The Connections We Miss When We Stay Quiet
I used to give my introverted mother regular heart attacks when I was small. I would talk to anyone, of any age, about anything. It certainly led to some embarrassment, and would have likely exposed me to all sorts of dangers with a less vigilant parent. It also led us to making connections with some very interesting people.
As with most children, time and public programming took my voice. I learned that most adults weren’t interested in what I had to say, that most people simply didn’t listen, and that, as a child and a female one at that, they would prefer that I be seen not heard.
It didn’t stop people from talking to me though. It was as though my sudden dearth of words created an empty space around me that even strangers sought to fill up with words of their own. It was my college boyfriend’s turn to have a heart attack when we were waiting for friends at a Boston bus station and a total stranger sat down beside me and told me his life story that had landed him in prison until earlier that year. This man, who towered over me by at least a foot and a half, rumbled out his sad (and slightly disturbing) tale in a deep baritone, thanked me kindly for my time, asked for a hug, and went on his way.
“You have to stop being so friendly,” my boyfriend snapped.
“I was just sitting here!” I said
“Well, just….stop making eye contact, will ya!”
In time, I learned to let my own words take up space around me again. The words came back in advocacy for others first, talking friends out of detentions or into later curfews, and professionally later as I convinced boss after boss to allow me to reshape my job within the usually rigid structure of education.
It’s all too recently that I’ve started speaking my own personal words. On page, sure, (though you know all too well these are times I often find myself without words) but in person I still tend to defer to others. Get them talking about themselves and I don’t have to be seen or feel vulnerable.
Even with my closest people, an aspect that rarely gets any of my words is my disease, and I don’t broadcast the fact that I have MS in my broader circle. Even the people who know generally forget because I’m careful not to show the struggle most of the time. Recently I’ve realized that this lack of words does everyone a disservice.
I was chatting with a shop owner last month, an acquaintance who recently started a brick and mortar for her amazing bath and body products, and in general chit chat let it slip out that the recent crazy swings in weather were wreaking havoc with my MS. I felt something in me panic and try to claw back the words as they were leaving my mouth. She just stared at me for a beat and said, “Oh my God! Me too!!”
Turns out she’s been battling the disease since just after her pregnancy with her first daughter twenty some odd years ago. We chatted about medical gaslighting, the relief of finding decent neurologists, medications and how MDs cannot figure out that the suppressed immune system just works differently. She even gave me a couple of herbal tips I had not thought of.
In the nearly 4 years since I have been diagnosed, she is the first person I have met that also has MS other than my neurologist. The truth is that I’ve probably met more since it’s estimated that 1 in 400 people in Maine have MS, but I’ve never talked about it and neither have they. As a result, she is the first person in my community that I have found who knows this particular struggle. And she’s an herbalist, and she’s started her business since her diagnosis and has such a great attitude and approach to it. As she said, “I’m so sorry we have this in common, but good talking to you.”
Will we talk about it much after this? Likely not, but we both know one more person who can understand some of what we’re going through and be a resource about meds or doctors if either of us needs it.
It’s got me thinking about how and when to speak my truth. Where’s the line between oversharing and being open? How can we authentically present ourselves to the world and give ourselves every opportunity for genuine connection without exposing ourselves to too much risk?
I don’t know the answer, but I’m going to try to let that early childhood version of me take over a little more often. I don’t want to miss out on any more cool connections.