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I was reading the musings from others, and wanted to share a revelation from my Mom's visit this weekend.
I was born with a moderate/severe hearing loss and undiagnosed (at the time) brain injuries due to Rh incompatibility between my and my mother's blood types. I was about two when they confirmed the hearing loss. But there was more: my balance was off, I was clumsy, and I had a significant memory-forming impairment. These were never considered a problem or investigated medically. What I know now (after seeing a neurologist for the first time in my late 20s) is that I have a mild form of cerebral palsy called ataxia.
In my late-40s, I realized I also have face-blindness; I have a very hard time recognizing people. I also have difficulties with navigation. Where other people have maps in their heads, I have a blank space. I eventually build a map, but when I move it sinks into the depths while I build a new map of the new location. I have great gaps in my memories all of my life. I have hereditary depression, too, from my grandmother and mother.
I received speech therapy as a child and my folks got me hearing aids when I was seven. I appreciate that very much. However, I always felt alone in my family. My older brother is very coordinated, brilliant, with perfect hearing and eyesight correctable to 20/20. When I was young, our family went camping, rock hunting, etc., and I never quite managed to measure up. I was teased about being clumsy, and when I couldn't do what everyone else could, there was poorly-concealed impatience and what felt like contempt. I figured if I wanted it badly enough, I would become graceful. It wasn't until the ataxia was diagnosed that I finally felt that burden lift from my shoulders. The children I went to school with made it very clear that I was not to consider myself one of their classmates; I was the scapegoat. Somehow, I built my own places to "belong" in my head to survive emotionally.
When my Mom was here recently, she wouldn't speak loudly or even call my name before talking to me, making conversation difficult. When I talked about the face-blindness, she said I just needed to pay attention better when people were introduced to me. She frequently looked at me with a frown and found something to criticize. She informed my friends that I play clarinet 20 percent better than I did when I was a 10-year-old. Every time I tried to share what my life is like, limitations and all, Mom would bristle and either make light of or dismiss my reality.
My brother wasn't interested in me. My father was distant, mostly because back in those days fathers just didn't do much with their kids. I feel I grew up alone in every meaningful emotional way. Today, I wish my mother would get her depression treated! Perhaps she would then be able to view the world, and me, with some understanding and love, undiminished with guilt.
I'm grieving now for my young self; I have a good life with my husband and friends who accept me as I am, and I have places where I belong. I'll move on soon, but I really hope that parents and teachers realize how deeply the isolation cuts, and for how long. I'm 55 now, and still hurting.
Sharon
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