I never truly understood myself.
Growing up, I never had a strong hold on how to live or make connections with others. I always knew there was something different about me. For the longest time, I simply presumed that it was because I had different interests than other kids who grew up in the 1980s and 90s. How many kids do you know who could quote presidential achievements of obscure presidents? Yes, that is, and was me.
I was odd and routinely made to feel different. I tried to fit in as best as I could, but it never happened in the way I wanted or saw others easily making friends. I would play sports because I love sports and also hoped it would give me a community, but I never really succeeded. I was too awkward and clumsy to tackle or secure a pin. I struggled with focus and the persistence needed to win. I never found the community I desired, instead I felt different, still, because I struggled with putting it together.
I tried clubs and other activities, but I struggled with anxiety when it came to getting to know people. I forced myself to be someone I did not like to ‘fit in.” That desire to “fit in” and to be like others created more anxiety and made a mess of relationships along the way.
Through it all, I struggled with these racing thoughts and bouts of hidden anxiety that no one knew about, except for a few people. These thoughts would be nonstop and range from songs beating in my head, to self-loathing commentary, and thoughts that I never truly was loved by God or anyone else. I felt like a horrible person. Who else had these thoughts? Why me? I felt I couldn’t be honest that I struggled with what I was dealing with, because who would accept me for who I was?
I was struggling with anxiety, depression, and signs of ADHD and no one knew it. Not even me. I hid it, masked it, and tried to push through thinking I could overcome whatever I was dealing with because, as others had told me, I was smart enough to do so.
Bad advice. Really bad advice.
The consequences of pushing through and acting like I could overcome anything through perseverance affected my life. In my journalism career, I bounced from job to job never staying at one place long enough to build connection with my colleagues or sources, or to truly establish myself beyond someone with unmet potential. I would run when things got difficult, and I would attach myself too quickly to people if I felt like we could become friends. I left a trail of broken connections and opportunities in my path of trying to believe I could overcome anything. As a pastor, I often overwork myself to hide my struggles and to overcompensate for my feeling of needing to prove that I am a good and capable pastor.
The thoughts became worse. The anxiety worsened. The depression was heavy. My lack of focus would bounce around like a Plinko chip going down the game board. No one knew what I was truly wrestling with, because, I did a good job hiding to others the depth of my struggle. They might have known something was up, but never the full extent.
It was only when my oldest son came along that things started to change. I noticed things about me in him. Sure, every parent gets excited when their child takes on some of their characteristics or looks like them. I love that he has my hair (or what was my hair). And I love that my youngest is a carbon copy of me, looks and all. However, I noticed that my oldest son did things that he would do when things were difficult or overwhelming that I would do. I saw his struggle with crowds, and his aversion to loud noises (even though he can be the loudest in the room). I noticed his struggles to move through the world, and I saw a lot of myself.
Like any parent, I wanted to learn what made my child click and process the world so we could better support him. That led to a journey of discovery where in learning about him, his form of autism, and getting the support he needed, I learned about myself and found ways to support myself. In providing for him, I unintentionally permitted myself to learn about who I was and how I, too, adapted and processed the world.
I learned that my racing thoughts were a sign of anxiety. I discovered that my struggles with patience, working better under pressure, and the fact I can be distracted at the drop of a hat were indicators of ADHD. I began to understand other things about myself, such as my struggles with rejection, my desire to prove my worth, and my fear of criticism coming out of my anxiety, depression, and ADHD.
More than anything, I learned there was nothing wrong with me. I am simply a child of God, a person with deep worth, who happens to have various disabilities that can hinder my connection and involvement in daily life. It doesn’t make me a bad person, as I always thought. It is just who I am.
While over the years I have learned how to accept who I am, I still struggle with living in this reality. Those old masks of pushing through and running at the first chance of difficulty are still there, especially when I am appointed to serve in a new community. I still need to do a better job of making sure that I have good guardrails in place to help guide me along the path of loving God, growing in faith, and serving others through who I am as a person. Those guardrails for me are rest, enjoying the things that I love, seeing a counselor, and having some time away to wonder. I thrive with good guardrails. I struggle when there are gaps in the rails.
Accepting who I am does not mean everything is perfect or is always in place to thrive.
Accepting who I am means embracing the journey, learning to grow in who I am within my disabilities, and helping to smooth the path for others on their journey of acceptance.
I am proud of who I am. I’ve never really been able to say that before.
And, I am proud to be someone who has various disabilities that make me who I am.
Shannon Blosser 