I had the great fortune of being gifted a much-needed massage.  As the masseuse began her magic work, I caught myself thinking “I should tell her that I have a ruptured disk in my back and two bulging ones in my neck”.  Then, as a longed-for touch of my head began, I caught myself thinking “I should tell her that I had brain surgery and to be careful on those patched up parts and screwed in pieces in my head and on my forehead.  Oh, and look out for those sink holes too!” 

Although, in this situation it was probably a good idea to say something, but outside of this why did I feel the need to share that?  Wasn’t I just encouraging an identity I was trying to dispel?   Wasn’t I just keeping myself wrapped up in disability?  Why did I feel it mattered?  Was it a safety mechanism?  Was it to let others know “hey, I had some pretty crappy things happen to me, so you have to know.”  But really, who needed to know.  Who needed to hear about anything I’ve been through.  What difference did it make other than place a perception of me I was working so hard to go away.

This experience hit me with such great force that it was more of a reckoning than anything else.  For one, I found that I was developing an identity of disability. I was putting what was wrong with me in the forefront, I thought everyone had to know about it. I was shaping people’s ideal of me.

My only wish now is to share the many amazing things that I have been gifted because of all those crappy things. My job is to spread the word that our identity is not what is wrong with us. Our identity comes from within.

My disability is not my identity. My identity is unique to who I am. I survived and I am the sum of my passions, talents, skills and knowledge. 

I am Cheryl.