The Power of a Strong Spirit

Your ear is made up of 3 parts: the outer ear, the middle ear, and the inner ear. The middle ear is composed of 3 bones called the ossicles; they are the malleus, incus, and stapes. The smallest of these 3 bones, the stapes, is also the smallest bone in the human body at just 2-3 millimeters in length. To put that in a visual perspective, a new pencil eraser has a width of about 5 millimeters. Based on its size you might assume that it would take very little force or pressure for the stapes to break but it is actually quite rare. Comparatively, the femur or thigh bone is the largest bone in your body. In the average human adult it is about 18 inches or 457.2 millimeters in length, about 229 times the size of the stapes. The femur however is among the top 5 most commonly broken bones. You didn’t come here for an anatomy lesson so I’ll just say that each of these bones play crucial parts in the everyday function of the human body. Now take away everything but the size of these two bones, if you based their fragility off of this single bit of information you’d be wrong.

People have made the same mistake with me my whole life. 

When people see me or they hear that I’ve grown up with a disability and have been in a wheelchair since an early age they make preconceived notions about what that means life has been like for me. They assume my childhood was spent in and out of the hospital, that I was riddled with pain and that I didn’t have a normal experience at school. That is not the reality of my case at all. I did have the occasional doctor appointment and had my first surgery when I was in second grade, but I had a very normal childhood. I grew up out in the country in Burleson, Texas with a younger brother and a lot of cousins who were like siblings. My parents showed me and my brother, Dallas, a loving and realistic marriage. My dad grew up with the same neuromuscular disorder that me and my brother have so he also had physical limitations and knew what life with a disability was like, even if all of our cases differed slightly. They never coddled us or let us make excuses because of our limitations, always telling us that physical strength is not what makes you a strong person. 

I went to school and sat in the same classes everyone else did. Being in a wheelchair was something that went unnoticed by most of my classmates after the initial introduction. I went to school with the same people all my life. I can remember when we would get a new student and they would ask someone “What’s wrong with that girl?” My classmates would be so confused and their first reaction was to think that something had happened to me that day and I was upset about it, because they didn’t see anything wrong with me. My teachers had the same expectations of me as the rest of my classmates and I was a pretty smart kid who enjoyed learning so sometimes they had even higher expectations of me. I always felt older than I actually was. I had to be more mature and realistic than others my age because I not only needed but wanted to understand and have a say in my care. My parents and doctors were honest with me when I had questions, which I always had plenty of, and one of the lessons I’m most grateful for being taught at a young age is how to advocate for myself. In my everyday world I never felt very different but I still noticed how people who didn’t know me looked at me. I could tell they pitied me and were curious. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had my intellectual ability questioned or how many times I’ve been talked down to or like I’m a child because they make assumptions. When people think of strength their first thought is the physical kind so by those standards I must be a weak person or break easily. The following testimony is just a few examples of my proof that I’m not. 

The End of My Childhood 

November 19, 2014 was supposed to be the same as any other day. It was a Wednesday, the week before Thanksgiving. I’d gone to a basketball game the night before and was supposed to go on a field trip in one of my classes on Friday. It ended up being  the worst day of my life to date. It started out the same as any morning of the week as we got ready for school and were about to leave. I remember going back to my room to grab some bobby pins as my mom went to tell my dad that she’d be back after dropping us off. I heard her say his name repeatedly, getting louder each time. She let out a scream that I’ll never be able to adequately describe but can still hear ringing in my head as if it just happened. I have nightmares about it every year. I looked over at my brother, only 14 years old, and knew that our world was in the process of changing forever. I told him to run next door and send my Baba (our grandpa) down and to stay with our little cousins, he didn’t even hesitate or question me. I’m the one who called 9-1-1. As I gave the address for an ambulance I had already started to let the new reality set in, my dad was gone. My mom eventually came out of their room and I’d never seen her so broken. She pulled me to the couch and just held me. I felt bad because the last thing I wanted at that moment was to be seen as weak or someone that needed to be coddled. I told her I was going to check on the boys and left her as she called my dad’s parents. As I entered my Nana and Baba’s house I immediately made eye contact with my brother and I could tell he knew exactly what had happened. I had to call my aide at school and let her know what was going on and I knew that within a few hours everyone would know. People started showing up throughout the day and I was trying to be as strong as I could. I had so many people tell me that day that the only reason they were staying calm is because of how well I was handling it. “Night Goose, love you!” My dad said those exact words to me three separate times the night before he passed. He said it when I went to my room, a little while later when he and my mom went to theirs, and he even texted me the same words a little later. Sometimes I wonder if he knew it would be the last few times I’d hear him speak those words to me. That night it wasn’t until I was alone in my room, knowing I’d never hear those words again, that I let myself break. 

