, lesbianism was unfairly invisible in one of my classes.  You’re right, it is unfair, and unfortunately, it’s happening in 2023 in Athabasca University.  Except, this time, it’s disability.

I know I’m just one person, so I understand I can’t ask for apology, but announcement would be nice.

But then again, isn’t this such an announcement?  Maybe in a way.  However, for me, public announcement means accountability.  Fortunately, I was able to join a council meeting in August where this issue was brought forward and discussed as to the steps we can take collectively as fellow students.

Why?  Because the women and gender department of AU does not feel it necessary to post the announcement that they are doing this on the school website.  To be clear, I’m not saying that they’re not doing it.  I’m saying they gave themselves a loophole so it cannot become a top priority like it has been for other minority groups in recent years.

To those groups I am very happy for you that people acknowledge your pain and I simply feel left out and a nuisance, and it’s not fair.

I feel like I’m being the spoiled toddler who pulled my hair because I was using a walker and getting the attention when he was over.  I don’t mean to be like this but I just wanted a turn to be seen as a dynamic being with empowering stories.  To be told, “Yes, I’m sorry there’s been a mistake.  It was our problem.  Thank you for trying to ask the student union to get funding for a critical disability theory expect as that is what we need to get more courses, and perhaps a degree program in this area, but we have it under control and here’s how”.  I received the last part but it was without the plan of action, really, and then they closed the file.

Yes, it’s a success that they actually see me as a nuisance and not someone easily deterred by vague promises and reassurances.  It is a success that because of my paper revision is taking place.  And it’s nothing to sneeze at, but I still feel sick and tired of being presented as sick and tired in course material.  Then, when I try to mention something to the very people who say that typecasting someone is discriminatory, they tell me to F off—in a professional-like manner, of course.  And then I find myself going over how in 1991 lesbianism was unfairly invisible in one of my classes.  And for those who dealt with this, you’re right it is unfair, but unfortunately, it’s still happening in 2023 in Athabasca University.  Except this time it’s disability.

I know I’m just one person so I understand I can’t ask for the apology, but an announcement would be nice.  Isn’t this such an announcement?  In a way.

However, for me, a public announcement would mean accountability.  I am joining a council meeting in August where this issue will be brought forward as how we can determine the steps we can take collectively as fellow students.

I am writing this letter to say I’m sorry for being so hard on us and creating a complex.  That is, I’m sorry for all the mixed messages.

For example, we have a voice but don’t say anything that could get us rejected!

Or, we have loving parents and family as long as we do what they say (even though they support us and everything even when they don’t understand at first).

Or, we are loveable and have our own mind!  As long as someone else on the outside world or something supports us; if they don’t we are a piece of shit.

Or, Jesus loves everybody, but we have to be careful there we don’t get rejected for doing something wrong.  (But that’s not him, that’s us.)

I am so sorry for making your life living hell.  I’m telling you “Love is everything,” but then not allowing you to love in your own way.  I don’t allow you to cry unless sanctioned by someone else.  I’ve been asking you to fight like hell to have your own perspective but then I don’t even give you the freedom of liking CSI Miami without feeling incredibly guilty because Nanny [my maternal grandmother] didn’t like it.

Even worse now, I’m doing the same thing with something that is much more important, sorry, extremely important, to you now.  I’m sorry for not giving you a choice on faith.  Or rather, the freedom and the accompanying serenity to be OK with the fact that some new age and especially sceptic positions on Jesus just don’t work for me and allow us to leave the books and conversations of this nature to those who are interested.

Therefore, I also apologize that I have internalized me as the villain.  In this particular case a Bible thumping individual who is stubborn, closed-minded, and also claiming that everyone else is to blame.  I’m sorry I lived up to that image because I keep reminding us that we have made mistakes.  Things we should’ve done differently—the things we didn’t do differently.

I am sorry for the times I tell you that you are not good enough, that you will never be good enough, that your emotions have no value, that we have no value.

Please forgive me.  You’ve been doing so well.  I mean are you struggling with new personal dynamics right now?  Yes, but you want to grow.

