Part I: Early Years
Kids playing tug of war.
While it will be impossible to summarize my journey as a person of faith with disabilities in a short series, I hope that the pieces of my story included in these blogs can help others in telling their own experiences. If someone is willing to truly listen, a story is one of the most powerful ways to advance inclusion of all, both within our spaces of faith and in the everyday world. Before we start, some say a disclaimer may not be necessary, but I want to make it clear that my story is my story. As a white male millennial from a college town in the American Midwest, my narrative is not definitive of the experiences of those with differing identities than myself. That does not mean it is not a story worth exploring as some white people think those of other races, ethnicities, orientations, or cultures are saying to us. Disenfranchised communities fighting for equity are not trying to silence us, they simply want their story to be included as well.
Unlike others, I was fortunate enough to be formally diagnosed with a learning disability before I turned 9. I was aware there was something different about me in comparison to most of my peers, but, even after this formality, I didn’t really understand what it meant to have an invisible disability. I saw people who were wheelchair users and understood they had limitations, but a learning disability was not explained to me in a way I could understand. Even after being prescribed medication, I struggled immensely to conform, to remain focused, to calm down, and to obey without questioning. Whether or not the reader also grew up in a conservative school environment, they may relate to this time in education, where the ever-changing rules often applied to us disabled kids more often than the non-disabled students. For example, you’re told to go to adults with bullying or other issues, but, when you do, they either don’t believe you or call you a “tattler.” I discovered, by the age of 10 or 11, that I had to figure things out on my own.
Kids, often, took advantage of my quick temper because they found it entertaining. Hurling tactical insults my way about myself, my friends, or my family quickly set me off. I was never physically aggressive in response to verbal aggression, but I did, at least once, end up in a mild physical altercation (when a student threatened me physically). In those days, because I put on the mask of being an academically rigorous and obedient student, my account was believed more often by teachers. I know I was not one to start aggression with other students, but I would react if I was targeted. In those days, I was, oftentimes, ashamed of my temper and, in addition, confused why I felt so angry so often. I felt completely out of control. It’s not like I didn’t expect the kids to push my buttons - it became a daily occurrence. After every schoolday, I would have outbursts at home, screaming at my parents or brother as they would scream back at me. So, the typical narrative of my late elementary years is that I was a kid with anger issues. However, I take issue with this simplified account because, to this day, many have not taken responsibility for their part in escalating conflict with me. In order to get to the root of my emotional highs and lows, I was the one who went to counseling because I was seen as the only one with issues. One lesson I want to get across here: adults need to know how to respond to children dealing with emotions they can’t control, and blaming the child without taking responsibility is wrong.
Just before middle school, I attempted, more than once, to move the bullying on from me and my close friends to the kids with more obvious disabilities than us- calling them gay or ret**ded. This was, in some ways, to prop ourselves up as “normal.” Thankfully, I have, since, had the opportunity to apologize to these peers. I know I also took advantage of the fact that I was highly skilled in masking my symptoms, and that meant that some authority figures took me more seriously than those with higher support needs.
To clarify, my life was not all bad in elementary school - I had several close friends, teachers who, truly, wanted to help me succeed, and parents who, as people with undiagnosed learning disabilities themselves, supported me in the academic world as much as they could. But, as weird as it may seem, my middle school years were quite a bit better for me. That being said, I had some great times. The summers at Vacation Bible Schools, gaming at my oldest brother’s house, going to the free movies on weekends, and riding our neighbor’s horses. I remember riding my Dad’s bus through the car wash when my parents couldn’t get childcare. I remember building forts outside in the snow or having a water balloon fight, and I will never forget making ice cream with my family. So, with the heaviness of my early childhood, there are things worth remembering.
You may notice that my faith journey has not played much of a role in this first post. While I faithfully attended a Christian school - the beliefs that were instilled in me were more so of obedience and, at times, fear. It is true that we spoke of the love of God as unconditional, but that seemed almost less important than talking about sin. I remember the fear that if I did not ask for forgiveness before sleeping, that I might go to hell. I don’t think my Christian faith was associated with the freedom that I now see in Jesus. Beyond school and home, I don’t recall much about my time at church in the early years of life, except I found sermons confusing, and, for a bit, I did enjoy singing in the children’s choir. I did make some friends those early years in church, but it wasn’t until my middle school years that I, really, connected with peers there.
Some lessons to take from this:
Practice patience and remain mindful of children when they have emotional outbursts - typically, anger is the tip of the iceberg of other underlying emotions, thoughts, or fears that the kid is experiencing.
Take the time to consider how you can accommodate yourself and the children in your life when in worship spaces. Simple things such as displaying fidgets, coloring books, or ear plugs can make a difference for families.
Think before you question the veracity of Autism, ADHD, Tourette’s, Depression, and other mental illnesses or disabilities in front of kids.
Teaching young ones that sin is solely a personal failing without considering the full environment these behaviors occur in will not help them improve their character. Model patience and grace with your own personal failings.
Teach kids that their actions or thoughts do not define them. This is not to say to let kids get away with anything, but to free them from the belief that they are defined by their lows.