THE WOMAN IN THE MIRROR

 

I posted the following on Facebook in 2019. It still holds true two years later. I will turn sixty-four next month. I still want pink hair. I have at least six Frida Kahlo tee shirts. I hear you. Mom. ("Oh, for heaven's sake.)

I got a badly needed haircut today. When I looked in the mirror to check out my new 'do. I was taken aback. Who was that woman staring back at me with the salt and pepper (mostly salt, very little pepper) gray hair? 

That couldn't be me. The woman staring back at me would not be contemplating dying a small portion of her hair pink, purple, or blue to celebrate turning 62 next month. 

That woman would be horrified. The woman staring back at me would not be considering spending the last of her Amazon gift card on a Frida Kahlo tee shirt. .That woman would probably buy something practical...Like wool socks. Well, maybe not socks, but she would buy something useful.

The woman who looked back at me was my mom. When did this happen? Wasn't it only a few years ago that I graduated from Washington University with my MSW,?

Not only do I look like my mom. I sound like her too. I hear myself saying things my mom said that I swore would never come out-out of my mouth. Such as," Getting older is no fun. Wait until you're in your sixties."

My mom might not understand me wanting to dye my hair pink or spending money on a Frida Kahlo tee shirt. That is because she worked hard.  She didn't spend money on frivolous things.

I look like my mom. I sound like her too. I am blessed.  My mother was the best example of strength, determination, and independence I could have asked for.

 Every year I say this on the anniversary of her death. 

Rest in peace Mom. I love you. I hope that I have made you proud.

AM I A BURDEN TO YOU?

There is something I've been wondering.

I guess I'll ask you now.

Am I a burden to you?

You dress me, wipe my butt and feed me.

That must get old.

Am I a burden to you? 

I did not choose to have CP.

It sucks being dependent.

(Well, except for my power chair.)

God made that choice.

He didn't ask me.

Am I a burden to you?

I apologize for bothering you.

I  ask too many questions.

I don't mean to.

I am human. 

I screw up.

Am I a burden to you?

I can be no one else.

I am me.

Am I a burden to you? 

We are not friends.

You provide my care/

Am I a burden to you?

This is no pity party.

No bid for attention.

Just something I had to mention.

Am I a burden to you?

DID I EVER TELL YOU ABOUT THE TIME?

Did I ever tell you about the time I rolled over a nun's foot?  

It was right after I started taking classes at Fontbonne University. The sister was dressed old school. She looked about one-hundred years old. I was backing up. The whole incident is a horrifying blur.  All I remember is one minute I was backing up with no one behind me (or so I thought.) The next thing I knew I'd run over the scary, stern-faced nun's foot.

I was not Catholic, but I was positive rolling over a nun's foot meant " send her straight to Hell." I heard God giving the order in my head.  When I called one of my friends, later that day, he thought the entire incident was hilarious. He tried to convince me I was not going to end up in Hell. I was not buying it.

Where was that rearview mirror that my cousin had given me and attached to the side of my chair? Oh, I  remember now, I'd sideswiped it off. Don't ask me how. That's a blur too

I kept repeating over and over how sorry I was. The sister, even though I'm sure her foot was throbbing, ended up consoling me. After that, she always smiled whenever she saw me. We had a special connection. Who knew bonding over a foot was possible?

Did I ever tell you about the time I was late for prayer?. 

The secretary in student services assisted me to the bathroom during the day. The restroom was across the hall from her office. There is no other way to say it. Mrs. Crowe( the sweetest, funniest lady on the planet) forgot me. She just got busy. By the time she remembered, I had two minutes to get to class. 

I got to the door of the classroom. Sister Agnes saw me and opened the door. It was clear to me I had missed the prayer. My class in special education had started. I was not getting a teaching degree. I took the class because I wanted to have the experience of having a nun as my instructor. 

I was taught by the best, Sister Anges Cecile. That day when I missed the prayer before class, however, Sister Agnes was not happy with me. She didn't say anything, but the look she gave me told me to never let it happen again. I didn't.

Did I ever tell you about the time?

I went to mass in the chapel with  Mrs.Crowe. No one else was wanted to go with her. I was as always eager to go. The all-marble chapel was calming and peaceful. I received ashes for the first time on Ash Wednesday in the chapel at Fontbonne. It was a beautiful experience. The priest, Father Jack, always took the time to talk to us.

Did I ever tell you about the time?

We partied at Fontbonne the night before graduation. It was after a mass for the graduating class. I did a lot of chair-dancing that night. Kool And The Gang's song Celebration takes me right back to that night in May of 1981. A right celebrating our achievements, friendships, and the beginning of the next chapter of our lives.

Did I ever tell you about the time?

Sister Agnes Cecile and Sister Rose-Genevieve came for lunch. I'd grown very fond of Sister Agnes Cecile. I will always be grateful to her for being the one who told me that if I struggled with math the way I'd described to her I probably had a learning disability. I was not just stupid.

I begged my mom to let me invite Sister Agnes to lunch. She told me we were not Catholic. I told her how cool Sister Agnes was. Mom frantically called a friend who was Catholic. The conversation was something like this./ She wants to have nuns over for lunch. What do I serve? Mom's friend assured her that nuns were just like anyone else. She could serve them whatever she'd serve to anyone coming over for lunch.

The big day arrived. Sister Agness and her friend, Sister Rose Genevieve came. We sat in the living room. My mom served Fritos (We were so classy in the '80s) and wine before lunch. When she asked the sisters if they'd like some wine Sister Anges looked at me and asked, "Are you having wine?' I told her that I was. "Well then, I think we'll have some too." Sister Agness replied.

