Tag Archives: Life change

Life In The Trenches

5365287_s_editedI’ll confess, for most of my life, I didn’t view myself as “disabled,” reserving this term for those with even more extreme physical liabilities. Yes, I felt “different,” but it never occurred to me that Dystonia qualified me for membership in any kind of exclusive club.

In my confused reality, I viewed individuals with disabilities as mirrors of my own imperfections, reflecting a self-image I couldn’t bear. Now I simply see people whom I count among my closest friends for reasons that have everything to do with the spirit their hearts embrace. No saints or heroes, just soldiers on personal battlefronts waging reluctant but necessary combat. After all, life is lived in the trenches not on a pedestal.

My argument with the whole concept of disability is how it creates a notion of us vs. them. Those of us with chronic illness don’t conduct ourselves by majority rule or elect representatives to a special Disability Congress to proclaim declarations of common attitude and award badges of merit for supposed acts of heroism. We take our lives thought by thought, day by day.

Think you’re so far away? Challenges abound for all of us, what’s your struggle? You could even try it for a few minutes, an hour, a day. Blindfold yourself. Shake your arm every time you eat, drink, write, keystroke, or play an instrument. Spin around crazily, then swim and sway down the street. Attempt 24 hours in a wheelchair. Do you feel to be a “sore thumb” or is your entire attention focused on your tasks? How much of you feels “able” and how much “unable?” It’s not our physical differences that mark us with a scarlet “D” but how society finds the need to distinguish us by them. The only “sore thumbs” are those thusly viewed by the rest of the hand. How about examining the degree of perfection the other fingers can claim!

The lesson I try to embrace every day is that each of us is a composite of unique information, no one aspect so particularly remarkable that we stand out as any more “different” than the person sitting or standing next to us. When it comes to my personal data, Dystonia is a fact tucked into the details of my life that’s completely uninformative regarding my worth as a person. While Dystonia is a bit of a visual drama queen, why it should dictate a “one size fits all” label is beyond me…and unfortunate.

I’m just like everyone else. I carry hang-ups, sport frustrations, worry about inconsequential details, celebrate life, laugh, love, dream, and strive to hold inner peace. May you find yours as well.

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Bon Anniversaire!

14605022_s editedA year ago today I pressed the publish button on my newly created, blissfully pink WordPress site, a simple motion that shook my very core with far greater velocity than Dystonia. I’d embraced a new self-view removing shame from my equation, embarking upon an exploration of alien territories within myself and new roadmaps to human understanding.

My blog marked the end of one odyssey and the beginning of another, perhaps even more transformative than the first. I set out with lofty goals – no less than unburdening my soul, sharing deeply felt insights and describing my strange disorder without it sounding like a virulent medical horror, starting with the post pinned to the top of this site. I ventured into foreign lands endlessly more foreboding than the manipulative villain lurking in my brain. I’ve tackled my deepest nightmares of how I might present to others, wildly misplaced self-phobias, misinformed perceptions of disability, even notions of sexuality.

In the span of a year, I’ve hurled myself into relationships I never could have imagined, discovering like-minded people who once manifested as unintelligible to me as Dystonia previously stood to many of you. Indeed, I’ve introduced some of my new friends on the pages of this site, individuals who’ve helped me see myself in a new light and shine like multiple suns on my brightly lit world. I stepped beyond the human threshold, which often paints a wholly uninformative picture, and with a lingering look found overwhelming commonality that speaks to our shared spirituality. Notwithstanding an abundance of horrid descriptives I’d love to banish from the dictionary, chronic illness and disability can be a curtain masking healthy and entirely “able” human souls.

As my own personal muse, I strive for optimism to guide my way. “Dystonia Muse” is as much a compilation of my finest aspirations and intentions – forever inspiring me to walk forward – as a hard and long-earned life lesson. Everyone has an internal muse, an ideal self we formulate through sweat, tears and tenderness and strive to hold, the person to whom we ever inch closer as we journey through our lives, the best of our hopes and desires, an amalgamation of our loftiest dreams fueling us to press onwards.

16905028_s editedVenture beyond the surface differences that separate us, look inside yourself, brave your singular waters, seek profound truths, and you can begin your own personal expedition to discover the infinitely understandable human story and boundless reach of your heart.

Pamela Sloate – Decidedly “OUT” of the Dystonia closet!

Post Script: Here’s a warm thank you to new friends who’ve made a world of difference in my life: Marissa, Robyn, Rhiann, Peggy, Chris, Carrie, Lisa, Andrea, Rebecca, Shannan, Juliet, Patty, Jan, Denise, Allison, Sarah, Ed, Arthur, Divanicio, Lars, Franz, Robert, Gohei, Arash, Bruce, Pat B., Nick, Gary. I mustn’t forget Duncan and a handful of “Aussies” on Twitter – Jacinta, Tara, Francine, Jane, Ray, Archie, and Larry – who make “chirping” a delight!

Life Before Dystonia?

Individuals who encounter health issues later in life tend to reference “before” and “after,” a distinct turning point that irrevocably rocked their world. I can’t remember time before Dystonia. All my experiences have been informed by this condition. I’d welcome the opportunity to meet myself absent Dystonia, me minus the obsessive need to assert control in compensation for uncivilized muscles that refuse to be tamed. I don’t carry a mental list of activities I “miss,” just ones I imagine and my own unique take on the everyday.

17781067_sOne girl told me how much she missed skiing. Based on my singular experience, can’t say I’m sacrificing much. My foot, none to partial to enforced confinement, had its own opinion about staying in that boot. I found the view from the lift engaging until my brother slathered me with tales of fallen horror. Reaching the bottom waxed problematic but I swiftly mastered the art of falling and Dystonia helped my skis form an inverted “V” to slow the pace. Didn’t bother with a second run, the hot chocolate bar held more appeal. I’ll say this, I looked rather svelte in my snowsuit and things weren’t all bad considering the miracle of getting my feet into those boots and myself down the slope.

The sport of movement disorder is an alternate reality of the same world. We’re swept along on a moving sidewalk that doesn’t stop, tiny little “events” filling our days. Whatever the age of onset, I surmise the physical ease of a prior existence becomes blurry for anyone as the years pass, like an inability to remember life before becoming a parent or falling in love. I walked and wrote correctly for my first 8-1/2 years and spoke “more acceptably” for my first 20. These memories entirely evade me.

Chasing lost yesterdays is no way to build our todays. We must strive for the happiness that’s within our grasp and understand that no human being exists without limits. I find tremendous beauty in the hope, optimism, and insight of those who walk the cracks in the pavement and compose their lives into unique poems.