During the funeral was one of the only times I let anyone see me cry. After that, I put up walls when it came to expressing my emotions. My mom asked me and my brother if we wanted to talk to a therapist but we both felt that our support system was so strong that if we needed to talk we had plenty of options; so we declined. Looking back now I know that I should have gone because I didn’t let myself fully grieve or start to be vulnerable again until my freshman year of college. Just a couple of months before this I had lost my close friend Briggs Berry. He had undergone a bone marrow transplant months before and slowly deteriorated. His death was somewhat expected even though we were hoping for a better outcome. When I was told of his passing I was sad but also somewhat relieved that he was no longer in pain. My dad’s passing was out of the blue and I wasn’t relieved, just confused and lost. I’ve come to learn that the stages of grief are not linear and we don’t all go through every step. I really only ever went through depression and acceptance but the order was acceptance and then depression. I accepted his death very quickly, never angry at him or God. There was no bargaining because I knew my dad was a believer in God and Heaven and so am I. I will see him again and I knew he was keeping an eye on us from above. The depression and full level of emotion only came after I gave myself permission to stop trying to be strong for everybody else and letting certain people make MY dad’s death about themselves. Most people view turning 18 or graduating high school as the end of their childhood. Although I still had some growing up to do and milestones to reach, the loss of my dad took away a type of innocence and security that cannot be replaced so I see that as the end of mine. Avoiding grief is like trying to outrun a storm. You can run as fast as you can but the storm will always be right behind you. Eventually you’ll get tired and have to stop. The thunder, rain and lightning will cover you and soak your clothes, rattle or maybe even startle you. It will feel as if it will never end. After a while though it does stop. The clouds clear, the sun comes out and you realize storms are actually cleansing and that even nature has to go through a dark and rough time to come out the other side refreshed. You begin to wonder why you avoided the beautiful chaos of the storm for so long when the aftermath is worth the darkness. 

Psalm 28:7 - "The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and he helps me. My heart leaps for joy, and with my song I praise him."

Different Interpretations of Strength 

During the spring of my junior year of high school I experienced something that made just how physically weak I am compared to others a reality and brought it to the forefront of my mind. I was working in class with a student that I had gone to school with for a few years but knew very little about. He was very quiet, physically not very big and was seen as a loner and isolated from others. I was really only working with him because no one else wanted to and I felt bad. After working on our assignment for a while he made a comment about how small I was. I didn’t think much about it, I’d had my size pointed out more times than I could count. I remember sort of chuckling and saying something like, “Yeah, I get that a lot.” I was more surprised he was talking to me at all than anything else…and then he kept talking. He proceeded to make multiple quiet comments, more to himself than me, about how easy it would be for someone to “overpower me,”  “pin me down,” “they wouldn’t even have to be that strong or try that hard.” I was so caught off guard and confused, thinking I had to have heard him wrong. I don’t remember responding and he didn’t say anything to me for the rest of class. It wasn’t until later that I realized it had actually happened, this person that I barely knew was threatening me with the knowledge that I could be an easy target for sexual assault. Nothing more ever came from it. I kept my distance from him and he never spoke directly to me again. I never told anyone about it until recently. Last summer I saw him somewhere in town. I hadn’t seen him since high school and I was shocked at how much his mere presence in a busy room put me on edge. I sat there, no longer contributing to the conversation and watching him out of the corner of my eye, while he sat maybe 10-15 feet away. 

