Growing up, my
parents were always trying to make ends meet. Their exhaustion and struggles
around finances seemed to produce a constant flow of emotional volatility and
dysfunction in our family. I often felt like I was walking on eggshells around
my parents, so my QOL wasn’t great to begin with. Then, when I could barely
communicate and had no diagnosis for my problem, things got worse. When
this happened in the 1960s I was so lost and had such little support that my
overwhelming concern was how to make each waking moment okay. I had lots of
thoughts like, “How can I avoid struggling to speak with someone?” Or, “I hope
I won’t fail but I don’t know how I’m going to get through the report I’m
supposed to do at school today.”
My young life
became so filled with moment-to-moment challenges that I never sat down and
thought, “What does quality of life” mean to me? However, my QOL and the lack
of a good one made it more obvious every day that all I wanted was a peaceful
home life, to not feel anxious, and to have some kind of inner peace.
Once I was out of
my parents’ house and living on my own, my biggest concern became money. I
didn’t want to merely survive and eke out a living; I wanted to enjoy life.
Still, since my speech was so problematic and I was living in an age where
everyone used their voice and the telephone to communicate, my job
possibilities were limited. I began to equate a good QOL with one’s standard of
living so I thought if I could find a decent job where I used my mind but
didn’t have to use my voice, maybe I’d have a chance to lead something of “the
good life.” But it was hard. I settled for many jobs that I disliked, where I
gained little reward financially or otherwise. I budgeted like crazy and
watched every cent I made. I was fired from one job due to my speech and the
condition of my voice made me feel very insecure at other jobs. There was
little stability in my earning power, but I never gave up. I knew I had to keep
going.
Of course, I envied
people whose lives seemed easier, and I would periodically break down from the
frustration of my situation. To compensate, I overindulged in lots of bad
behavior and reckless affairs. I hoped all the drugs and rock ‘n’ roll would
help me forget my struggles and up my QOL, but nothing changed.
This went on into
my thirties, but then things began to shift. I lost some very significant
people – friends and family, including my mother. I also put down two of my
most beloved pets. After each passing I asked myself the same question. What
was the quality of their life? Were they happy? With every answer I asked the
same of myself. My life still felt so challenging, but deep down I also felt
that I might be what was blocking my way to something better.
Although I was
terrified of honestly facing the blatant truths about my life, I knew I had to.
I had to admit that I might never get a diagnosis for my speech condition, that
I may never speak well again, and I may never have a good job. Once I faced
these hard realities, I felt relieved. I wasn’t even depressed because I
suddenly realized that, although my disability placed all kinds of limitations
on me, it also forced me to find out who I was on the inside. It pushed me to
discover that I was strong and courageous, so I could improve my life condition
in spite of whatever obstacles I might have.
It was fascinating
to see that once I faced my disability honestly and accepted everything that
came with it, there was no longer a need to fight it in any way. I began to
feel much healthier on the inside because I finally recognized the best parts
of myself, and this gave me a tremendous sense of power and pride.
Interestingly, this switch in my perspective seemed to almost effortlessly produce
a much more pleasant life on the outside too. Eventually I was diagnosed, given
treatments that enable me to speak, and learned sign language to have a job
that is fulfilling.
I believe that most
people, whether they are disabled or not, think much more about their QOL when
they are personally faced with an adversity. I will always wonder if my
disability helped me deal with life’s challenges more easily than others,
merely because it was forced on me. Perhaps if I didn’t feel so pressed to face
my challenges and work creatively around them, I would be a totally different
person. I don’t know.
What I do know is
that being disabled has played a key role in creating “the good life” I now
live. Although money has little part in this, I consider myself to be
enormously wealthy. It is a wealth that gives me a happy and peaceful feeling
on the inside, and that seems to naturally result in the same on the outside
too. Again, I don’t know if I gained this wealth because my disability demanded
me to dig deeper to recognize my strengths, but I suspect that many
people with disabilities may have acquired such wealth too. However, this
wealth certainly isn’t just for the disabled. It is a treasure inside each of
us just waiting to be found. All it takes is a little courage and some
persistent digging around.
