I had fluid on my brain when I was born. A lot of it. And it kept increasing, spreading it’s dangerous waters, filling and stretching all the cavities and tender bones. I was hospitalized for quite some time. I can’t remember it. I kinda wish I could. Is that the sadist in me?
The doctors were worried and wanted to operate. My mother and father were members of a happy clappy christian church and decided to get the congregation to pray for me instead. The fight between my parents, the medical profession and religion continued for some time.
Eventually the doctors said ‘Enough. If the fluid increases even just one millimeter more, we will operate. You will not have a choice any longer.’
Our church prayed harder.
In current times, this procedure is simple and non-fuss. Back then, it was more dangerous. I understand my parents’ hesitance. But within this process I strongly remember the stories as it was told to me, over and over again.
‘If the fluid continues to expand, she will be severely intellectually handicapped, like someone with Down Syndrome.’
This story was the one of my childhood. I was stupid. Not very smart. I’m like someone with Down Syndrome, I can’t ever amount to much.* I was destined to live a simple, outcast life.
The funny thing is, the fluid stopped building. The doctors stood firm with the operation threat. My parents stood firm with their prayer. I was measured, ever so precisely, daily, weekly, monthly and eventually every 6 months. My large head did not change. Not getting any smaller, but did not get any larger either.
Usually baby’s fontanelles (the bones at the top of the head) close between 1 year and 18 months. Mine, at long last, closed over on my fourth birthday. Still, my abnormally sized noggin reminded me, and everyone around me, of my stupidity.
The stories were ever so pervading in my consciousness and perpetuated by my care givers. I was simple. I wasn’t smart. I was kind and helpful, but not clever.
This belief that I was dumb was so prevalent in my consciousness, that even when I graduated Law and topped the class of my post-graduate Law certificate, I still felt I was stupid. I worked hard. That was the only reason I succeeded.
I did much healing work in my 20s and eventually came to the realization that I was in fact, clever. What a shock that was! It was quite a surprise for me to realize this. It took me years to settle into the fact that I have something going on in that smooshy grey matter up there.
But I was still an outcast. I worked in areas of law helping ‘outcasts’.** I loved them and I loved helping them, but I wasn’t one of them. I was ‘normal’. Wasn’t I?
I had a ‘secret’ part of me that was them. That is them. I worked hard not to show it. I disguised my big, unusual head (I graduated with the largest sized men’s graduation hat and it barely fit) with curls of normality, sweeping round my face, trying to let people not see the ‘real’ me.
Even when I began to make life decisions that were outside of societal norms in my 30s, part of me so desperately clung to the idea that I was ‘a normal girl doing slightly out of the norm kinda things’.
Really? Who am I kidding?
I’m a freak. I’m different. I think differently to most. My way of life is challenging to a lot of people. Most don’t get it. Some love it. A lot freak out at my life choices and some of my ideas about the world. Really, at my age, I should be living in a white picket fenced house in a suburb of Brisbane with a partner, a dog and a 6 figure plus wage. Not gallivanting round the world for years on end, going with the flow of life, staying where I can be useful, contributing, growing and learning.
I judged myself with the people who judged me for not being ‘normal’. And although there were parts of me that loved my radical side, I also hated this part of me. I didn’t want to admit I was a freak, an elephant girl, with a big head filled to the brim with water. The simple and crazy one. I was my own inner executioner.
So now, for the first time ever, I’m going to completely own it. Not hide it when I see people challenged (think: all that crazy laughter or random ideas!).
From now on, I going to love and own all parts of myself. My inner freak. My inner lawyer. My inner healer. My inner activist. My inner crazy. My inner planner. My inner deviant. My inner mother. My inner thinker. My inner lover. My inner elephant girl. My inner teacher. My inner artist. My inner change maker. My inner radical. My inner softy. My inner writer. My inner all night long dancer. My inner whisperer. My inner outcast. My inner strategist. My inner peacemaker.
Me.
PS. Look out world! 🙂
*Please note that was the impacting image of people with intellectual disability and Down Syndrome, my world view, during my childhood. It is certainly not my perspective now. I love and support and adore the contributions and love given by people with intellectual disabilities and Down Syndrome to their families, communities and the planet.
**Again, this is a childhood consciousness term which I would not use in every day discussions, but important to understanding my subconscious patterning, which is why this term is used here.