I’ll forever be grateful that my experience only went as far as words, I know others who can’t say the same. Honestly that’s one of the reasons I didn’t say anything at the time. Was it even something that warranted reporting? They were just words and he only said them once. I had no proof and I didn’t want to be accused of “making it up” or “freaking out over nothing”, especially when there are people who are victims of so much worse. There’s also the fact that I was 17 years old and dealing with having lost my dad less than 6 months prior. I didn’t want to put those closest to me through anything else when I didn’t know if it mattered. I have no way of knowing if he threatened or acted on any of his remarks with others. I have to remind myself that I was a kid. Now that I’m older, I know it mattered and still feel almost guilty for not reporting it. I’ll never know all of the intentions behind the words said to me but I believe that one of the main ones was to simply make himself feel strong and powerful. We’re talking about a high school boy that had done very little growing since middle school and was socially very isolated. I think he saw me as someone he could actually overpower and scare. The difference between me and him is that I’ve never felt the need to say anything or threaten anyone in order to make myself feel powerful. The thought of preying on someone else’s fears is unfathomable to me. There are so many other things that are more powerful than physical strength, like being able to control my words and knowing that being cruel to others on purpose will do nothing to solve my own insecurities. I don’t think I realized how much his words impacted me until I saw him last year. Getting close to people, even guys, doesn’t scare me but the knowledge that if someone wanted to overpower me they could does pop into my head occasionally now. I refuse to let that make me mistrustful of others or impact any potential relationships. My kindness, gentleness, and self control, is a type of strength I’d choose over physical strength or size any day. 

Philippians 4:13—“I can do all this through him who gives me strength.”

“My flesh and my heart may fail, but God”

At the beginning of the spring semester in 2018 I started having trouble sleeping. For two weeks I only got a few hours of sleep, lost my appetite, started breaking out in a stress rash, became irritable and emotional, and put little effort into my appearance. I basically only left my apartment when I absolutely had to. It got to the point where I started having auditory hallucinations. I finally went to a Care Now when I went home for the weekend. They confirmed the rash was stress related and that I was stressed because I needed to sleep (I’ve never wanted to be so sarcastic or sassy to a doctor in my life). They gave me a prescription to help me sleep. My mom said that I’d had it before and it always knocked me out so I was prepared to finally sleep that night. After another sleepless night, I broke down crying and got up. I immediately felt like something was wrong. My mom checked my oxygen levels and they were alarmingly low. I don’t remember much after that and the next time I woke up I was on a ventilator. Long story short, after several tests and different doctors being stumped about what was wrong with me I was told I had CO2 retention and needed a BiPap when I sleep to get rid of the carbon dioxide. I was in the hospital for 25 days, 19 of them in the CICU, things got very dark. I remember when I was still on the ventilator I typed to my mom that I didn’t know if I could handle it anymore, I was so tired. Another time, my brother walked in the room and I typed to my mom that I didn’t want to leave him here alone. I had a lot of time to think and it made me realize that I was letting fear rule my life. A few weeks later I called my advisor and changed my major; even though it meant I’d basically be starting over. I finally got the tattoo I’d been thinking about for a long time and decided that I deserved better than what some people were giving me. This was the beginning of a long journey of self discovery and growth in several aspects of my life. It was an incredibly difficult and scary time in my life but I often wonder if I would be where I am today had I not gone through it. Almost losing my life taught me that it was time to start really living.

Psalm 73:26—"My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever." 

Fighting Battles I Can’t See

In the 4th grade I started to have episodes that I now know are panic attacks but at the time had no idea how to explain what I was experiencing. It felt like everything around me was moving fast while I was in slow motion. Everything was too loud and too bright. I felt untethered but when people tried to comfort me it was too much. The room was closing in on me and I couldn’t breathe. It was overstimulation to the max but at the time all I could say was “I’m dizzy.” I’d never been overly emotional and all of a sudden I was having an emotional breakdown almost every day. It got to the point that it was happening so often my classmates didn’t even bat an eye. I don’t remember how long this went on before I was taken to the school counselor and other mental health professionals. I was eventually diagnosed with chronic anxiety. I was seeing a psychiatrist once a month as well as another counselor once a week. I’m the only kid I knew that could spell Fluoxetine and it wasn’t just because I liked to spell but because I was taking it. I was given goals that revolved around food because one of my biggest triggers at the time was eating, especially in places like the cafeteria and restaurants. I was able to come off the medicine in middle school. 

