I write this blog to instill hope and to encourage the pursuit of therapy if you find you need it. My story is long and complex and ever-evolving, like everyone’s life. I have split this post up into a five-part series that I will post over the next five days.
Seeking help can be scary. Who wants to admit they are inadequate, broken, or failing at life? Not to mention the embarrassment and social stigma that comes with it. Lastly, how can you even tell if you need therapy? I didn’t know. As you read on, you’ll discover that it has been a very long journey that I am still on.
Birth: Your daughter might have mental retardation.
Like I mentioned in my The cost of eye surgery vs vision therapy post, I was born prematurely and the doctors told my parents that, as a result, I might have a low IQ and other complications. Therefore, when I was not meeting the milestones for my age, my parents did not seek help. I do not hold ill will towards my parents for not taking action sooner. They did not know what we know now.
Kindergarten: It must be her retainer.
Fast-forward to kindergarten. I remember there being concern about my speech, but at the time I had a retainer cemented to the top of my mouth and lots of head gear. I was born with an overbite and small upper jaw, so my orthodontist cemented a retainer to the top of my mouth to expand my upper jaw while pushing back my lower jaw. Everyone thought the head gear was why I was not speaking clearly. Again, I don’t hold ill will, because it makes sense that all the stuff in my mouth would be preventing me from speaking clearly.
First grade: I think I need hearing aids.
In first grade, I remember telling my mom that I thought I needed hearing aids. At this time I began to realize that I could not understand what others were saying to me. I thought maybe it was because I needed the volume turned up.
I remember having my hearing tested in school. I thought on this day I would prove that I needed hearing aids. As I walked confidently in the single-file line to the gym for testing, I thought they would write a note that says ‘Betsy needs hearing aids’” that I can run home with after school to give to my mom.
Finally, it was my turn to climb up into the plastic chair and put the headphones on. Sitting in the chair, I looked at the man across from me and he said some stuff and was waving his hands. I was so confused and thought, “Why do I hear all of the beeps but can’t hear what the man is saying?” He started motioning his hands more vigorously as his brow turned down. I was making him frustrated and mad like I did so many other people. I completed my hearing test and remember being sad that day. I thought I would be able to finally hear but was still in a world of confusion.
Second grade: Devil! Devil! Get away from me!
Over New Year’s, I had my second eye operation to realign my eyes. This included an experimental procedure where the doctor tied knots in the muscles near my inner right eye to keep it from drifting in.
When I returned to school, my eyes were bloodshot from the procedure. My classmates started calling me “demon” and saying that I was possessed by the Devil. When I went out to play, I usually just swung by myself, because if I walked towards my classmates, they would run away yelling “devil.”
I remember wanting to be invisible and would act as such. I stood behind the social circles and peered in. I constantly worried that someone would notice me and I would be required to speak. During this time, luckily, I excelled at soccer and running. On the field, I could score goals and help my team win games. It was a great feeling to be on par with my teammates.
Third and fourth grade: I’m making so many people upset, so I decide to stop speaking and singing.
Progressing on to third and fourth grades, my peers were speaking more clearly and I was falling behind. People from my parents to my teachers to my peers started yelling at me and getting angry. I remember being told, “Speak up!” or “Just say the words!” or “What did you say?…What?!..What?!!”
Therefore, I decided to stop speaking so that I would not upset anyone. To do this, I would turn my head away when I saw my teacher or I would pretend like there was something really important to look at on my desktop or to get out of my desk. At recess, I came up with a pretty good way to conceal that I could not understood what my peers were saying or that I could not speak clearly. I would nod my head from time to time, smile slightly, and laugh occasionally. I found someone in a group usually had something to say and I could just pretend to be listening. I used this technique all the way into my 20s and sometimes I find myself forgetting to this day that I can speak, hear, and respond in conversations.
I also remember that I loved to sing. My goal in life was to be a professional singer/cheerleader. My mom said I had a very loud voice so I thought I would be perfect.
That was my dream until one day in music class. We were rehearsing for an upcoming performance and we were divided into different groups. My teacher was working with our group. I was full of excitement and belted out what I thought was our song and dance moves. My classmates copied what I did.
My teacher cut the music and said “Are you all going to be stupid and follow Betsy?” She went on to explain that I was doing everything wrong and not even singing the right words. She told me and the class that I should just be silent, stand still, and mouth the words.
In that moment, I was so upset that I made another person so mad that thought I’d better lip-sync from that day forward. For the next 10 or so years, I lip-synced at school, at friend’s houses, and at church.
That is all for today. I will post Part 2 tomorrow.
Please, if you are questioning therapy, give it a try. Who knows what possibilities it will bring? If you have any questions or need some support, please email me through the contact form.
I am here for you.
Sincerely,
Betsy
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