There was a Nigerian princess in my class at Fontbonne. She was also at GWB with me too. Sister Agnes told stories of when her father came to visit her in all of his "regalia." It was a fun and memorable afternoon.

Sister Agness and I stayed in contact for many years. My time at Fontbonne holds a special place in my heart. The faculty and students accepted me. Nuns weren't to be feared. They were kind, caring people.. Sister Agnes and the rest of the Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet taught me our religions were more similar than they were different.

When I think of Fontboone I think of how a home I felt. The friends I made. One word describes Fontbonne University.

Acceptance.

WAIT FOR IT...IT'S COMING

I graduated with my MSW in 1982. Ready to change the world. I was in for a rude awakening. No one would hire me. I had never held a job or volunteered anywhere, 

The children's hospital where I'd been a patient and done one of my grad school internships would not hire me unless I'd had two years of work experience behind me. The only positions offered to me were the jobs no one else wanted. Night jobs in psychiatric facilities.

I don't remember if I was interviewing for a volunteer position with my local chapter of The United Cerebral Palsy Association or a paid position.  I don't remember anything about the interview except for one statement the woman conducting the interview made.  Her words stayed with me. 

"We couldn't have you working here.  You'd make the parents nervous."  (After my children's book was published in 2010 I had a book reading at UCP. What an amazing afternoon that was.)

There was no ADA. I couldn't talk about my rights. I didn't have any. People could say or do whatever they wanted. I was crushed. I left UCP that day convinced she was right. I would never amount to anything. 

 I took matters into my own hands. I created a part-time job for myself. I held that job for 16 years. You can't allow the negativity of other people to crush your spirit. I almost let that happen. Thankfully, I had a family and a boss who believed in me.

I hope, in my lifetime, I will be able to celebrate the International Day of Women with Disabilities. A day where we won't be patted on the head or spoken to in a sing-song voice, A day where we will be recognized for our strengths. Not criticized for our weaknesses.

I have come to the realization that I am a feminist who has Cerebral Palsy. This realization was the only positive thing I got from our country's previous administration. I want equality for all women in all areas of life. 

I want to see all women with disabilities celebrated for their accomplishments.  

I don't want us to just raise awareness about our disabilities. That's been done to death. 

I want us to raise awareness about women with disabilities because we are so much more than whatever our disability is. We are more than the label society has given us. That's what needs to be talked about. That's what young girls with disabilities need to know.   

.

This question was posed on social media/    

 Why isn't there an international day celebrating women with disabilities?

Wait for It. It's coming. 

All good things take time.

]

WWFD (WHAT WOULD FRIDA DO?)

Photo courtesy of  Lori Peterson

Frida Kahlo overcame much adversity in her life. 

She had polio as a child. 

She was involved in a horrible bus accident She suffered severe injuries. The accident left her unable to have children. She endured many surgeries. The accident left her in pain and ill-health for the rest of her life.  

During her time in a body cast, she taught herself to paint. She was always in pain. The majority of her paintings are self-portraits reflecting her physical pain and loneliness. 

I can't write about Frida Kahlo without mentioning her love/hate relationship with her husband Diego Rivera. They married. They had many fights/ Both Frida and Diego cheated on each other countless .times. They divorced. They remarried. Diego is thought to have been the love of Frida's life.

I have often wondered how Frida would handle being in my situation.  I believe that she would conduct herself with dignity at all times. Frida would not cry at hurtful comments. She was too strong to allow herself to turn into a snotty mess if someone said or did something that hurt her feelings. She would not let her hurt show on her face. Frida would have a comeback to end the conversation. Frida would know how to handle having caregivers.

I wonder If she got angry. I  wonder if she ever felt powerless. I wonder if she was ever impatient. I wonder if she was ever afraid.  

If she were alive today. and I was given the honor of interviewing her  I would turn these statements into interview questions.  The title of my interview?  Frida Kahlo One on one. (I have way too much time on my hands don't I?)

Strength. That is the first word that comes to my mind when I think of the Mexican Icon Frida Kahlo. 

WWFD?  I believe that she would remain calm and carry on.

“At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can.” – Frida Kahlo

BEDROCK WAS A GREAT PLACE TO GROW UP

I knew when I wrote my Valentine's Day post I was taking a risk that I'd offend some people in the disabled community but I took a deep breath and wrote it anyway.

https://confessionsofadisableddiva.blogspot.com/2021/02/whats-sexiest-part-of-body.html  

 I thought freedom of speech applied to everyone. I was wrong. Correction. It does as long as you agree with the community at large.

I was told no one asked for my views. My views were very invalidating and rude and there was a comment that was something about me creeping out of the Stone Age. (Yep, I grew up with Fred and Wilma. Bedrock was a great place to grow up)   

I stand behind every word I write. in every blog post.  While no one not asked for my opinions I make no apologies for sharing them. Sorry if some of the disabled community felt I was rude. I received rude comments. Why?  Simply because my views were different from theirs. Invalidating? Why do you need validation?  Do whatever you want as long as you are not hurting yourself or anyone else.

Paying for sex is gross to me, but that's my opinion. I was told being a sex worker is honest work. I am aware. They service a physical need. Please don't write to me about how people with disabilities need a sexual release. If you are comfortable with just the mechanics of sex. Go for it. Find joy and sexual pleasure wherever you can.

I still believe that the brain is the sexiest part of the body.

I believe sex without love and romance means nothing.

I have a right to share my views.

Yep, Bedrock was a great place to grow up.