The Secrets We Keep…

Terri Wingham is the founder and CEO of A Fresh Chapter, a cancer survivor, and someone who believes that we are not defined by the most difficult aspects of our story.

Written by Terri Wingham | February 17, 2012

Have you ever felt afraid to say something out loud because you KNEW if your friends, co-workers, or even your significant other heard it, they would JUDGE you? Maybe in your weak moments, you debate trusting someone with the truth. But, as the words climb up your esophagus, you grind your teeth and stuff them back down to the tight pit at the base of your stomach.

You swallow your secret because you THINK if you allow the truth to surface, you will have to face your friend’s plastic smile; her awkward shifting in the seat; and her abrupt change of subject. You can’t handle the risk she will make a mental black mark against your name in her little book of who is worthy of her friendship, love, and attention. So, you choose to show her the person you wish you were instead of the messy, imperfect person you actually are.

Yes, I speak from experience. I have a little secret that I have tried to wrestle into submission; a secret I have wanted to cover up and pretend isn’t true (even to myself). But, given that every day of this 6-month Adventure of Hope forces me to blow past the boundaries of my comfort zone, I figure why not go big? Why not share my secret with all of you and walk right through the fear that every single one of you will judge me, stop reading A Fresh Chapter, or decide I’m a fraud.

So here it is…

People with mental and physical disabilities scare me. Being around them brings up a boatload of anxiety and awkwardness for me because I have no idea how I should interact with them.

There I said it. Please feel free to judge me.

As it turns out though – sometimes if you remain open – life will present you with the exact lesson you need to learn at the exact time you need to learn it.

When I arrived in New Delhi last weekend, my host organization, Cross-Cultural Solutions, got busy orienting the other new volunteers and I with the city, the culture, and our upcoming volunteer placements. We toured beautiful temples, practiced our basic Hindi skills, and got a crash course in the country’s challenges with illiteracy and malnutrition; the history of the British Invasion; and Gandhi’s overwhelmingly non-violent National Liberation Movement.

Feeling settled and confident, I couldn’t wait to get started with my placement at Mother Teresa’s Home for The Dying & The Destitute. Yes, I felt nervous, but after meeting Dr. Khanh in Vietnam and having a profound lesson inĀ compassion and palliative care, I was ready for anything. I could sit with people who were dying and hold their hands, wipe their foreheads, or give them their medicine (yes, I had cast myself in the role of a modern day Florence Nightingale).

Then, I learned the truth. Mother Teresa’s home for the Dying and the Destitute is a bit of a misnomer. Instead, the Sisters of Charity provide food and care for the outcasts of society – people whose families have abandoned them (often because of their physical or mental disabilities).

Although I nodded my head and acted confident when I heard this little slice of information, I WAS TERRIFIED to go in for my first day.

Throughout my hour-long orientation, cold sweat leaked from my pores and I kept a steady eye on one of the benches, in case I needed to sit down and hang my head between my knees. I wanted to go back to sightseeing, learning Hindi, or really anything that would get me out of that moment. With hands jammed in my pockets, I acted as if the rocking and moaning; the missing limbs, and the occasional yelling and punching the air didn’t unnerve me. But internally, I questioned how I would make it through my 3 week placement.

That evening, a fellow volunteer and brand new friend asked about my day and I couldn’t help but confess my secret and my fears of failing miserably in my placement. Thankfully, she didn’t judge me. She simply said, “I understand. In my career in nursing, I have worked with a lot of disabled people and what always helps me is to look for their soul.”

Look for their soul. Such simple words, but so full of wisdom and insight. I could do that.

The next morning, after our drive through the congested streets of New Delhi, the driver pulled away and left me standing outside Mother Teresa’s. I climbed the steps into the cold corridor, inhaled the smell of fresh disinfectant, and turned past the open air courtyard and into a dimly lit room filled with 70-80 cots. My fellow volunteer (a veteran of 2 months at this placement) made her rounds; saying hello to her favourite patients by name, stopping to give a hug or squeeze a shoulder before she moved onto the next.

