While I have many titles and identities, such as daughter, sister, friend, coworker, etc., I usually tend to forget the one consistent title. I am someone with a physical disability. I have left-sided weakness in my arm and leg. The muscles are much weaker on my left side than my fully working right side, and, therefore, make it harder for me to perform certain tasks. Even as I’m writing this, I’m getting increasingly frustrated because I don’t like reducing myself to that term. While I am physically limited, I’m not completely unable or “useless”, for lack of a better word. Though I have moments where I do feel hopeless and worthless because of this limitation, I often forget that I have made some very big accomplishments.

I’ve achieved things like:

• Learning to ride a bike
• Getting my driver’s license
• Changing a three-year-old child’s pull up in under five minutes.

Aside from this list and more, I wouldn’t label myself as a “traumatized hero” but instead, as an empathetic listener. I feel that my disability has made me a kinder, more understanding person. I am more inclined to listen to the words someone says and the way they say it before I judge them as a person. But while it might have shaped me into an understanding person, I’ve found that I get easily frustrated when trying to carry out any physical tasks.

Emphasis on “try”.

Say, for example, I’m at a class party, and I’ve just grabbed myself a plate of food. In my right hand, I’m holding my plate, and I want to grab a soda can, but I don’t want to make two trips back and forth. Because normally, I’d go to my seat, put my plate down, and go back to the drink table to grab a can. (I do this because I know my left hand won’t succeed in keeping hold of the can.) But instead, I try to have a little faith in myself and grab the can in my left hand. As I’m walking back to my seat, I’m chanting don’t drop it don’t drop it don’t drop it, while mentally working to tighten the muscles in my left hand to keep hold of the can.

I’m speaking from experience, so this next part did happen.

I successfully made it to my desk and placed the plate down, BUT SOMEHOW, I fucking FORGOT that my left hand was still holding the can. So, in my forgetfullness, I dropped the can and it exploded, causing my friend to get Sprite in her eye. I cannot explain thoroughly how mortified I felt because my distraction caused my friend to get hurt. Apologizing profusely, I tried explaining to her that my left hand let go of the can, and it dropped. The premature belief I had in myself quickly transformed into failure and shame.

SHAME.

While the classmates around me laughed at my mishap, my throat closed up, and my eyes welled because I felt so embarrassed. The shame was so strong that I was more upset about my mistake rather than those laughing at me.

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I find that I have a lot of those “shame” moments now, compared to when I was younger. I’ve had this disability since I was 7, and I’m 22 now. This realization is very interesting to me because growing up, I didn’t cry much about not being able to do something. I know family, friends, and teachers admired me for my strength because they’d say, “She’s so strong. She’s always smiling.” I didn’t think much of it then because it was just a weight I had to carry. Except in middle school, it didn’t weigh two hundred pounds.

Can’t tie my shoes? No problem. Can’t shoot a basket? Ok. Can’t give a proper high five? That’s fine. But now? *heavy sigh* Sometimes even the smallest things will set me off, like the fuse was already lit and only three inches long. Now, things like struggling to change a pulll-up or fumbling with the zipper of my jacket will ramp up the frustration and disappointment in myself. If someone senses that frustration and offers to help me, I feel even worse.

I get defensive and pull back like a scared animal. “I’m not completely useless. I can do it myself,” I’ll retort. Most of the time that remark works, and people will move away, but it’s the moms that don’t pull away. It’s the mothers who’ll say, “I know you can, but I’ll help you anyway.” Those are the people who make me pause because it makes me think, “Is it that obvious?” Because I try to hide it, prefer doing it even. I try to hide that I don’t have anything hindering me, and when people can see it, it makes me feel naked and vulnerable.

The other day, my dad told me, “the state doesn’t know you have a disability”, and I had to pause because I didn’t know that was something to consider. While some days I do feel “disabled”, other days, I like to think that’s not what it is. A disability. Solely a limitation. Just something I have to work on a little harder in order to reach my goal. Some days are good, while others aren’t, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I can just smile and shrug.

“But then I realized that what seemed a weakness was actually a strength.”

• Castle, Shatter Me