In my previous blog, I left you all with a bit of a cliff hanger. This is a bit personal, but my intention is to help individuals and parents help identify intense emotions or situations that may deter future difficulties for other individuals. Also, I want to be clear—this isn't a sob story or to call people out, just to educate moments that may have great effects on some individuals.
The Year of the Apocalypse (& Puberty)
So, they say hindsight is 20/20, right? Well, let me tell you, after my recent Functional Neurological Disorder (FND) diagnosis, that phrase has taken on a whole new meaning for me. It's like suddenly I'm wearing a pair of super-powered glasses, and everything in my past is coming into sharp focus. And let me tell you, some of the stuff I'm seeing is pretty hilarious and also saddening in retrospect.
Take 2009, for example. Oh boy, 2009. That was the year I was officially crowned the "annoying athletic girl" at school. I was convinced that if I could just dribble a basketball fast enough and score enough points, everyone would finally like me. Spoiler alert: they didn't.
So let's start with where this "annoying" label was fabricated. I was in history class, Mrs. Casey's room to be exact, sitting just in front of the door to the commons and chatting with classmates, when one of my classmates abruptly turned to me and announced, "you are so annoying". In a state of paralysis, I just stared at him.
In the aftermath of this incident, I retreated into a shell of silence. The carefree spirit that had once animated all aspects of my life was replaced by a cautious restraint. I feared that every word I uttered, every gesture I made, would be met with the same disdain, the same judgment. For days, I walked on eggshells, my voice reduced to a whisper, my laughter stifled. I became a ghost in my own life, a silent observer of the world around me. The joy of expression, once a source of vitality, now birthed anxiety.
Amidst this sea of silence, I turned to the one place within the school walls that couldn't suffocate me—the basketball court. The rhythmic squeak of my sneakers on the floor, the swish of the net, the fierce beating of my heart—these were the sounds and sensations that brought me solace. In the realm of basketball, my "annoying" intensity was celebrated, my relentless drive was admired. My coaches, recognizing my work ethic and tenacity, saw not a nuisance but a diamond in the rough, a player with the potential to shine.
On the court, I found a voice that was not stifled by fear or self-doubt, but driven by confidence and tenacity. My movements were fluid, my spirit unburdened. The encouragement of my coaches filled me with a sense of belonging that I craved in other aspects of my life.
This experience, though painful, served as a catalyst for introspection (obviously not at that moment in time). It has forced me to confront the fragility of my self-esteem and the profound impact that words can have on our sense of self. It also taught me the importance of self-compassion, the need to nurture my own spirit, and to surround myself with those who uplift and encourage me.
As I navigate the complexities of life, I carry the lessons of that day with me. I am mindful of the words I choose, both in speaking and in thought. I am gentle with myself, recognizing that my value is not determined by the opinions of others. And I am grateful for the resilience that has allowed me to heal and grow from this experience.
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So, if you're struggling with FND or any other health condition, I encourage you to put on your hindsight glasses and take a look at your past. You might be surprised at what you find. And hey, maybe you'll even get a good laugh out of it or come to an understanding of why you are in the position you are right now—but let's mostly have a good laugh. After all, laughter is the best medicine, right?