I scanned the room; shuffled my feet; and cleared my throat a few times. Finally, I moved towards one of the narrow cots and stopped beside a young girl of about 14 or 15. With her twisted feet wrapped under the thin wool blanket, she couldn’t move from the cot; but her eyes followed my every movement. As awkward as a pre-teen boy slow-dancing with a girl for the first time, I sat on the faded sheets of the bed beside hers and stretched a hand over to pat her arm. But, it felt all wrong, so I moved over to sit in the crescent of space between her chest and legs and rubbed her shoulder. The immediate light in her eyes spoke volumes and as her coffee brown eyes searched mine, I stopped seeing the tightly shorn hair, the awkward angle of her arm, or the drool on her shirt. Instead, I moved my hand to hold her cheek (as easily as if I was caressing the face of a child). The joy rising in her face flipped a switch in my heart and for a moment, I sat absolutely still – lost in a perfect soul to soul connection – and so grateful for the opportunity to be right there, in that moment with her.

I won’t lie and tell you I have become 100% comfortable in my placement since then, but it is getting easier and I am so grateful to Cross-Cultural Solutions and my fellow volunteers for supporting me through this comfort-zone stretching experience.

I am also grateful for the two important lessons I keep re-learning:

First, it’s ok to be vulnerable enough to share the darker sides of ourselves with others. As Dr. Brene Brown says in one of my favourite YouTube videos, “what makes us vulnerable also makes us beautiful”.

Second, if we are open to it, sometimes the universe delivers the exact lessons we need to learn, exactly when we need to learn them.

Namaste from New Delhi…

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Comments (22)
  • DebbieWWGN • February 17, 2012

    Namaste Terri:

    What an amazing adventure of self-discovery and compassion (for yourself and others!) Thank you again for sharing it with us.

    Take good care of yourself.

    Survival > Existence,

    Debbie

  • Terri Wingham • February 19, 2012

    Thank you Debbie – I am so happy to have you along for the highs and the lows of this Adventure.
    Big hugs,
    Terri

  • pinkunderbelly • February 17, 2012

    Whoa. There’s so much here on which to comment. Beautiful post. I love that you write with such honesty and manage to transport me to right where you are. I too would be very uneasy with that posting, but I’m not one bit surprised that you rose to the challenge and that you’re making a real difference for the patients. The advice to look for their souls is the best! How wise. Love your updates; please keep them coming!

  • Terri Wingham • February 19, 2012

    Thanks Nancy,
    Yes – my friend’s advice continues to be so helpful for me. It reminds me of this wonderful quote that one of my yoga teachers sometimes closes with – “the divine in me honours the divine in you”. So glad to have you along for the ride. Every day I think about how I can transport everyone with me because it’s that much more amazing knowing I can share it will all of you.
    Big love from New Delhi!
    Terri

  • Julie Goodale • February 17, 2012

    Beautiful post! I’m so glad that, despite your discomfort, you remained open to this situation. And equally glad that you shared it with us. Thank you.

    Julie

  • Terri Wingham • February 19, 2012

    Thanks so much Julie. So happy to have you along for the ride. I appreciate your support.

  • Philippa (Feisty Blue Gecko) • February 17, 2012

    Oh my, Terri, what a beautifully honest and humbling post. And thank you for articulating what so many of us, me included, also feel. I am very glad that you are getting the back up to equip you in this placement as it is challenging on all levels.
    India is a tough (wonderful, but oh so tough) place to be and particularly to be working, not to mention the complexities of language, cultural aspects, traditions and so many more, without the added stress of being pushed into a real discomfort zone. Thanks for sharing the reality – volunteering is indeed an adventure, and inspiring and at times exhilarating, but it is also hard work and can be lonely. I wish you continued strength and growth in your work with people with disabilities and mental ill health, we are all learning a great deal through your experience.
    P
    xox

  • Terri Wingham • February 19, 2012

    P,
    Thank you for your thoughtful comment and response. You know so well what I’m feeling because you have experienced the culture. It is an adventure and a challenge and I know the next two weeks will push me in new ways, but I will leave grateful to the experience.
    Have a great trip to Indonesia.
    Chat soon.
    T
    xo

  • BreastCancerSisterhood.com • February 18, 2012

    Terri,
    Your post makes me think of our American culture that has become dictated by political correctness. Perhaps one of the reasons we’re longer “allowed” to refer to people as “crippled” or “spastic” is because those words make US uncomfortable, not that it’s demeaning to THEM. Cripple and spastic are such graphic terms, while the homogenous “physically disabled” is more mellow and not so in your face.