The thing I hate the most about a panic attack is how illogical and out of control it makes me feel. As soon as it’s over all I can think is “Who was that?”, “Why did I react like that?”. It’s embarrassing as well as physically, mentally and emotionally draining. It’s not something that went away when I learned a few coping skills and it’s popped up at some very inconvenient times. I’ve almost let it keep me from going places or doing things and if I’d done that I would have missed out on some amazing experiences and people. 

I was in college when Covid hit and we made the transition to online classes. By the time things calmed down it made more sense for me to continue living at home. I didn’t have much time in my degree plan left, almost all my classes were fully online or hybrid and only met in person once a week. It was taking me longer than I planned to graduate, so almost all of my friends were already finished. I was away from campus activities and friends; I never even got to have a senior goodbye night from my sorority like everyone else. My friends were done with school, starting careers, getting married, going out, going on trips, etc. I started feeling as if I was being left behind. I graduated in December of 2022 and the plan was to work towards becoming a certified child life specialist. I was applying to programs but with each rejection it eventually became clear that my physical limitations were going to make it to where the career I had been pursuing and working towards for so long was no longer an option. I had no idea what I was going to do and felt like for every goal I had accomplished there was no progress. I felt like a kid instead of in my early 20’s and all I could think about is if I’d ever be able to feel like an actual adult. Towards the end of 2023 everything that I had pent up over the past couple of years became overwhelming. I started having some really negative thoughts. 

I was actually jealous of others who could act on the usual self harming behaviors. I didn’t have the option to make cuts in my arm or thigh because I couldn't get the razor blade out on my own and they would be discovered the very next time I needed help showering or dressing. I hated myself for having that thought. I decided I needed to talk to someone other than just another counselor because this felt like more than my regular anxiety or being upset about a setback. I was diagnosed with depression. When I told the doctor everything that had gone on over the last few years and some of the feelings I generally deal with she said “No wonder you’re depressed, I would be too if I had to handle all that!” I was put on Fluoxetine again. I literally spent years earning a degree in psychology and studying mental health while advocating for medications like this and telling others that they are tools and nothing to be ashamed of and yet to me it still felt like a step backwards. Along with the medication I started making origami stars as a coping mechanism for my negative self thoughts. When I talk down about myself (out loud or internally) I make an origami star and on the inside I write down something I like about myself or something positive in my life. I keep them in a jar on my desk so I can see them everyday; for every negative there is a positive to counteract it. I’m doing much better and I’ve begun to think about myself in a more loving way and have had even more clarity about what I want in all aspects of my life. Anxiety and depression don’t just go away but I accept that they are part of my story. I truly feel that the work I’ve done to make it to where I am today is something that has only made me a stronger person, someone that others can trust and talk to when they are struggling. Those things make my struggles feel worth it. 

2 Corinthians 12:9—“My grace is all you need, for my power is the greatest when you are weak.”

What I Believed vs. What I Now Know 

It took me a long time to understand what friendship really was. I made friends early on and since I continued with those same people all through school those friendships continued. I made a lot of excuses for my so-called friends at the time. We would make plans in advance and they would cancel at the last minute to go do things with other people. They would make comments to me about how they didn’t mind if I talked to the guy they liked because I “could never be a threat.” There were even times that I was talked out of trying out for things because of comments they made to me. As I got older it began to impact my self esteem more and more. I never felt as pretty or as good as them. I was told by more than one person about things said behind my back and yet I still held on. When my dad died these were some of the people that made it about themselves. That was the beginning of the end of those friendships because I realized I was and would always be their convenient friend. In their minds it didn’t matter if they canceled plans with me because I would always be there like I’d been in the past. It wasn’t until I went to college that I started to realize just how truly unequal our friendships had been. As I started making friendships at school I noticed how different my relationship with these new people was compared to the people I had called friends since first grade. My whole life the thing that I’ve been afraid of the most is being a burden to those around me. Being my friend and making plans requires more planning. It requires people to be more accepting and understanding. In the back of my mind there is always the thought that people are just tolerating me. The thought that they can’t wait until I leave so that they can actually have fun. There is a fear that one day they will just get tired of me and that will be it, friendship over. In my darkest time this is the thought that runs through my head: I don’t want to die but I feel like some people's lives would be easier if I wasn’t here. I hate that I feel this way. I hate knowing that it stems from people that are no longer in my life and that it affects my relationships with people that are nothing like them. I have amazing friends. They care about me, build me up and go out of their way to make sure I am always included. I know that I deserve genuine and equal friendships now because of my friends, they remind me of my worth and what I bring to our relationship. 

