Lisa & Mackenzie: We Are All Human
Most days now when I wake up, I have a panicky feeling in my chest and racing thoughts in my mind. I don’t always write, but I know that I need to express all these overwhelming thoughts and feelings. I never know what is going to come out, but it is images of my family running through my mind almost all the time. We are all impacted by stress in our collective lives. That’s just how families work. We absorb all of it.
Something that is a constant in our home right now is depression. I am beginning to understand that this one word generates strong images based on one’s own personal experiences with it. I’ve found that there are people who don’t understand it at all. I also know that sometimes when people don’t understand something, they are afraid of it. This makes people scared to name depression in their own lives, but I find it hard to believe that I know anyone who has not been touched by it. Maybe that’s just me though. I always try to stand firmly in reality.
Whatever name people put on the symptoms they are experiencing in their bodies, I believe it really does often come down to depression. From my perspective, it can look like a lot of different things because we are all just wired differently. But we are all human, so we are the same. Depression is a slog.
Mackenzie is one of my 16-year-old twins. She is deaf and she has been deeply wounded. She is also very resilient. She doesn’t talk much with people outside of our house, so most people can’t really know her, and few people may realize the extraordinary human being they see before them. But I do. She is a warrior. And she is a leader in every sense of the word.
Mackenzie is in the thick of it right now. There are a lot of things that are affecting her over which she has no control. No doubt this is an important life lesson. We all have things we cannot control. Personally, I try to live by the serenity prayer, and I sense that she does too. But she is in an incredibly tough position right now. The thing she doesn’t have control over is her education, and that is a place where she excels. At least she did before last year.
Because she is deaf, she can’t go to school without an interpreter to provide her with access to communication. She is in her second year without access. When she is in school, it has become a warzone for Mackenzie. That’s how I know she is a warrior. She has fought. But it is not without deep wounding that comes with battle. She is also battling depression.
Mackenzie is keenly aware that she must keep pushing through. I am in awe of her resilience.
This morning as I opened my google docs to begin writing, I came across a speech that Mackenzie wrote last year for a communication competition. As it turned out, she never gave this speech, but I think what she wrote speaks to the core of her resilience. Her speech was about optimism.
Mackenzie wrote these words at a time when she was going to into school advocating for herself every single day and not understanding a single thing that was going on because she had no access to communication at all. She asked me the other day if I could imagine what it was like to not understand anything that is going on around you all the time. She talks about the feelings of isolation. I can imagine, but I do not know. All I know is that it hurts her deeply and it hurts me deeply, as well. I am grateful that Mackenzie is resilient. I pray that we are all as resilient.
I believe that optimism or determination springs from one life lesson or another. When I was in elementary school, I was bullied, teased, and manipulated.
People called me names like dumb, useless, stupid, retarded, clueless, idiot, pea-brain, confused. Because I can’t hear. Because I don’t always understand information very clearly and my brain mixes things up. Because people don’t understand, I’ve been described by many as abnormal, weird, or strange.
This has made me want to become stronger and more self-aware and to make a difference. Because I am different. And I think you should too. Everyone can be different, but they’re still the same. And I feel like everyone should show people that we are just the same, like them.
When I had this feeling of being different, I was only two years and nine months old. That was when I lost my hearing. The feeling of being different can make me feel isolated, because for years, being different can make it hard to fit into the world. It makes me feel bad when hearing people treat me like I’m different, like I seem to them as a pushover. Or a doormat.
I feel like my greatest purpose of my life is to make a difference. To share all of what I have. To share my story. To be bold and fast, rather than suffering in silence. And I promised myself to do it, starting at sixteen years old. I want to do all the things that I’ve been wanting to do my entire life. My interests and passions. My story. Everything. And I’m going to do it.
My optimism comes from my life. Thank you for listening to what I am trying to say.