What's Normal?

       When people ask, "How are you doing?"  I'm never quite sure what they mean.  Of course, this is just another of many ways to say hello.  But, there's so much embedded in that question that I usually answer it as everyone else does, "Okay. Yourself?"  But, I'm not okay.  I wasn't okay as a child.  I never thought I was normal: not as a kid, not as a teen, nor as a healthy adult.  I sure don't feel okay, now.

     When I was young, I was afraid.  My greatest fear was that I somehow didn't measure-up to the expectations of other people.  If I was reticent I'd feel inadequate because I'd feel as if I were boring.  If I was funny or loud, I'd fear that people perceived me as a blow hard, or just a loudmouthed bore.  I always felt unattractive.  I think what I wanted more than anything else was for someone to say that they understood my feelings, that these feelings were normal, and that I was okay, or as I saw it, normal.

     I realize now that these feelings of inadequacy are normal, in a degree, but abnormal beyond a certain point.  I still don't know where that point is.  But as a child, I found that the most effective way for me to handle my fears of inadequacy was through a quiet, self-administered reanimation of myself.

     In my studies I was smart, but not smart enough, so I studied.  Then studied more. And more.  I was a hard nosed kid, so I fought with a reckless denial of injuries.  I became a smart, tough kid.

     Sports freed me from a cycle of meaningless schoolyard and back lot violence releasing me into an arena of violence for the sake of winning. 

     I was a slow runner, so I ran, mile after mile.  I found a steep hill up which I sprinted, down which I learned to lengthen my stride.  I ran until I dropped, I fought until some dropped me, and studied until I fell asleep.

     I excelled in all of the sports I played, terrified that I'd be beaten, even on one play.  My paradigm didn't include losing.

     I was named the most outstanding athlete in my high school class.  Strange thing was, I wasn't that good.  I just tried harder than other kids.  But that the whole thing was a sham, I'd be uncovered as that kid who was too quiet, or too loud, or too slow, or just not tough enough.  I knew I wasn't "normal".  I knew because my wrestling coach told my mother that it wasn't safe for me to drive myself so hard; that I was more like an animal on the mat than a person.  My football coach used me like a mafia don uses an enforcer.  I began to love what I was becoming.

     In high school I performed well enough in the classroom to draw the attention of the finest colleges in the country.  That and athletics, sent me off to the Ivy League.

     What had gradually been a slow deconstruction of myself followed by a wacky reconstruction turned into a pathway to success.  But along the way I'd hurt myself; true to the new me, I wouldn't admit this.

      I suffered more than 20 years of herniated disks.  After two surgeries to fix unendurable pain in my feet and legs, I had a third in which a Medtronics neurostimulator was implanted near my spine.  That and a steady diet of narcotics takes me to the point I'm at now.  Constant pain, mildly alleviated  from time to time, and a permanent spinal condition (if the doc's are right).

      About that fear, I was right.  It's the "normal" part that I got wrong.  There was I big whole in my life; I'm filling it now.  God accepts me for what I am...

      ...flawed, which makes me normal. 

Comments

[Deborah]

Thankfully, He does! That was so well-written. It's too bad it took you so long, and so much pain to realize what He already knew! The better question is why does it take us all so long to understand?