Isolated [in PRIDE]

..adolescents probably cause more concern than they feel..

Today, in my Adolescence and Emerging Adulthood class, we covered the concept of ‘personal fable’ within adolescent egocentrism. In other words, the feelings adolescents have that sound something like this: “Ugh, why am I so different from everyone else? No one understands me! This is the worst thing EVER!” As this concept was discussed, I thought back to my own period of adolescence. When I was an adolescent, my thoughts went something like, well, I actually wrote them down, so exactly like this: “..Another problem is just being with a group of people.  I used to feel normal and like I fit in.  Now I feel like a nuisance..” Pretty fitting with the personal fable, right? I didn’t fit in; it didn’t feel right. But, honestly, I couldn’t relate to my peers at that time. Yes, I was also dealing with pimples, boys, sports, and school, but those were the least of my worries. I was relearning to walk, struggling to sit, and finding it impossible to run, jump and do what my friends and teammates were doing, things I had loved to do so much before.

..the classic "don't walk" picture.. 

Throughout my life, I have been a prideful person, meaning that I am not the first one to admit to weakness, even to myself. There were times, though, that I acknowledged how much I hated the reality of what my life had become. What I hated more, was that I hated it. I felt so hurt, but felt guilty for feeling so. I also wrote this in my adolescent days: “Whenever I realize that I’m complaining about my pain or how bad my summer was, I get very annoyed and stop … When selfishness takes over me, I feel so ashamed. I should be so thankful for being alive, because I know I was very close to not making it.” I was trying to keep myself from thinking it, but I felt like the situation sucked. According to the fable, adolescents feel like no one understands. In my reality, no one around me did understand. No one else (in my reach at that time) was going through what I was going through and I didn’t know how to relate to others.

Over two years went by and I still had not met one person even close to going through the same issues. Well, there was that one speaker my junior year who lost her arm as a result of drinking and driving. But I was a cheerleader and preparing for our little pep rally so I only got in for the last couple minutes of what she had to say. I did try to talk to her, though. She left before I had the opportunity to do so in person, but I was told that she said she always responded to Facebook messages and the like. So, I tried adding her and I sent her a message, explaining why I so desperately wanted to talk to someone who understood some of what I was going through. She did not accept my request or respond to my message, so that was a discouraging bummer. I figured that if she didn’t even want to talk to me about it, then no one would. And so, I continued to feel isolated from everyone around me.

My freshman year of college, I found several people kind of like me to be in existence. One guy, Chase, was in my speech class; I knew he had a story because he was still in a wheelchair. After class one day, I had the boldness to ask him about it. I proceeded to follow him down the Morrill Hall elevator and continued to follow him all the way to his dorm in Reed-Johnson. He told me he had broken his spine in a car crash (1 ½ years before) and I casually responded with a, “Yeah, me too.” Not quite what he was expecting, but we had a good chat. Unfortunately, we didn’t talk about it again after that little walk/wheel. However, 3 years later (this fall), I thought I saw him at a local restaurant. The guy wasn’t in a wheelchair and so I got really excited for him. He was eating with another guy, but I knew I would regret not approaching him. I went up to the table and said something like, “This might be weird, but, is your name Chase?” My heart dropped a little when he said, “No.” At least I tried, right? Anyways, back to freshman year.

On my first day of sociology, my professor shared with the whole class how she had broken her spine in a car wreck years ago. Her openness about it shocked me because I was still trying to keep my history on the down-low. Towards the end of the semester, for my speech class, I chose to interview this professor. While in her office, after the interview, the crash and an issue I was currently dealing with came up. The professor she shared an office with joined our conversation and I left crying with a hug. That was the last we spoke.

Then, my second semester, another teacher shared that she also broke her spine in a car crash, when she was 16 even, I think. One day in class, she asked, “Have any of you experienced something life-changing?” No one was raising their hands and I didn’t want to be “that girl,” so I kept my hand down as well. And I was always itching to talk with her about it, but I never did. Technically, there’s probably still a chance that I could get into contact with her now; that’s something I’ll have to think/pray about.

So all of these people started popping up, and I had kind of talked with some of them, but still nothing super deep. It wasn’t until the summer of 2011 that I had a conversation with someone that I felt could understand some of the pain I was feeling. He had never broken his spine in a car crash and I had never experienced what he had, but the different causes had created a similar effect. His openness with me in that moment has since inspired me to be open, because I felt how his experience helped me in the healing process. If his experience could help me, then God can work with my experience to help others.

Unfortunately, this is not the part where I say, “And now I’m totally emotionally healed!” This is the part where I say, “I’m still hurting and I still feel isolated at times.” It’s weird, though, because I’m not sure what is hurting. There are issues I’m not dealing with directly at this time, but the wounds are still there. Once I started sharing different parts of my story, different wounds have been opened and some nasty stuff has been washed out. But, I won’t let them heal completely. Jesus is trying to heal them, but I don’t want to face them. Heck, I don’t even know what they are! I have been longing to talk to someone who understands, but I’m not even sure what I expect them to understand. And I feel too pathetic to seek some counsel from someone; these problems should be kept in the past, right? My reasoning has been that I’m not struggling with them now for the most part, anyways: I can walk and I’ve had the opportunity to participate in all kind of physical motion; what is my problem? It bothered me that all this bothered me when I was a senior in high school; I’m a senior in college! Here are different things I have said over the past couple years that show my frustration: “It was 2 ½ years ago! A lot of people get in car accidents. Why do I have to be the baby that can’t get over it?! I’m so mad at myself!” and “You know you are loved and that there is a plan laid out for you to reach eternal happiness. What is the problem? What are you still struggling with?”

And now I know that Jesus is the One I need to go to; He has gotten through some really rough stuff with me and only He gives me true Joy. Why will I not let Him take this hurt away? Why am I trying to hide my wounds from Him even still? He knows they are there, but He is not going to force me to do what I am not ready for. Well, I want to be ready. I want to open these wounds, whatever they are. I want Him to heal me. I don’t want to feel isolated and alone. I want to know that I’m not alone, because He is with me. I want to overcome this pride, admit that I am wounded, and be healed.

Jesus, I am wounded. Only You know how to heal me. Please, heal my heart. If there is someone You want me to talk to, please, send me that person. If there is a book you want me to read, please, send me that book. Whatever it is, Lord, please present it to me. I ask that You also grant me with the courage to respond to Your Grace. Thank You, Jesus. Heal me, Jesus. I love You, Jesus. Amen

And, a quick word on pride:

“The beginning of pride is man’s stubbornness in withdrawing his heart from his Maker.” –Sirach 10:12