be thankful and shut up

In all of the communities where I find myself belonging, there is a theme of gratefulness and silence.
First, people with disabilities should be grateful for everything. If I refuse assistance from someone and am with able-bodied friends, some say I should be thankful for their kindness. Well, I'm not. If I say I do not want or need assistance, I expect the person to back off and say ok, not continue to grab my arm, push me, insist I can't do it by myself. I'd be grateful if able-bodied rules about personal space applied to me. There is also being grateful for services and access. At the beginning of my freshman year, well a week before it started, I put in a request for a reader for my French book and workbook. Since I had filled out accomodations forms with a reader as a possible accomodation, I didn't think it would be a problem. I went in to DSS my first week to see when I could have my reader, and the secretary happily hands me tapes. I ask her what these are, and she says, the first chapter of your French book and workbook. Me (in my mind) what? This is *not* what I meant by a reader. I tell her I thought I was going to have a reader. She says, "there is a reader on the tapes. He read the books and recorded them." I gave them back to her and explained that a reader is someone who will sit with me and read the book, spell words, describe photos, ETC. She said, "but they're already done." I told her that the tapes would not be helpful and I would like a reader. She proceeds to say they've never done that before, and the other blind students liked the tapes. I'm not all blind students. French is a language I've only had for a semester, and I need someone to spell new words and tell me which accent marks go on the letters. In this put upon tone, she says "i'll see what I can do." Three weeks later, they finally found a reader for me. Thank God the professor was understanding and gave me an extention because of accessibility issues. By that time, I had four chapters of workbook and lab work to do. Any time after that when I needed a reader, I found the person before the class started or the first couple days of class and sent them to DSS to fill out the paperwork to work for me.
Another area where I see the grateful attitude is adoption. I'm not bashing all adoptive parents; there are many awesome ones who are empathetic and do great work with their kids and the community. But there are many others who think adoption is the best thing and first moms and adoptees should share the same happy clappy emotions. Well that's not true for me and other adoptees. I started asking questions about Paraguay when I was in junior high; my mother says why do you want to know that stuff for, it's borring. She doesn't know anything about Latin America and has no desire to learn. I tell her I feel as if I'm missing culture and stuff and the feelings are dismissed because she says, "you're white and live in our family." I am allowed to have these feelings and questions, and they should not be invalidated because she is happy with everything. Then, there is adoption in conversations. It comes up with friends and strangers alike. I always say, there are many issues to be considered in adoption. I think they all look at me with surprise or something because they say, "huh? What issues?" There is whether people want open or closed adoptions. With domestic ones, that is a possibility. However, in international adoption, that is another whole kettle of fish. There are so many corrupt agencies who find children on the streets or take them from families and relatives who want them. There is so much money and agencies who are looking out for themselves and the children. there are often not records and a family history. I do not have a birth certificate, medical history, or anything from my time in Paraguay. It makes things complicated when I need to give official documents, like getting state Id and stuff. In the conversations, people are usually either I didn't think of that, or but you got adopted and don't live there anymore so be happy about it and don't worry about adoption issues.
But that is not who I am. I have always cared about justice and equality, and being a sociology major strengthened that part of me. Sometimes fighting for my rights is tiring, and it would be nice just to curl up in a ball and not think of them. However, I won't stop fighting for myself. I owe it to myself to make sure I have the access I need, not the access someone else thinks I need, to the materials and services that will allow me to be successful. Maybe the next student will not have as difficult a time because of something I said. I do it for my students, especially the children, because I want them to see that they do not have to settle just because someone offers a crumb of accommodation. I will not shut up about adoption because the system needs to change. I'm new to adoption advocacy, but I want to help in any way I can.