You’ve been booking appointments, and writing this apology for yourself is a big step on its own! Considering when you pulled that Oracle card asking for accountability the first thought in your mind was: “What the hell do I need to apologize for? Why am I always the one apologizing?!” And yet, you’re here.

Thank you Elisa, not because it was the “right thing to do”.  But thank you for showing up.  Even though extreme ownership is one of the hardest things to do. Thank you for caring about your faith enough to hold on even when times get difficult.

Thank you for caring about your family so much that even characteristics that drive you crazy do not constitute license to be an asshole and forget other people’s feelings.

Thank you for loving so much that you were willing to feel pain in your life journey.  Even to the extent that it seems constant.

Thank you for loving with your entire being, even when you have every reason not to.

Thank you for persevering and being persistent in things especially when others and even us do not understand the point in continuing.

Thank you for being you.  And beginning to know what your boundaries are.  Thank you for loving us and I promise to give the same love now and forever.

Affectionately,

Elisa

Re: My Dear Elisa

I forgive you! Love you too, amen.

Hugs and kisses,

Elisa

No, I am not scared I will be excommunicated.

I’m kicking myself in the butt because to say symbol does not respect that I see this as a truth.  I think I am kicking myself in the butt because I’m still choosing my words carefully in our politically correct society.  While I am conscious of the fact that The Voice Magazine is not a Christian publication, I just wish I could let myself submit with the self-confidence that some of my colleagues have to state their views without fear of contradiction or offence.

I’ve spent years crafting my words with diplomacy, nothing to be ashamed of in the least.  I mean it’s been very helpful with advocacy endeavours.  At the same time, sometimes it feels like I don’t know my own perspective.  Simply, I feel like my last piece of work I still put a muzzle on me to make sure I “stay in line”, whatever that means.

In wanting not to play the victim by using my gender as a woman, or the honeymoon handicap perspective, in which individual or group history is used to justify pitfalls in character, let me just say that I wasn’t paying attention when I used that word.  That sentence should be “the living reality of the cross and resurrection… saves my life every day”.  And while I hope this will be inspiring for some people in living what works for them, I am cognizant this might not sit well with people given the history of domination in violence that the church has committed over the centuries.  As a Christian I apologize for that ancestry now.

The thing I do not apologize for is saying that my faith in the risen Christ is what keeps my wheelchair from limiting me mentally.  I guess why I am so passionate about this is because, when I was seventeen, I almost died from depression.  There was no hospital visit or anything like that, but things got scary for a while.  In contrast, because of my faith I am choosing to do projects on disability history and eugenics, so I can maybe create a course some day at the university.

This same viewpoint, that was crucifying me a decade ago and seemed like hell, has become fire for my motivation—bringing new life.  So the cross and resurrection can be very real indeed.

Thanks be to God, amen.  I have been crucified with Christ and I know longer live but it is Christ himself who lives in me.  (Gal 2:20)

You want to know my problem?  I’m tired of people only pointing out my problems as soon as I leave my loving family members.  Quite honestly it feels like this world hates people like me.  The worst part is a lot of the time I don’t know where this reminder will be coming from.

Consequently, every single day, sometimes every moment, I have to make a choice.  Either submit to the BS about my physical circumstances being tragic or inconsequential and lose my soul in depression; or resist with love and joy by connecting to my faith.  In this way that plaintiff is not submitting to eugenic ideas about ability but wanting to exercise freedom in self-determination.  That person who looks like they want to cry?  They aren’t feeling superior to me but showing compassion as my muscles contract in a busy shopping mall.

Finally, this article is allowing me to find motivation to keep fighting the good fight.  Don’t get me wrong, I want things to change.  What I’m saying is it starts with me, and I cannot do that without what I believe in.  That there is someone with me being my strength and my shield (psalms 28:7) in the world that pretends problems stemming from disability discrimination do not exist; causing love and happiness to be the first to die in promising people with different bodies.

Yes, I have a problem with how things are going, but I can be part of the solution.  And because of this, I can honestly say that believing in Jesus saves my life because I am still able to love despite everything.  Every day, by believing in love conquering the world of hatred through the symbols of the cross and  resurrection, I am able to smile.  I am able to be the hero of my own story.  And hopefully an inspiration to others.  Anger turns to compassionate power, thanks be to God, amen.

