If there is one thing that instantly sends me into panic mode it would be when someone suggests that I try something new.
As I sat in a local coffee shop a few months ago with my fellow columnists turned mentors/friends, each one of them enthusiastically suggested I should sign up to go to the writer’s conference at Taylor University. I smiled and told them that I would think about it, panic silently setting in. Thoughts of inadequacy and self-doubt began to take root in my brain. Some were thoughts that many would likely have when going to something like that for the first time. Am I a good enough writer? Others have so much more experience than me. I haven’t even written my first book yet.
Along with those thoughts, came concerns that others may not have. Will it be accessible? Will I be able to wheel myself, or will there be carpet which makes it so much harder with my weak arms? Will I be the only person in a wheelchair? Will the bathrooms be accessible? Can my body hold up to the demands of two days in a row? Will the doors have accessible buttons? You get the point. There is another level of what ifs when living with a disability.
However, this time, my desire to go outweighed my doubt. Their gentle encouragement led me to hit “submit” on the registration with a somewhat reluctant hand. With the conference still a few months away, it was easy to stuff those doubts down.
As the time got closer, the anxiety began to rear its ugly head. I am pretty good at talking myself out of things. This time those thoughts were certainly there.
Luckily, I had a meeting already set up with the other columnists a few days before the conference. After meeting and discussing some of what I may need from them to help me successfully attend, I settled down a bit. It’s not that I doubted them. They are incredibly kind and made it clear that they would be more than willing to help me. I doubted my ability to express my needs to them. My biggest fear is that my needs will take away from someone else’s experience.
The day before the conference, I was very close to telling them I wasn’t going to make it after all. I picked up the phone and called my mom. As always, she set me straight. “She said, talk to them and tell them exactly what you need. I know they will be more than happy to help, but you have to first tell them how they can help you.” Sounds so simple, but it is so incredibly hard for me. After 50 years you would think it would be easier. It’s not.
I often feel silly at all the fretting I do before an unknown situation. More times than not, it turns out to be just fine. When I tell you these ladies knocked it out of the park as far as stepping up for me, I mean that wholeheartedly.
Even Jan, whose plate was full, as she was a presenter at the conference (by far my favorite, just amazing stuff), made it a point to check on me a few times during those two days.
As for Amy and Sharon, well they were my right-hand ladies. They are “instinctually blessed” as I call it. They didn’t skip a beat as we unloaded my wheelchair and laughed as we fumbled to get the wheels on. They offered to push when they knew it was hard for me, and also gave me space to be independent. That’s usually a dance learned much later in my relationship with people, but it was instantly there. I am beyond grateful for their help last weekend.
As for my first writers conference, it was incredible. I learned so much, met a few new people, and just enjoyed being there taking it all in. The venue itself was very accessible. My only complaint would be no accessible buttons to get into and out of the restroom. A sure way to solve this common problem would be to have the people designing these buildings to have to use the restroom from a wheelchair just one time. I guarantee there would be accessible buttons on every restroom door.
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.