Fear of Rejection

I have always had fear of rejection. I was the shy, booksmart kid, but I didn't grow up with family near my age. In preschool and elementary school, I had many friends. It was middle school when everything fell apart. My mother was overprotective to the point where I supressed my thoughts and opinions because they were drastically different than hers. I wasn't allowed to go anywhere, and after a while of asking and receiving I can't answers, my friends stopped asking me to hang out with them. Since I didn't go many places and wouldn't share my opinions, I didn't have much to talk about. I spent much of my middle school years reading. Why should I even try to make friends; it was futile.
High school was better. By that point, I had two good female role models who slowly got me to open up, asked my opinion and thoughts about everything, and encouraged me to share my ideas with my classmates and teachers. I joined clubs: the newspaper, yearbook, reading competition, foreign language club, honor society, prom comittee, diversity, Bible study, NFB students, ETC. I still had a hard time opening up and letting people in. I was (and still am) surprised when people talk to me and it isn't to ask a blindness or dog-related question. Why should I let people in when they are eventually going to hurt me and leave?
This trouble with making friends and letting people be close continued into college. I found my group of friends freshman year because Stephanie saw me standing outside the ecology class and randomly came over and started talking to me. We sat together during class, and she explained the slides with pictures. Afterwards, we'd go for coffee or lunch since we didn't usually eat before the 2 pm class. She introduced me to her friends, who in turn, introduced me to their other friends. I had classes with them, and we joined clubs together. They were all juniors and seniors, so they left during my sophomore year. That was the time when Valerie left, and I just had no energy for going to talk to new people, new clubs, ETC. I barely wanted to get out of bed to eat, shower, not to mention go to class. I withdrew from mostly everyone my junior year. I didn't leave my room often, didn't return emails, and didn't call people back.
By the middle of 2009, I realized I couldn't stand to live this way anymore. That is when I started the slow process of rebuilding myself. I applied for blindness training; I knew I needed skills for cooking and travel, and I thought a move across the country would help. Being around people who were constantly encouraging, supporting, and having high expectations would be good for me. By that time, I had worked with and retired my second guide dog, and I was rejected by the guide dog school. I applied to guide dogs for the blind in Oregon, where I got Dee November 2009. I started seeing a psychologist, and I went to the GP for other medical issues. I had problems with tubes in my ears, and I was having constant back and wrist pain because of repetitive motion and cold weather. I entered physical therapy and went to the chiropractor.
What was I talking about again? Oh yeah, rejection. I started opening up to epople more; I told my friends and my boss about my struggles with depression, and much to my surprise and relief, they were all supportive. Not so much for my family who said "what do you got to be depressed about?" I made new friends in 2009, and my roommates and I did everything together; we ate dinner, talked about our problems, and went shopping. I made more friends at blind inc., and if seeing the same 14 people for at least 9 hours a day for at least six months doesn't bond people threw all emotions, then I don't know what will. We learned all of our past histories, our frustrations and tears, and celebrated our small and large triumphs.
I think I should find a new therapist; I quit going to mine because I just didn't feel connected and as if I were getting anything out of the sessions. I am doing much better with letting people know what I think and feel. Now if I could just get find the courage to tell my mother, that would also be a step in the right direction.

Grieving the Loss Part II

Before she retired, Valerie went back to Seeing Eye for a month of evaluation. She did fine there, but she didn't have the constant work like she had with me. After 2.5 weeks of my evaluation, I told them that that was enough and I wanted to retire her. They wanted to send her out as a guide for a third handler! I absolutely refused, citing my ownership, her expenses which many blind people can't afford, and her stress and exhaustion. After talking it over some more, they completed the paperwork in October of my sophomore year, 15 months after I picked up her harness handle for the first time.
I was not known for crying; Beckie and I had been best friends at that point for four years, and having the access issue aththe B&B was the first time she had seen me cry. When I was first considering retirment for Val, I cried more than I had ever cried in my life. I cried with frustration when she was slow and signaling with everything she had that she was too stressed and tired to guide, with anger because it wasn't supposed to be this way since many guides work for 6 years or more, and with loneliness since she was my constant companion. I cried when I realized I could make much better time with my cane. I cried when she always wagged her tail and gave me doggy kisses when I returned from class. Finally, I cried every time I made contact with someone asking if they could take Val, only to be told I should let the school do it or they didn't want her for her expenses, too many dogs already, ETC. After three months of searching, I found a family for her. When the day came to say goodbye, I didn't cry; I had made peace with her retirement, and it was what was best for her.
I was emotionally, mentally, physically, and financially depleted. All of my friends, except one roommate, were graduating that semester. I began missing deadlines, lying to too many people, lost concentration with textbooks, and didn't have interest for my usual activities. Losing my Valerie to retirement was the most overwhelming, personal loss I consciously dealt with. I grew up emotionally reserved, often to the point of detachment, because if I had differing opinions or feelings, I was shouted down by my mother or other authority figures. I think all of these factors built up to trigger my crash into depression.
Many people retire dogs or lose pets; that shouldn't have been so traumatic for me. However, since I had not grieved my losses from adoption and had been subconsciously repressing my feelings about it for years, it sent me over the edge. Just because my mother had happy feelings since she had infertility issues and got a baby does not mean I always shared those feelings. The newborn baby in me grieves my first mother who abandoned me at the hospital because she had six other children to feed and could not feed herself, since we both were malnourished. I grieve the loss of what could have been, the family traditions, the culture and language of Paraguay, of growing up with people who sounded, acted, and looked like me. I grieve the loss of medical history, a birth certificate, and other documents that make it easier to track the past. I grieved never knowing other adopted children or adult role models who could help me deal with these feelings. It's a primal, still opened wound, that I did not, and in many ways, still don't know how to handle. I grieve having a parent who would have let me express these feelings, even if it went against what she felt I should believe about the adoption process.

