My Symbol of Self-Care
A wheelchair is widely known as a symbol of disability but is that all that it represents? For myself, it is my symbol of self-care.
After 24 years of living with an invisible disability (epilepsy) that didn't obviously display the troubles I lived with and gave me an unsteady way of taking care of myself, it's time that I drop all that I thought I should be and listen to my needs and care for myself first. I was a teenager at the start of my journey. I was trying to find a place to belong without making my life about epilepsy. I had no choice but to endure my head injuries, the consequences of my medication and stay alert for seizures while living my daily life. Placing my medical issues first proved to exclude me from opportunities and I adapted by lowering my self-care so I could experience ‘normality’. Of course nothing was normal for me and nobody could know about my headache or double vision unless I told them but I was determined to not allow epilepsy to be a prevention from living.
None of my injuries or damages were recorded because a concussion was hardly understood at the time. It was easy for people to see a determined girl who kept going and it was easy to overlook how those injuries affected my well-being.
When I went for my brain surgery in 2015, I easily got caught in the fantasy that normalcy is possible without seizures but what of all the effects of the experience? Nobody thought about the lasting trauma of my experience and how that is not something that can easily be forgotten.
The first four years after the surgery and hemiplegic stroke, I tried my best to recover physically to reach a normality but the memories became too much to bear and working to listen to my body made me recognize the existing injuries that have evolved with me.
As my body recovers its memories, being in my wheelchair helps me to safely face what haunts me without pretending normality and worrying about falling down. Going out in a wheelchair makes me remain mindful of my body while I am out trying to enjoy my experience. There is no avoiding my truth when I am in my wheelchair. I must pay attention to my senses, even as my body is being pushed forward. Choosing the wheelchair takes away my habit of ignoring my invisible disability. I don't have epilepsy anymore but I still have the side effects from that experience. Monotonous sounds (inevitable in crowded environments) trigger headaches which interfere with my ability to concentrate and move safely.
If I chose to pursue physical recovery, I'd be forcing myself to live an image that is not mine to own and in doing so I would be repeating my past mistake of ignoring my body to achieve an illusion. I have learned that no amount of determination can erase the truth and the effort to fake it is not worth giving away my true self. My wheelchair is my symbol of self-care. It makes me own my truth, be mindful of every moment and listen to what nobody else can know about my experience. For me to continue my growth and nurture my essence, I must take care of my body. I choose to no longer chase the illusion of normality and embrace who I am by tending to my disabilities (visible and invisible). There is more to a book beyond the cover you see.
