I Learned To Be “Good”

A few weeks ago something happened that triggered me

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A few weeks ago something happened that triggered me. I have been triggered thousands of times—that’s just the fun of being a trauma survivor—but this was different—incredibly painful in a very specific way, and it’s still going on.

I had to get a workplace disability accommodation—something I have done previously. I am no stranger to disability accommodations. I had them all through grade school, part of college, and during my second grad program. I also had to get one in order to work fully remote during the first year and a half of the pandemic. I know how to navigate this process—even if I hate it and feel extra salty about the fact that disabled people shouldn’t have to “request” or “ask” abled people (or institutions) for the things we need, but I digress.

I won’t say what specifically triggered me, but what happened was that I was placed right back in childhood—and I have had one foot there and one foot here (in the present) ever since. It’s uncomfortable, exhausting, and maddening.

The part of me that was triggered sent me back to myself in elementary school. I’m currently taking an online webinar called, “Navigating Your Nervous System,” and in it, Sarah Baldwin said, “If you were constantly reprimanded as a child, you are probably in a state of deep freeze.” I had always known that my body seemed to favor the freeze response over others (not something any body can control, of course), but this called to me in a way I hadn’t thought of (or felt) previously.

As a child, I was constantly reprimanded—not by my parents—but by just about every other adult in my life. The primary assailants were my teachers. After getting diagnosed with learning disabilities, I felt/saw/heard how I was treated differently; poorly. I was not offered the same respect or kindness that other kids received. I was immediately classified as a “problem.” My darling parents were in and out of my school monthly and sometimes weekly until I graduated from high school. My mom even made my French teacher in high school cry once because my mom called her mistreatment of me “bullshit” (love you, mamma!) My parents advocated for me (what an enormous privilege, of course), but even they couldn’t shield me from all of the ableism and mistreatment I received during my entire childhood and adolescence.

I learned early on to be “good” in school. “Good” grades were not accessible to me due to my learning disabilities, and so I tried to be “good” in other ways. I didn’t know what it meant exactly, but as a child I interpreted it as not talking, not asking questions, not existing. In one elementary school report card, a teacher wrote, “Lachrista seems very unsure of herself and often looks to others.” I was unsure of myself because of the adults in my daily life constantly questioning what I knew, what I didn’t know, and everything else under the sun.

Teachers would ask me questions and I would freeze. My brain would go blank. I was terrified of giving them the “wrong” answer—even if the question didn’t warrant a “right” or “wrong” answer. I was terrified of saying or doing anything that would justify their biased and discriminatory behavior of me.

I remember feeling like I didn’t have a voice. Every time I would speak, it was deemed “wrong.” I learned to be quiet outside of the home. I learned to be “good.”

When I think about that little curly haired girl, I feel so much compassion and sadness and heartache. It’s hard for me to not think about what I would have been like had I not been so grossly mistreated so early on in life. Would adult me be any different? Probably. I grieve all that I know I have lost.

I am again grieving my past as it relates to my present. I am grieving the inequity and unfairness of my current experience. I am simultaneously grieving my childhood and adulthood.

I have become my biggest protector, but I am still that girl child. I am still that tiny thing who feels so incredibly scared and unsure of herself. I try to hold her with compassion. I try to stick up for her now that I know how. I try to give her the life she so deeply deserved and needed.

I go for “grief swims” and let things fall apart.

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🫀 Mood Board for the Week

1. The Outsiders: Why Black Audiences Love Italian American Screen Icons

2. A Guide to Disability Employment Awareness Month -

   Erin Ryan Heyneman (she/her)

3. As a librarian (and lover of libraries), I really appreciate this Substack:

4. How girlification took over the internet

5. What If It’s All About Play? -

   Lina Dune

6. Yes to this new Miya Folick song

7. I’m offering my first ever online class! It’s called Digital Violence & The Nervous System. It’s on Oct. 29 for 2 hours, $35 (sliding scale), and you will receive a recording even if you can’t show up live! Also, Black, Indigenous and other POC get in free! Read more about it and sign up here!