Seeing Me For the First Time

This past weekend I hung out with the “girls” (you can find my story about them under the story tab on this site). We had a lovely time together, as I knew we would. We had planned on staying at home all weekend, cozy socks were gifted, warm blankets at the ready, snow falling gently outside. But yesterday we decided to go to Union Station in Kansas City, have brunch, and see what trouble (adventure) we could get into.

First, if you are in the area, you should visit Union Station. It is beautiful and bustling. We ate at Harvey’s and the buffet was spectacular. It was a great start.

On our way to the parking garage, we discovered the Museum of Illusions Kansas City. And, while it looked like a child’s paradise, we decided to go in and play ourselves. We had a blast! Again, totally worth it. Lots of fun pictures, lots of laughter, lots of memories to add to our already full bank.

This blog post isn’t about any of that. It is about the picture above.

This picture is the first time I’ve seen myself holding my walking stick. My mobility aid that, for better or worse, that I’ve been ashamed to hold. And ashamed to use.

When I’ve talked to a very few people about this, they’ve almost without exception told me that I don’t need to be ashamed or embarrassed. And I love them for their support, no matter how well meaning but ultimately unhelpful it is. ( I DO feel those things, and I DO have some good therapy to navigate those feelings). I have to navigate this. Please keep supporting me, though! However you show up. I need you.

But this is my story and I want you to know what is going on within me. The push and pull that is a constant voice in my head. The “I know I should love myself just as I am” me and the “I didn’t need a walking stick like I do now and it sucks” me.

But I need it. Just sometimes. But sometimes I do.

And so, Sunday I brought her (She is named Sunshine.) along and tried, my very best, to incorporate her into my adventure. I decided, I guess, to see how she would integrate into my life. To see if she drew too much out of me, put too many emotional (or physical - too many stairs and no elevators, people. Come on, we can do better.) burdens on me. To see how it felt. To test it out.

After a while I was fine with it. Not good not bad. Which I think is a win.

And then, I saw this picture and it broke through the shame story I had been carrying around. I look normal here. I look free and happy and very much like myself. And I was. And I am.

Change is hard, no matter what it looks like in a picture in a museum dedicated to illusion. It almost writes itself here. I’ve been stuck inside this illusion of how my life has been for 55 years, Most of it real, of course. There have been loves: family and friends. My son most of all. There has been education and life experience and working with people of all ages as a spiritual guide. There has been deep pain and deep joy. There have been times when others were aggressive, especially towards me as embodied. And there have been times when others were gentle and welcoming. Times when I’ve known I belonged and times I’ve known I was judged and not welcome.

A life.

But I’ve carried, like all of us who are “abled”, the mistaken idea that I will not need to adapt my living to meet my life. Of course, I knew it would come at some point. Age and all. But I thought 10 years. I thought I had 10 years.

I asked my good (great) therapist in my session last week: Am I really as sick as I think I am"? These are big changes? Are they necessary. And she, always wise, said: “Are you really f’ing gaslighting yourself right now?”

Point taken.

And yes, yes I was.

But I think what I needed to see was this picture to know that it is fine. All is well. I still look like me even though I am changing. I still act like me and sing like me and love like me and dream like me and work like me and parent like me. I still show up multi-faceted, like me. And these are the things that matter in the journey of me.

All this walking stick is, is a support to help me be me. And she works quite well.

And, so, here I am. The same Shandra, just a little bit extra. I think, depending on the day (I have a dynamic disability which I’ll talk about another day), you’ll get to know this me and, I also think, you will be able to mirror back to me that I’m looking good and rocking this walking stick named Sunshine.

Because I do. And I am.