My Beloved Disability
Photo credit: my aunt, Deb Wadden. This picture was taken at my chaplain residency graduation in August 2019. My smile says it all; I was full with true joy.
This past month I’ve re-learned a lot about myself. In my search for meaningful employment and ministry, the interview I had and applications I submitted became my teachers. It was the first interview I’d had in quite some time where I felt authentic, confident and rooted in myself. And, though I didn’t move forward in process, I discovered a more expansive framework for understanding my vocation of spiritual care, the empathetic power my cerebral palsy brings, and how I translate the unique potential my disability holds for different opportunities. I feel renewed hope that I can and will remain grounded in my spirit, voice and being as I move forward in my journey.
For me, much of my identity: as a chaplain, as a writer and poet, as a daughter, sister and woman is touched by my cerebral palsy. My disability is intimately connected to my spirituality and my lived experience. Training as a chaplain transformed the way I embrace and embody my cerebral palsy for myself and for others. My cerebral palsy is a root anchoring me to my divine belovedness. Throughout this past year, and indeed throughout my life, there have been and will be times when it (literally) feels uncomfortable and exhausting to have cerebral palsy. Yet, I would be a totally different person if I didn’t have my cerebral palsy. Because of my cerebral palsy, I am very in tune and sensitive to how my body feels in different situations, good and bad. When I’m stressed, moving through grief, and during challenging times of transition my body is more tense. Honestly, I get physically tired easily, and can be more rigid and impatient. Likewise, when I’m resting in times of joy and ease my body is looser, I dance (a lot, ask my loved ones!), and I feel very present and open.
An image one of my former colleagues once shared has stuck with me about chaplaincy, ministry and identity. She spoke about how she often will consider herself like a tree, holding space for others yet firmly rooted in herself in her care for whoever she’s accompanying. Similarly, earlier this year while sharing with my spiritual director, she offered that being rooted in myself might be akin to an aspen tree in it’s grove. She explained that the roots of aspen trees reach out and intertwine with one another in their grove. Isn’t that what true, loving service is when we are wholly ourselves? Our voices and stories branch outward and speak to the hearts of those around us, reminding us of just how interconnected we all are.
What is a root of your being that anchors you to your divine belovedness?
