avatarAmy Sea

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2065

Abstract

ef="https://www.pexels.com/photo/photo-of-a-woman-with-a-television-sitting-on-a-shopping-cart-9088715/">pexel</a> adapted on Canva</figcaption></figure><p id="ee8c">I used to hate my trouble coming up with the correct words. I was terrible at crosswords and <i>Trivial Pursuit</i>. I felt stupid. My mind felt like it was betraying me — until I realized my apparent flaw was my gift.</p><p id="2e4a" type="7">Often when I write, people ask me, How did you think of that? I want what you’re smoking.</p><p id="4193">How do you say <i>It has nothing and everything to do with me?</i></p><p id="9a76">My inability to think of the right words is how I come up with my ideas. I get blocked and my brain exits, taking a different road. Though that road once felt like a junkyard of broken cars, worn down wicker chairs, and rusty old soup cans, I finally realized that road was entirely of my own making. It was pretty awesome.</p><p id="c5da">On that road, there is no traffic, no danger lurking in the shadows. There is always a vacancy sign on for me. I can go as fast or slow as I want. I am the one creating the limits.</p><p id="b845" type="7">My road was created with bulldozers and scaffolding from my inability to think of the right words.</p><p id="3cb3">When I think about people who have been left out, discluded, and pitied, I feel sorry for the people who think they’ve got all the right parts. Sometimes, only in our otherness do we find our belonging.</p><p id="47af">Wouldn't you rather be contemplating? Follow <a href="https://medium.com/@aculberg007">Amy Sea</a> and <a href="https://medium.com/contemplate">Contemplate</a></p><div id="f97a" class="link-block"> <a href="https://aculberg007.medium.com/membership"> <div> <div> <h2>Join Medium with my referral link - Amy Sea</h2> <div><h3>Read every story from Amy Sea (and thousands of other writers on Medium). Your membership fee directly supports Amy Sea…</h3></div> <div><p>aculberg007.medium.com</p></div>

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OTHERWORDNESS

What’s Wrong With You Is What’s Right With You

Your inabilities may be your greatest abilities

pexel

I have extreme difficulty with word retrieval, which isn’t great for a writer. My son insists I should get it checked out. He’s afraid I am losing my mind as I age, but I’ve had it my whole life.

What do I get checked out exactly? Do I get a full body and brain scan to figure out what makes me, me? And when they find it, do I have it removed or altered?

My inability to think of words has never been labeled a disability — but, as a society, we call so many different ways people are made disabilities. Like there is one way to be a human. Who’s to say what’s right? Who’s to say what’s normal?

What is the correct way to be a human?

Is the person we have deemed the most attractive superior? The most intelligent? The tallest? The most well-hung? The most mammarily endowed? The best arches? The narrowest waist? The quickest witted? The most mathematically inclined? The sexist pheromones? Who’s winning?

Not who looks like they’re winning? But who’s living their life based on who they are? Not how they are measuring up based on society's standards of excellence?

What the world loves about you might be holding you back.

Your perceived superior abilities could be blocking you from recognizing yourself. You might be getting praised for putting on a good act. The characteristics you perceive as your flaws, that you are concealing, might be your gifts.

pexel adapted on Canva

I used to hate my trouble coming up with the correct words. I was terrible at crosswords and Trivial Pursuit. I felt stupid. My mind felt like it was betraying me — until I realized my apparent flaw was my gift.

Often when I write, people ask me, How did you think of that? I want what you’re smoking.

How do you say It has nothing and everything to do with me?

My inability to think of the right words is how I come up with my ideas. I get blocked and my brain exits, taking a different road. Though that road once felt like a junkyard of broken cars, worn down wicker chairs, and rusty old soup cans, I finally realized that road was entirely of my own making. It was pretty awesome.

On that road, there is no traffic, no danger lurking in the shadows. There is always a vacancy sign on for me. I can go as fast or slow as I want. I am the one creating the limits.

My road was created with bulldozers and scaffolding from my inability to think of the right words.

When I think about people who have been left out, discluded, and pitied, I feel sorry for the people who think they’ve got all the right parts. Sometimes, only in our otherness do we find our belonging.

Wouldn't you rather be contemplating? Follow Amy Sea and Contemplate

Humor
Mental Health
Disability
Self-awareness
Self Love
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