References
Majury, D.  (2002).”Chapter 3: Women’s (In)Equality before and after the Charter.”  In Jhappan, R.  (Ed). Women’s Legal Strategies in Canada, 101-138.  University of Toronto Press

I have to take responsibility here.  I am 28 years old in a little less than two months and I need to start acting like it.  Particularly, in the area of life choices and personal decisions about my belief system.  To be clear, my family, friends and this magazine has been very supportive in this regard.  My problem again, is thanks to a couple of traumatic experiences with close friends, I roll around as though this support will get revoked, even from Jesus himself, because I am traditional in many ways.

Let me explain.  I believe that every faith or belief system that comes from love is legitimate.  If someone came to and said I’m just starting on the spiritual journey, I would invite them to my church and then recommend “whatever works for them.”   But that is not meant to be sarcastic!

You see what I mean?  I’m driving scared here and I hate it.  Absolutely hate it.  I’m 27 years old; it’s OK that I believe the gospels are divinely inspired.

I need to stop denying myself freedom of religion.

I could explain every situation that causes this fear but it’s simpler to just summarize this way.

The last time I was this content with my perspective and life in general I was crucified.  I wrote an article a while ago about my experiences at camp.  That’s what I’m talking about.  I was psychologically killed because of being too optimistic.  Because I saw a future for people with disabilities that wasn’t “cheese and crackers”.  What’s more, my parents have always been my protection, as well as my sibling, so the argument is to go against them in perspective means jeopardizing safety.

But if I don’t move forward, I jeopardize my relationships with them because of the resentment that is bound to and has come up when I don’t take on these growing pains and grow up.  It would be an insult to them because they always want me to be my own person.

So even though people might not get it when it comes to surrendering, have trouble with the crucifixion historically or prefer more than one map to get to heaven.  I have to use the map that works for me and I hope I can become a guide on this path.  It’s a tough hike for sure.  It changes you and takes a lifetime.  But the view? Out of this world.

It’s time for me to share that joy, maybe by truly living it.

The above prayer is usually something I keep in secret when I write these pieces.  To keep things more secure is usually the argument—usually.  But it’s time to step out of the usual in several ways.

First, if I want to be comfortable with who I am, I have to stop overthinking everything and just do it.  The very fact that this may sound familiar because of previous work is the basis for my second reason; I do the usual thing of talking about something but not really living up to it.  Simply, I can write about giving up self-sufficiency and, most recently, the gift that comes from letting go, but the fact is, in saying that, I gave the universe permission (apparently) to take me out of the frying pan and put me into the fire.

While on a cognitive and spiritual level I understand that I am getting what I asked for, to become who I a m meant to be and truly live as a quadriplegic walking by faith, as it says on my email signature.  When it comes to my emotional and psychological aspects, however, this change is disagreeable.  Put another way, I know deep down this will be good for me, bringing benefit for me and hopefully many others in the future, while simultaneously hating how it feels at the present moment.

It’s like, I love the scholarship, but university is hard!  Citation style?  Wait how many, and what version?  And it depends on the professor’s preference? “Dad I need you to help me with my paper,” she whimpered.

Now, eight years later I moved to emotional and psychological graduate school—except it’s every day.  What?  You mean I can’t just pretend I can pick up the popcorn easily, I have to acknowledge I suck at it?  And acknowledge that over thinking is a bad thing instead of rationalizing it?

You mean I can’t hide behind wanting to make my heroes proud to cover up the fact that I feel totally inadequate right now?  I have to put myself in situations where I feel completely out of my depth? I won’t wake up completely at peace with everything even after prayer?   Jesus, I need you.  For everything!  Amen.

Yes, my journey to understand that human nature is frail is unique because it seems to be on the outside, with the quadriplegic thing, but don’t we all crave independence and exaltation to some extent? The thing is, it’s not healthy.  Yes, this realization burns like nothing I’ve ever experienced.  This withdrawal from self-sufficiency and arrogance is hell.

But it’s worth it.  How?  I just know.