Category: Personal Reflections

I Write To Speak
“Annie, do you have a hard time processing what people are saying?”
“Yes.”
Why did she ask me that? Can she see what I’m thinking” No one has ever asked me that. Why can’t I answer? What is wrong with me?
I became interested in writing after reading a book called, Anyone Can Write. I learned how to write through freewriting. I would make a mad dash across the blank page. I didn’t need to tip-toe or worry about stuttering. I didn’t have blemishes, I didn’t need to take my hair out of my mouth to be heard. I feel like I could swing higher than all the “You cants or, “You wonts” or, “Stop its” I heard and soar.
I moved back to California from Washington, in 2007. I have always struggled with trying to fit in the social “norm” round holes.
Neurodivergent are born different than neurotypicals and we are aware of it every day.
“Stop it. Just stop it.” Each word is a blow to my spirit. I turn around to see my boss at Target glare at me. All eyes in the store glance toward my trembling body. I had been putting wallets in their proper order on the shelf where they belonged. I was proud of my work because this was the area I was assigned to and I wanted to make it perfect.
I recall this incident at one of my first jobs. I was doing microfiche when I was startled by the words,
“Annie, stop working so hard, you’re making the rest of us look bad.”
I catch the social cues now and I see that the “norm” is to still interact with others while you work.
The point is that I rarely speak what I’m thinking. I’m picking up on some of the cues that help me fit in while remaining true to myself. I paraphrase Jesus in Matthew 19:14, Let all who are “different,” come to me for they belong in the kingdom of God.
I joined and quit groups and Bible studies until I met a lady named Evelyn with ginger red, perfectly sculpted hair at one of the groups. She asked me to sit with her in the front row, close enough to see what color toenail polish the leader wore.
Doesn’t she know I’m different?
She began to invite me to a memoir writing group for seniors. I said, “I can’t write.” I came once to get her off my back. I haven’t stopped since except for a hiatus or two. I stuttered; I hid, I ran, I wrote, I wanted to leave but I’ve stayed since 2008. Thanks to our gracious teacher Bonnie and a special lady, Charlene, who let me sit next to her. She gently whispered when I stumbled, to “slow down.” I fit like a square peg, but I fit.
Now I speak and now I’m heard. My blank document lies calm and ready to give me a voice.