Dear High School Freshman Me,
Right now, you’re starting high school, and you’re nervous. The halls form a beige-tiled labyrinth. The older students loom tall and assured as you wobble along. The assignments are serious, and you aren’t sure if you, with your anxious brain and tense hands, are up to the challenge. Trust me, you are. Steady your shaking and smile, because high school is where you’ll really begin to discover yourself. Get ready to dig in. You’ll learn to navigate the halls, but more importantly, you’ll learn to explore what it means to be you. You’ll free your own ideas and feelings – in writing, out loud, through music, and in relationships. You’ll still get nervous, but that won’t keep you from growing. Pay attention, and take everything in. Here are some things to keep in mind...
Family and Friends
Your parents are the best thing you have going for you – I’m serious. Realize that the things they do for you every day aren’t so small or easy, and that your claws-out attitude can be a lot to handle. Even when you’re scared, sad, and confused inside, know that they’ll love you. They’ll be there through the messiness of being a teenage girl with a disability, and they’ll help you untangle the snarled knot of your heart until you’re left with a strong, shining line of intuition. It is an internal gift that will serve you well wherever you go. Similarly, your brothers will let you be the smiling, curious, sensitive girl you often lose to worry or external expectations. They’ll always get your meaning and your sense of humor, and they’ll always let you be you. In your family, you’ll always belong, even when your disability makes you feel different out in the world.
Be ever thankful for your friends – two of them especially will be by your side through tough times, accomplishments, and celebrations. The three of you’ll be drawn to each other in choir and band practice, but try not to be surprised when they want to hang out with you after school and on the weekends. To them, you’re more than the disabled girl with a quirky walk, poofy hair, and mediocre clarinet skills. You’re witty, fun, caring, and smart. You make woodwind sectionals and after school rehearsals a good time. You’re a writer and a brilliant party planner. Learn to see yourself through their appreciative eyes. Their assessment is dead-on, and kinder than your own self-criticism.
Speaking of self-criticism – simmer down on that. It doesn’t serve you. I know you don’t see it, but you’re beautiful. You don’t need to move and walk like a supermodel to be okay. You don’t need to show everyone the typology of your skeleton to counteract your irregular way of moving through the world. Perfection is impossible, and the more you reach for it, the further you get from the people and goals that truly matter.
When you ask a boy to the Homecoming dance in the choir room, you don’t have to stammer a thank you or feel tempted to take a breather under the baby grand when he says yes. He isn’t doing you a favor by being in your presence. You aren’t repulsive or pitiable, and this isn’t like the prince deigning to take the ugly stepsister. You’ll go together because you both want to have a good time. Also, guess what? You’re a pretty awesome person to be around.
Oh, and about your body? I know it sometimes feels like it has abandoned you, becoming tired and unstable and painful when you most need it to carry you. It is okay to be frustrated. I agree, it isn’t the ritziest or most reliable of bodies. It usually has the doddering fickleness of a grandma’s old bones, but it will wisely teach you how to bridge the gap between what you want to do and what you can do. You’ll continue to learn how to problem-solve this way, and it will serve you personally and in your work with others.
Wait, about feeling frustrated – it’s okay to feel really pissed off sometimes. You don’t have to go around with a plastered-on poster girl smile and can-do attitude all the time. I know you’re used to it. I know you started out as the sweet little blonde kid in the purple cupcake sweater, pulling your walker like a shiny, mutated barre on wheels and waving for charity. Great. That act still works for you, generally. And you’ll love your life, but it can still be spectacularly unfair. If you don’t let those feelings out, they’ll pull you down, dim your vision, slow your steps, and ice your heart. You don’t have time for that. Let your anger fire you up, and fuel some powerful critical thinking.
I know that you try not to think of yourself as different. In fact, you try not to think about your disability at all. I can understand this, because most people don’t talk about it. When they do, their messages are negative, confusing, vague, or trite. Well, here is something I can tell you with assurance: Despite what you hear, you aren’t defective or incapable. You don’t need to be fixed, because there is nothing wrong with you. Your disability isn’t a wicked pathology, and it doesn’t morph your body into a leper colony. It is a part of you, but it isn’t all of you.
And another thing – even though I’m talking about bodies, you should know that a lot of your disability has to do with society. More open-mindedness, fewer biases, stronger laws, and more accessible public space are crucial for you and people like you. There is more to your disability than the straps and screws on your braces, the X-Rays and scans, and the appointments with doctors and therapists. Those are just symbols of a society that tries to control and normalize anything different. Confronting and challenging that social control will be maddening and discouraging at times, but it will also be empowering. It will eventually bring you into contact with a community of audacious crips, and you’ll find your place in the movement.
