I Still Get Jealous, I Still Hold a Grudge, and I Am Sorry.

I would like to start this out and get my apology out of the way right now.  At my current age of twenty-two,  I’m putting my anger and jealousy aside, and deciding to issue an apology to a man who doesn’t even know that words from six years ago still affect me. Yes, unfortunately, the cheesy saying, “words hurt” is true. For years I’ve fought any negative  ableist comment  with a tough exterior and a “screw them all mentality.” Although I do think that aggressive passion and fake confidence were what my teen self needed at the time, that tough exterior, although protective, never allowed me to grapple with my hurt and jealousy. Moving on too quickly from such an intense emotion, with a strong history behind it, doesn’t allow for a chance of growth and healing.

 To grow and move on is why I’m finally, from the bottom of my heart, issuing an apology to a man (who won’t be named), who was one of the first peers to make fun of my disabilities and judge me, not only to himself but to our peers and shared friends and community.

When I take a look back on my experience navigating the education system and its community, I recognize my luck in that most of the ableism and bullying came from teachers and other academic superiors. Unfortunately, this just seems to be the case.  As someone whose disabilities transformed from ‘visible’ to ‘invisible’ at a young age,  my ability to blend in with the neurotypical students came easily.  The opportunity to be ‘othered’ by my peers wasn’t happening. As many think of disability as a purely physical notion.  In fact, for a short bit, I got the best of both worlds: the ability to hide from feeling different (every teen’s nightmare) but also come together in classes with other kids with disabilities. My IEP classes and disability-specific classes were my lifeline, a safe space amongst a terrifying system. In those classes, I didn’t feel different for asking questions, requesting help, or needing to do things in my own way. My peers understood me there, and although maybe some of us weren’t best friends, there was a shared camaraderie of knowing how hard school and learning were for us.

 Not everyone can understand the complexities of learning and the struggles and loneliness that school can make non-neurotypical students feel. I don’t fault my sixteen-year-old bully for not being able to understand my experiences. However, looking back on this time, I wish I could hug my teenage self. I wish she hadn’t felt so alone when she learned someone she barely knew would comment about her intelligence and belittle her knowledge. I wish she didn’t know he called her a “diversity option” or that she was “ret*rded” I simply wish his rude and condescending words didn’t get back to her. Unfortunately, they did, and I reacted with anger and tried to brush the situation off with confidence. I tried to laugh it off and made jokes about it to the friends that knew.  In my confused and angry state, I merely marked him as mean and wrong; then I abruptly erased the situation from my head. I only looked back on him as a rude little boy, and that was final.

From that point in my life, the ableism I felt stemmed primarily from educators or adults in higher positions; it had become normal for me to face a mean comment from them. However, hearing such a thing from someone my own age and someone semi-connected to me was genuinely heartbreaking. At that point in my life, I tried so hard not to be ‘seen’ or to be  ‘different.’ but a peer coming out and saying such things that targeted everything I wanted to hide meant that I was caught. I was seen as different, and the label of  ‘disability’ that I grappled with for so long was essentially written clearly across my forehead.

Fast forward six years, and jumping back to the present day. 

I have worked and still work on my identity as a young woman with disabilities. I believe confidence comes with age and experience, and I’m happy to say I no longer reject or hide my disabilities and differences. Of course, there are times when I’m frustrated or have a tough day. However, I don’t immediately blame myself for my struggle and wish to be ‘normal’ anymore.

 I will say it’s gotten tougher in today’s political climate, where ableism seems to be getting normalized.  I worry about our education system and what that means for our disability programs and services. I worry for the kids like me, and I wonder what school is and will be like for them? I’m not going to lie; I’m scared for them, as talks and action against the Department of Education are continuously brewing. It’s these stressful times that make me think back to the little sixteen-year-old me and that mean boy. Recently, thanks to the power of social media, I came upon a post about him and saw what was happening in his life. It had been years since I thought about him, but upon first glance at this picture, I became extremely emotional. I couldn’t stop myself from crying, and I really couldn’t understand why at the time. Why was I filled with such anger and sadness from something so many years ago?  This boy has turned into a man and, for all I know, has bettered himself. In fact, he probably barely remembers what he said.

There is something about seeing this man all grown up and living what seems to be a successful and happy life, and for that, I truly am happy to see him. My immediate reaction of anger and sadness is not intended for this man at all. It’s aimed at his younger self. However, it’s also aimed at me because, when he said what he did, I believed. All I had wished for even before was that I could be like him, ‘normal’ and ‘smart.’  I can separate that now; I am not still upset with him, but I am upset with myself for believing what he said and for letting it affect me so much to this day. For this reason, I think it’s time for me to apologize to him. I apologize to him and myself, I’m sorry that I let his words have power over me. I’m sorry I was so jealous of his experiences throughout education. I’m sorry my insecurities had let hostility brew in my system for so long. It’s unfair that I held this anger against him for so long. I’m sorry.

Although I have no plans to contact this person, I can happily say that I wish them nothing but the best in their future. I want them to flourish and succeed like I know I will. If and when this teenage anger fuels my adult self again, I know now that it’s okay to feel my emotions. I don’t need to hide them and push down the complexities that come with feeling. I now welcome these strong feelings, whether they are comfortable or not. What they bring out of me only fuels my passion to help out kids like little sixteen-year-old me.