public noticing and private knowledge

My friend ensomnia is as prevalent as ever, so I thought I'd write again. A post from An ya from her daughter wanting to know how to answer people's personal questions reminds me of something that bothers me. Why do others feel it is appropriate to approach me and ask whatever they want? Random people don't even ask me my name. They ask why are you blind? Were you born that way? What is your dog's name? And if that isn't bad enough, they touch, grab, or push me, my guide dog Dee, or my belongings. They would *never*, I hope, do this to an able-bodied person. Now, if I am about to crash face-first in to a glass structure or am one step from falling down a 20-foot manhole, then it is ok to grab me without warning. What I do not appreciate is when people do it without talking or asking. For example, I was in line waiting for the campus shuttle last week. Dee knows how to move forward when the line moves, and we were doing just fine. Some person rabs my arm in a death grip and tries to propel me forward. I stoppeed and told I was fine and I didn't need help. She continued to hold my arm, so I ducked and moved away. Another person jumped in front of Dee and me while I was crossing a busy street. Dee stopped suddenly to avoid me crashing into this person. I shoved her hand away and said don't pet my dog. I then calmly told Dee forward, and she went around the rude individual.
I was in line for pizza at the cafeteria when someone pets my dog's head; her tail wags faster than usual when she is being petted. I said please don't pet my dog, she's working. She even has an orange sign on her harness that says so. The woman says so who cares and continues her petting. I pushed her hand and told Dee to lie down and she did after I repeated it with a correction. The woman procedes to be huffy and said to her friend, "how rude, I was just petting, what's the deal?"
When I am traveling sans dog and using my cane, people try to grab the end of my cne and a misleading attempt to guide me across the street. Ifthey thought about it logically, I need my cane to touch the ground if I am going to see where I am going!
People don't often ask me about adoption, because they see my disability before they ever see my skin color, and it isn't something I share unless I am going to be friends with someone. I can't discuss it with my family because they say "I am lucky" and the subtext of the message is you should be grateful. On the one hand, I am glad to live in America and have the opportunity for a colege education. On the other hand, there are just so many other complicated feelings about being an adoptee. What my family and random people dont understand is there is a loss of culture and identity. I am latina on the outside, but white on the inside. I wasn't raised in the latin-American culture or Paraguayan-American culture, if there is one. I do not know what I have in common with my first mother and sibblings, and what is my own from nature and the environment in which I was raised.

My Side Effects of Adoption

For a long time, I was angry, and I had repressed these feelings for a long time. I didn't when I was a teenager, but I never had anyone to talk to about them. This probably didn't do good things for my mental health.
My mother is the strict Roman Catholic; God let's everything happen for a reason, and adoption was one of those things. She says I would have had a horrible life in Paraguay, and maybe I would have. I will never know. I grieve the loss of what could have been. She didn't understand my need to know about the culture and to learn Spanish. She says English should be the official language of the US, and why do I want to learn, it's borring. I have so many questions that I will probably never have the courage to ask her. Why didn't you encourage me to learn Spanish? Why did you stay in your white, Polish, German, Catholic bubble? We didn't have many Spanish things in my town, but I know sometimes there were churches or cultural festivals. Why did you never take me to any of those? Why did you never find any latina role models for me? Why did you never introduce me to food that was not Pennsylvania Dutch, go to ethnic restaurants? Why did you never encourage me to learn Spanish when I was younger than ninth grade? Why did you never provide me with books to learn about my birth country? Why did you not let me find my own identity with support instead of being against everything I am?
I identify as latina, even if it is only on the outside. I don't know any people of color or people who speak Spanish as their first language. I don't know if I would be accepted by anyone in those communities, but I don't know how to start trying. When I was a teenager, I started saying "i'm not white," and my family would respond "yes you are."
I wish I knew who I looked like. I wish I knew how to start a search for my first family, even though they are probably dead. I want to go to Paraguay. There is a company who does homeland trips for adoptees and their families/friends. I would love to go on one of those, but since I have trouble affording groceries sometimes, that is not going to happen any time soon. I wish so many things, and I have no idea what to do with all of these feelings.