The Magic of Denial

People frequently say that they are not the people they used to be in online fibro chat groups. Sometimes, it is easy to dismiss this is a product of the complaining that goes on in these environments. Sometimes,  the people there just need to vent about how things are for them at the moment. I'm not any better than anyone else at this.  

However, the topic of mourning the people we used to be came up several nights ago. I must admit that I had difficulty with this at first. After all, I was still the same person, even if I had a new challenge to deal with. I still did many of the same things I did before, including go to work. Sure, I switched my exercise routines and I avoided standing for long periods of time when possible, but at first these were solutions to a problem I hoped to be temporary.

But if it were not for the magical effects provided by denial and sheer stubbornness, I doubt I would have been able to continue as long in my job as I have. Most people would have quit when I experienced severe leg pain on a daily basis. I, on the other hand, persisted. I knew how hard it was to get disability benefits, and I doubted I'd qualify. (There's also the problem of me not knowing what was causing the problem at first.)

I'm still trying to cling on to how things used to be, rather than finding the proper balance for what my life has become. I want to believe I'm still the person who can go into noisy environment without the quick energy drain.  I felt surprise when someone described three people in the LARP group as handicapped. (I named two right away. I had a hard time thinking about the third one. When she uttered the phrase, "Lara is handicapped." I finally realized who the third person was.)

I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to think of myself in this way. I'm not sure that I want to. I know I've encountered something similar as a transgender person before. For the longest time I didn't want to identify as queer.  All of the social stigmas that went with it frightened me. A good dose of internalized transphobia and homophobia went with it. It was easy to blame this on my religious background. A similar excuse cannot be used for my own fear of having a disability.

Even when I went through the disability process the first time, I had the attitude that the term really didn't apply to me. After all,  I thought I functioned normally, although most people who knew me would question this. (They suspected that I suffered from some form of mental illness long before I told them in most cases.) When the administration denied benefits, I did not fight it too long. I just returned to the work force as best as I could.  The environment for people working for the content mills was much better at the time. My writing didn't make me rich, but it did provide money for basic necessities.  The new problems have physiological causes, and I still feel like I'm somehow cheating the taxpayers, even though the system was set up for people who could no longer work.   

I know I should not feel guilty, and I know that I am lucky that it wasn't something much worse.  Some part of me keeps thinking that others will see me differently during the times I use a walking stick or a cane.  

I should probably stop rambling. Anxiety, as usual, makes the problem worse. I need to get over my own fear of what admitting that things aren't what they used to be might mean. I also need to be less concerned about what other people think. After all, I'm probably the only one who sees myself all that differently. (Well, except for my employer who seems to be sending signals that I'm a less valuable employee than I used to be.)

The Transition of Bruce Jenner is not Courageous

 The media has covered Bruce Jenner's transition fairly well. They have treated the subject respectfully even as the buy into the ratings grab.  I do not fault this from a business perspective. Networks need to get viewers, and people love to focus on celebrities.  Covering the transition of a public figure gives them viewers which translates into extra advertising dollars.  However, if there's one thing I wish people would stop doing, it is describing transgender people as courageous.

I understand that the people who use this phrase mean well, but it was not courage that drives me or other people to transition. It is a simple necessity. A trans* individual can either live in denial with all of the emotional turmoil denial brings, or they can break through the cognitive dissonance of trying to live as their assigned gender to live in a way that is in greater harmony with their own mind. (I prefer to think of it as their own spirit, but I know many people do not share my views on the existence of spirits or souls.)

I've been subjected to the c-word as well. I didn't feel particularly courageous when I made the decision to live as Lara full time. Instead, it was simply a matter of letting go all of as much of the emotional baggage that came with living in anxiety and denial as I could.   Going to a family funeral as Lara for the first time was not an act of courage, either. It was simply a granddaughter doing a favor for her grandmother and her sister.  

There are many reasons why I hope I'm not a role model for anyone. Even in my own mind, I view some aspects of my life as a cautionary tale.  I've done things out of fear, out of desperation, and out of necessity. None of these things made me feel particularly brave. Transition wasn't something I did to shock people. It was the right decision for me.  I hope it's the right one for Bruce Jenner as well