Tag Archives: Special Needs Children

To Grace (Part 3): Accepting Love.

10 Jul

To Grace. To Grace (Part 2): Walking Through The Fire.

Dear Grace,

I don’t know what it is about writing these letters to you that makes me feel better, but they do. Even though I know that you aren’t in the same place as me in terms of your CP, simply being able to say that I personally know another girl with CP who has faced what I have makes me feel that much closer to you.

I’m in Ireland right now, and I love it. It’s been such a wonderful experience. However, it’s been so hard too. Physically and emotionally. I’ve walked more since I’ve been in Ireland than I have in a long time. Though I know that it’s making me stronger, it hurts. It hurts physically and emotionally because there’s no one here that understands. There’s no one that can say they know what I’m feeling. I know that I said in my previous letters how hard it’s been on me that no one can understand what I’ve faced, but it’s just so so so hard, Grace. I know that you know this.

Having no one who understands is almost as if I’m walking down this dark corridor with all these different doors. The doors lead to people who want to understand, but can’t. The need to go through each door and cry is so strong. The only thing worse than not having anyone who understands is knowing that there are people in my life who want to understand but aren’t able to. I can see it in their eyes. There isn’t pity there. There is just the desire to want to know me on a different level, and the degree that I want people in my life to be on the same level as me is stronger than I ever imagined. It’s close to impossible though, Grace.

I know that you understand. However, I also know that it’s not something I’d easily be able to discuss with you. I’d like to imagine that one day when we are older we could try to talk about it. Right now though, it’s too fresh for both of us. It’s too true, too real, too close for comfort. You’re closer to it now than I am. You’re still having to go to PT and face the pain that I’ve been reliving over the past few months through attempting to write my memoir. Even though I’m not facing that pain in the same way that you are right now, I’m facing it in my own way. Saying it’s emotionally painful doesn’t even come close to what I have felt over the past few months. Recently, I really have wondered why I keep putting myself in this position. When you think about it, it’s as if I’m bulldozing myself with all these really painful memories that I never wanted to think about again.

Over the past few months I’ve had multiple people ask me why I have openly placed myself so far deep into my past that I feel completely and utterly stuck. I don’t know how to answer that question because I myself don’t know why. At first, I stuck to the reason that it was because I wanted to reach a point where I could accept myself. However, now that I think about it, self-acceptance is something that every single person struggles with. I don’t think I’ve ever come across anyone who can openly say that they completely and totally love themselves. It’s not an easy thing to do. It’s hard to block out all the negative feelings you have about yourself, even if you do feel like it would benefit you if you didn’t dwell on them.

So as of right now, I’m walking down that dark corridor…feeling alone and yet realizing that there are people who reside behind the doors who are ready and willing to take me into their arms and simply hold me. Because sometimes, no matter how many times we try to be strong, the only thing left to do is sit down and just let the tears come. I used to hate giving in to the tears. It used to make me feel weak. But Grace, we’ve faced so much. We’ve been through pain that people can’t understand. So I guess the thought of walking down a dark corridor and feeling completely and utterly alone isn’t as depressing as I’ve made it seem. It’s just accurate, especially when we realize that the people that we care about aren’t as far away as we imagined. They’re close…patiently waiting…waiting to try to feel what we’ve felt….even though that feels close to impossible right now. It shows love, Grace. It shows a strong emotion that I’ve been so nervous to let in. Nervous because of the strength and power of love. But also nervous because I feel like I’ve been walking through my life recently not knowing how to accept love from people who want to give it to me. I just don’t know how. I’m trying though. I’m trying so hard.

I’m thinking of you. Please know that.

Love,

Amelia

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Every Scar Has A Story.

4 Jun

“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.”-Khalil Grbran

One of my previous physical therapists, Meredith, shared the above quote with me a few months ago when I was going through a rough patch while writing my memoir, when my head was stuck in the memories that brought me so much physical pain that I wasn’t even sure where to begin writing. Lately I’ve been shying away from working on my memoir because I feel like I need to be able to just sit quietly in the closet with some of my memories that are mentally boxed away before I can shed light on them and begin writing.

I’m a very introspective person, and I’d rather sit outside among the natural beauty around me and reflect on life rather than be surrounded by tons of people. I enjoy time to myself, and since I’ve reached a point in my life where I’m not utterly terrified to reflect on my past, the pain I felt, and the memories that sometimes still haunt me, that’s what I choose to do: revisit the memories, even when they hurt. Occasionally, I wonder why I choose to fill my head with memories that hurt, but then I realize that facing the memories is the only way I’ll be able to accept myself. I kept the memories boxed up for so long, kicking the boxes to the back of my closet and refusing to even think about them.

