An Expanding Rubber Band

 Friends, 

This school year I have  decided to share my hope with students as  a substitute teacher.   Sometimes, my days are quieter than I like yet, the extra “think time”  gives me  the chance to  reflect on the hope that lies in my ordinary life.

A few weeks ago, I had an opportunity to serve with a group of middle school students at a  local organization that supports people with intellectual & developmental disabilities.  I happened to be at school as students were being introduced to this service opportunity.  As someone who copes with cerebral palsy, a disability that encompasses  both physical  and learning disabilities, I appreciate that young people are learning about acceptance and inclusion.  I  was thrilled to join students. I love to serve but don’t often think about supporting other people with disabilities.  I worry that my own shortcomings will make me less helpful.  Nonetheless, it’s important to help people  how we can. 

 

As students prepared for the  day of service the principal mentioned that this would be a new experience for many students.  I’m always proud to be a source of hope for students and staff but generally,  students wouldn't consider me disabled.  Listening to the way the principal talked about disability in a positive light  encouraged me.  He recalled a colleague who explained   working with differently abled students as the average person’s ability to stretch a rubber band.    He said, “We have a moral obligation to help others and the more we do the less uncomfortable it becomes.”   This positive conversation around disability awareness on an ordinary day made me feel acknowledged and appreciated.    The rubber band analogy  the principal mentioned will stick  with me.   Honestly, sometimes having cerebral palsy means I’m holding a rubber band that feels like it might snap. It’s easy to feel lonely or misunderstood, especially on days with too much “think time.”  How we think of circumstances matters. 

Today, I went to physical therapy. I go weekly to maintain my strength. My therapist told me,  “Based on my balance she was surprised that I didn’t need the support of a walker or cane.”  The tone she used was slightly demeaning. She was confused— that just isn’t how the body works.  You need a certain level of balance to walk.”    She seemed to want an explanation.    She just doesn’t know how far I stretched my rubber band.  Multiple surgeries, Leg braces, and several physical therapists before her.   Her remark was hurtful. I  paused from my exercise and said,  “You really shouldn’t be surprised, you should be proud!” She hasn't known me long enough to be proud. I guess my point was that I was proud of me. I always say that the story changes everything.    Thinking about how much I've already conquered keeps me inspired.

Truthfully, I’m not really sure what will happen after my time as a substitute teacher.   For now, I’m grateful to help people where I am and I’m  hopeful  my life keeps surprising people. It keeps life meaningful.   I am so grateful to those who are part of my story. The support of others keeps me stretching my rubber to overcome unthinkable obstacles.

 Stay Hopeful, 

Julie 

Dwindling Hope

 Friends,

I started the blog eight years ago when a faith mentor suggested that as an aspiring educator who had cerebral palsy I had a story of hope that needed to be shared.  I was hesitant. She promised it didn’t matter if I hadn’t found a classroom yet— creating the blog would give me an outlet to share my passion and perspective with others. It would let me be  a voice of hope while I took steps to become a teacher.

I started to write. There are stories from my life as a student, wisdom from volunteering, lessons from student teaching, and my personal favorite, reflections on teaching & life.  I write as a hobby. I write because a handful of people think that my thoughts are valuable. The thoughts in my head cannot help others if I keep them to myself.  I write to be a source of hope. 

 

The older I become the more I understand that hope is in short supply. Sometimes, I’m worried that even my hope has dwindled too much. Most of us find hope in human connection. We learn that it’s polite to ask others about how they feel.  It’s a common question, “How are you today?”  The intention behind the question is to help someone feel acknowledged. It doesn’t work. Further still, it might be the question that’s keeping our hope in short supply.  

It has become so common to be  asked about our feelings  that most of us have formulated our answer  well ahead of time. We live in a world where everyone is good and everything is fine – even when it’s not.    The question:" How are you?" is such a frequent conversation starter that many people don’t stop to consider how complex sharing our feelings can be.  It’s difficult to be honest about our emotions and experiences because we don’t want to  be judged or misunderstood.  We ‘ve taught ourselves to be fine so when we don’t feel fine it’s uncomfortable. 

 

 Creating connection and trust doesn't come from sharing our emotions. It stems from creating common ground.  Specific  questions help us better understand each other.  The right questions help us focus on specific emotions and experiences. For instance,  If you want someone to feel encouraged by your conversation you might ask : "What was the best part of your day?"  It might take some thinking but, we’ve created an opportunity to notice  good and hopeful things.  On occasion, our questions might not have answers.  It happens.  It is important to understand that attempting to create connections doesn’t mean we can fix an  individual's  circumstances.  Asking more intentional questions  simply gives us a better opportunity to empathize with others. It creates space for us to listen and learn.   Direct and  intentional questions allow us to gently expose that there is more emotional depth to our lives even when fine is the status quo. 

Connecting with others is what makes life meaningful. Yet, there are certain seasons of life when our hearts and minds aren’t prepared to share or analyze our emotions.   Some days I’m thankful for  the word fine. Connecting with others isn’t always about asking the right question or giving the best advice.  Sometimes it’s about simple reminders. Remind people you Love  them. Remind  people you are Grateful for them.  Remind people you are Proud of them.   The more people hear those reminders the more we will believe them. The more we believe in ourselves the less we hesitate to share the experiences that have  shaped us. Vulnerability produces hope.  Hope reminds us that life can be beautiful and uncertain all at once. 

Stay Hopeful, 

Julie