My self esteem is still not perfect and it isn’t just my past friendships that kept it so low for so long. For too long I let the fear of what other people think keep me from wearing things I wanted to wear. I never wore pieces that showed my arms or legs because I was afraid people would just point out how thin they were or I would see things at the store or on someone else and think it was cute but wouldn’t look right on me because of how I looked. It wasn’t until last summer, at the age of 25, that I said “Not anymore. From now on I’m going to wear what I want!” I decided I needed to be done worrying so much about what others might think of what I look like. They don’t know me or what I’ve endured, my likes or dislikes and if they have a problem with the way I look then that is on them. I may not absolutely love every single thing about my body every day but I love myself and I recognize that physical appearance is not the most important thing. One of the reasons that I let those toxic and negative friendships continue for so long is because I was afraid of starting over and the reason I let other people's potential opinions dictate my choices in clothes for so long is because I was afraid they would be right. I almost didn’t want to break the fears because they had been a part of me for so long, but I read a quote once that has stayed with me and gives me hope: “And as she fell apart, her shattered pieces began to bloom; blossoming until she became herself exactly as she was meant to be.”

Proverbs 31:25 “She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come.”

It’s All In The Details 

 People look at me and they make assumptions purely based on what they see. They expect me to be fragile, sugar sweet and weak. They don’t realize that what I lack in physical strength I make up for in other ways.  I believe God does not make mistakes. Therefore I know I am not one, nor is the disability he gave me. To say that I am would be a direct contradiction to the belief that God creates all creatures for a specific purpose which He knows before we are even born. The same God that created me is the same God that created the moon and the stars which the world views as beautiful and valuable. If that’s the case why should I view myself as any less. I have never once been angry with Him for my disability or anything else I’ve dealt with. In fact they have provided an avenue to spread His word and connect with others over shared experiences. In all of my darkest times it is then that I have felt His presence the most. I had a few hopes and goals in mind when I set out to share my story. I want to help erase the stigmas that surround people with disabilities and after reading this maybe you will take a second to look deeper the next time you meet someone with one. If you are someone who is currently struggling with mental health, or has in the past then I hope this encourages you to talk to somebody whether it be a loved one or a professional, you could even reach out to me. I want to help others understand that when dealing with grief we will all deal with it in our own ways but hopefully running from it is not the way you choose. My goal was to be open, honest, and authentic about my experiences and how I’ve handled them. Ultimately I hope that this story and my experiences can encourage others and show the world that our strength is not measured by how much we can lift or how far we can run but by how we deal with and come back from the obstacles life throws our way. 

If you made it to the end allow me to introduce myself: My name is Denna, pronounced like Jenna but with a D. I will be 27 in September. Several people have described me as sassy and sarcastic. I have a bachelors in psychology from DBU, even though what I am working on now has nothing to do with that. If you look through my camera roll you’ll find a ton of screenshots of books I want and pictures of my German Shepherd Melody. I have 3 tattoos and might be getting another one. People always seemed surprised to find out that I am a big football fan and I won’t say no to a basketball game either. I am a devoted daughter, sister, granddaughter, and cousin. I think I am a pretty great and loyal friend. My hope is to one day soon write a book. I have an addiction to Dr. Pepper, reading, and baking.  I also happen to be in a wheelchair but that’s a minor detail.

1 Samuel 16:7—“....For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”