    The reality is that the vast majority of us are taken aback by people who are missing limbs and dying. We can’t help but put ourselves in their place, and it scares us. To be confronted by rooms and rooms full of people who are suffering, lonely and destitute is so overwhelming. No wonder you feel faint at times. It takes a lot of guts to do what you’re doing, just voluntarily walking into the room is more than most of us are capable of doing. To say such a scene intrudes on our comfort zone is putting it mildly.

    I mean this with all my heart: God bless you for opening yourself up to these experiences. As you discovered, the bright light you brought to that girl overshadows your awkward reluctance to sit on her bed.

    Love,
    Brenda

  • Catherine • February 18, 2012

    Good for you in writing this post. I’ve been in a situation (though not so extreme as yours) while working with adults who had mental health issues – at first, they made me very nervous . . . and there were times when it was hard to stick things out. But you are right, it’s awkward to admit that. Though look what happened when you did, what wonderful advice that lady gave. Anyhow, Terri, as always I admire you in your journey and would never dare judge your inhibitions. Besides, you went back. That’s huge. And I’m sure the next few weeks will be quite life changing.

  • Jen • February 18, 2012

    There is nothing wrong with honesty. I have a sister with special needs and as a youngster could not understand people not being comfortable around her. Then as I became older, I realized that because of my sib’s ‘special’ needs by parents had handicapped her even more by babying her. I have actually become less comfortable with her over time, and realize why others may never have been in the first place. It’s not even her disability, but that so much focus was put on what she couldn’t do and how she shouldn’t have to try…

    Sorry, blathering here, but don’t feel guilty…you are doing wonderful things!

  • Jackie Fox • February 18, 2012

    Terri,
    This is so beautifully written as usual, and so very beautiful and honest. I will share my secret with you; I worked as a mental health worker for several years and was totally comfortable around folks with mental illness, but was always scared and creeped out by nursing homes with old people. I didn’t admit that to too many people.

  • AnneMarie • February 18, 2012

    Raw honesty and facing fears and pushing beyond your comfort zone. Terri, I have so much admiration for daring to dream and then rising to the challenge to turn the dream into reality. I don’t think you realize how much you inspire me…..

    Love to you, my friend,
    AnneMarie
    NYC2012

    (I think I like signing my notes to you with that NYC2012 thing…… Makes it real. Time in NY that lasts more than just a couple of hours…….)

  • Katie • February 19, 2012

    Beautiful. Thank you so much for your honesty.

  • Laura Temkin • February 19, 2012

    Terri,
    I don’t know which is braver, more courageous, or more inspiring: that you dare share your vulnerability, or that you dare travel the world.

  • The Accidental Amazon • February 20, 2012

    Good for you, Terri, both for recognizing that fear and for immersing yourself this way. I think a lot of people share that fear, which lies at the heart of much wrong-headed social and healthcare policy. One of the great privileges of working as a physical therapist is what I have learned from working with and trying to find solutions for people with disabilities. It allows one to discover our common humanity in a very profound way.

  • Terri Wingham • February 26, 2012

    Kathi,
    Thank you so much for your comment. I can’t remember if I replied back yet, but I liked it so much that I included it in my follow up post (hope that’s ok). We are so on the same page – common humanity and connection is what it’s all about.
    Look forward to connecting again soon!
    Terri

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  • Jane Wagner • February 21, 2012

    Hi Terri. I’ve been really looking forward to hearing about your time with Mother Theresa’s sisters. First, remember that the mentally disabled are perpetual children, and you are a natural with children. So nothing to fear, right? And the physically disabled? Just wearing their sickness on the outside, and you know all about being sick and the hope for recovery.

    I will be following you avidly while you are with the sisters. I can only imagine the growth you are about to experience, and the beauty that you will come away with. Not to mention the gifts that you will give to these people and the grace that you will receive…

    love and blessings,

    Jane

  • Terri Wingham • February 26, 2012

    Jane,
    Thank you so much for this perfect comment. I have carried your words with me and my placement gets easier every day. The time I spend at Mother Teresa’s fills me with so much grace. Love and blessings right back at you.
    Terri

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