Dear younger me

Many years ago, my mom gave me the book titled Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff (and It’s All Small Stuff) by Richard Carlson.

I am sure many of you have heard of it and have even read it. For a long time, it sat on my bookshelf. I would pack it up whenever I moved, feeling guilty to get rid of it because it had a beautiful, encouraging message from my mom in the front of it. Each move, I would box it up, move it, and unbox it to put it back on the shelf to collect dust (I am sorry, Mom, but keep reading!)

For several years, the title of that book just ticked me off. My worries were not small stuff! After all, I was living with a lifelong disability that, at the time, was nameless. I thought, “this book probably doesn’t even apply to me!” Wouldn’t it be great if we could have the insight we have now as adults when we were kids? Oh, how I would have done things differently! That is just a part of the process, though. Live and learn.

I have since read the book several times and still pick it up from time to time. It really puts things in perspective. As a person who leans more towards the worrywart side of things, it has helped me to see that most things really are not worth “sweating” over – a constant reminder I tell myself.

So, as I passed by that book today, it got me thinking. If I could go back in time and speak to myself as young girl with a disability from the perspective I have now, what would I tell her? Obviously, I cannot do that, but I can speak to others who come after me. As I always tell myself, if it reaches one person and makes a difference, then it matters. That really is so true for all of us. We are all capable of helping someone, and it DOES matter. Someone out there needs you. They really do.

First, I would tell her, you are not alone. For so long, I felt like I was the only person in the world who was just like me. I do not say that from a place of saying I am so special. No, it was not that at all. In fact, it was quite the opposite. It was a chronic loneliness that often left me gutted and empty inside.

I would also tell her to appreciate her uniqueness more and to let it sparkle like a diamond in the sun. It is a gift to be able to view the world from this perspective, as someone with a disability. Sure, a lot of parts of living disabled truly do stink. It is hard, it is grueling, unpredictable, isolating, and heartbreaking. It is also a beautiful opportunity to connect with other people on a level that many people just cannot.

I would tell her that when people tell her she is beautiful or good at something, it is not because they feel sorry for her and are trying to make her feel better. They genuinely mean those things. Take the compliment, smile and say, “thank you.”

I would tell her, do not miss opportunities because you are too intimidated to be the only disabled person or may have to do things differently. It is an opportunity to teach others and help them learn about disabilities … to try and make a difference for those with disabilities.

I would tell her to stay strong. It is a marathon, not a sprint. Take it one day at a time. You will have some really tough days, weeks, months, years. It will get better. Trust that.

I would tell her that joy can coexist with hardship. It is okay to be happy about certain things, while at the same time grieving things you are not able to do. Focus on the good in your life, instead of dwelling on what is not so good.

Finally, I would tell her that you may not be able to control your circumstances, but you can most definitely control how you respond. Do not believe what society encourages you to believe, that disabled people are weak and unworthy. Believe you are humbly courageous, and you have a purpose in this life – do not waste it. And most importantly, do not sweat the small stuff.

Until next time …

Amy Shinneman is a former National Ambassador for the Muscular Dystrophy Association, disability blogger, wife, and mom of two boys. You can find her blog at humblycourageous.com and reach her on Instagram @ashinneman.