You’ll have young, adorable eager English teacher who will ask you to write a poem about yourself in the style of a fiery Chicana author. Something about her Kahlo-esque imagery will resonate with you, and you’ll write a defiant declaration about being a rose. The poem will be blood red and full of crookedness, thorns, and layered depth. You’ll feel a sizzle of liberated righteousness when you read it over. Much of it will hold true for who you’ll become. However, don’t forget that roses aren’t so very different from any other flower. They start out tightly coiled, bright, and sharp, but their petals eventually droop open, dry up, and drop to the ground. They too must face the cold and snow of winter. And their thorns serve as protection, but they must be stripped before they can be held, offered as gifts, or clustered together in a vase. Remember that it is okay to be vulnerable, open, and honest. Asking for help and depending on others isn’t a weakness. It will allow you access to what you need, and it will give you a role as a negotiator in your own life.
You’ll take math with an old-school Wellesley feminist, and she’ll teach you the meaning of the word. She won’t exactly get you to love geometry, but she’ll be the advisor for the feminist club called Empower. On Tuesday mornings, you and a small group of other students will meet to talk about women in the news, the workplace, politics, education, and the media. You’ll start to think about how you have always been drawn to women’s stories, and you’ll get angry when you realize how many of those stories are lost or minimized because of gender inequality. Respect that sense of outrage. It will fuel your recognition of the oppression of many groups of people, including people with disabilities. It will also ground your belief in the soul-affirming importance of being able to make choices. For now, learn to love being a feminist, and start to connect your own story to those of the strong, brave women who have come before you.
You’ll be similarly unsure about chemistry, but your funny, passionate, and insightful Korean-American teacher will make you love coming to class. He’ll care about each student as an individual, not just a (likely temporary and unwilling) retainer for facts about the periodic table and chemical reactions. On Fridays, he’ll give Fireside Chats in the style of F.D.R., a man with polio legs and a radio voice who hid his disability but shared his belief in social change. He’ll make you laugh and consider important topics. This teacher will also see you as a capable and influential person beyond your academic skill. At the end of the year, he’ll make predictions about the future careers of each student in the room. He’ll tell you that you’ll be a psychologist or a helper, listening to others’ problems and working with them through difficult times in their lives. Try not to let this make you uncomfortable. He doesn’t mean to make you feel like the cripple with the heart of gold, and he is more right than you know. Being a helper can be empowering, collaborative, and radical.
This one will be hard. You’ll come up against a lot of doubt and uncertainty about the time ahead, and whether you’ll make it in college away from home and your family. When you get deferred and then rejected by your dream school, you’ll start to feel like you aren’t good enough. Guess what? You are. You aren’t Captain Ahab in AP English’s Moby Dick, and the fact of your disability isn’t a pounding, divisive bone-beat driving people away and warping their perceptions. You’re going to be fine. You’ll find the college you’re meant to attend. There, you’ll learn, grow, question, build friendships, and – most importantly – finally find a place for your story in the rich, enduring narrative of human struggle and social change.
I wanted to write this to me in high school, but in case you’re wondering what happens later, here are some previews of life in college, grad school, and beyond…
You’re capable of living away from home, even though it is a learning process.
College isn’t that much more intense than high school.
You’ll get really comfortable using the word disability – in school, in conversation, in writing, in professional networks, and in your job. You’ll probably say it or write it at least once every day.
You’ll sell candy vaginas for a good cause.
You’ll make really good friends.
You’ll get a master’s degree in a field related to disability.
You’ll move to the East Coast without really knowing squat about the area, the people, where you’ll be living, and exactly what you’ll be doing – but it will work out!
Your chemistry teacher’s prediction will be pretty accurate.
You’ll have a real grown-up job! Interestingly, your job will feature the word disability and a derivation of the word special. Both of these words make you uncomfortable now, but you’ll learn to embrace them.
You’ll have an apartment!
Someone you care about very much will face illness and disability. This will make you sad, angry, stressed, and afraid, but you’ll try your best to show her fierce love and steady support.
I hope that provides some motivation and anticipation, because life is about to get interesting. You’re doing great. I’m proud of who you are now, and I’m proud of who you’ll become!