I’ve been told that the special thing about scars is the story they tell. I hated my scars for such a long time. I never wore shorts even when it was really hot outside because I didn’t like to look down and be reminded of the physical and emotional pain that I went through. So during the summer, you’ll see me in jeans, no matter the temperature. I’d rather wear jeans and feel okay about myself than wear shorts and feel self-conscious. For many years, I couldn’t bring myself to even look at my scars. In the beginning, they scared me. Then, I hated them for being a reminder of my pain. And now, instead of being afraid or angry, I am reminded of not just what I went through….but what I fought through…and what I survived. My scars are a reminder that I survived a level of pain that most people can’t understand. Though my scars will forever be a part of me, they are also a reminder of what I’ve endured and overcome in order to reach a point in my life where I can honestly say that I am happy.

My scars tell their own unique story: the story of my life with Cerebral Palsy, full of every detailed memory during my childhood and teenage years. They hold more emotion than I can even fathom, much of which has been released over time through the process of writing my memoir and having this blog. And even though every day is a little bit easier for me to write what I felt during the years of intense surgeries and intense physical therapy, my scars still remain. Even though my surgery scars tell the first part of my story, the part that involves intense surgeries, 15 years of physical therapy, and many, many tears, they don’t tell the part of the story that I’m living now. I do. I’m writing the story of my life, and I’ve always held the key to unlock the boxes of what I’ve felt. However, it wasn’t until a few months ago that I actually realized I wanted to open up those boxes. But I haven’t just wanted to look at them, I’ve wanted to write them. The pain, the hurt, the strength. Because writing it all down makes it that more real, while also making it easier to be able to say: Yes, I have Cerebral Palsy, and I’m a survivor.

Saving Max by Antoinette van Heugten: More Than Just A Book Review.

16 May

A few days ago I finished my fourth pleasure reading of the summer, Saving Max by Antoinette van Heugten. This book was an amazing read, and I simply couldn’t put it down. Here is the synopsis according to Amazon,com:

Max Parkman—autistic and whip-smart, emotionally fragile and aggressive—is perfect in his mother’s eyes. Until he’s accused of murder.

Attorney Danielle Parkman knows her teenage son Max’s behavior has been getting worse—using drugs and lashing out. But she can’t accept the diagnosis she receives at a top-notch adolescent psychiatric facility that her son is deeply disturbed. Dangerous.

Until she finds Max, unconscious and bloodied, beside a patient who has been brutally stabbed to death.

Trapped in a world of doubt and fear, barred from contacting Max, Danielle clings to the belief that her son is innocent. But has she, too, lost touch with reality? Is her son really a killer?

With the justice system bearing down on them, Danielle steels herself to discover the truth, no matter what it is. She’ll do whatever it takes to find the killer and to save her son from being destroyed by a system that’s all too eager to convict him.

I connected most with the character of Danielle, Max’s mother. Even though there were certain times when I didn’t approve of some of her choices, ultimately she did what any good mother of a special needs child would do, she fought for him. For me, reading this book reminded me of all the people who have fought for me as I was growing up and throughout my life due to my Cerebral Palsy. Whether it was making sure that I was placed in the same classes as other kids my age in middle school or making sure I could get a single dorm room in college or be able to register for college classes early so I could make sure the classroom buildings weren’t too far apart in between back-to-back classes, I’ve always had people fighting for me. When I was growing up, and even now, that person has been my mom. It took me a long time to realize that her tough love was her way of fighting like hell for me to get the same opportunities as all the other kids my age. Nowadays, one of my previous physical therapists, Meredith, has acted as my biggest advocate in terms of getting a single room for college, etc. However, the strong realization over the past year is that I’m reaching an age where I have to be my own advocate, or at least figure out who the person is that I need to talk to in order to get a certain thing done, has been a little scary. Though I understand that it is because I’m getting older and I have to “take the reins” in a sense, I’ve always had others fighting for me. Though I know that they won’t go away simply because I start being my own advocate, when I was growing up, I was my own fighter in a different way. I fought to get up in the morning and not instantly start crying because of the pain that came so suddenly. I fought to try to keep a smile on my face because I knew that if I didn’t I would just break down. I fought to ignore all the stares, even when I would have liked to just scream at those kids that would walk by with their mouth gaping open, and who would turn around and look at me more even after their mothers had walked them past me already. I fought, every single day, and I still do. And I’ll fight to be my own advocate. It’s just been interesting to realize that I have to switch gears, while also realizing that I’m just fighting for what I have always deserved: the same opportunities that other kids my age have been given.

That being said, read this book. It’s amazing.