Showing posts with label disability attitude. Show all posts

Sometimes when we are fed messages over and over again we start to believe them. Our eardrums pick-up on the same sound bytes and begin mindlessly thumping to the beat of the outside noise. Words fall out of our lips that form around them, before our tongues can swallow the letters back. Eyes begin to glaze over to the signs that are most familiar to us, the ones that don't make us squint too much from the glare or the darkness. Put all of those actions together and the ensemble can be dangerous. Dangerous because it's easy to settle, to just give in to those most basic human senses and believe.

For quite sometime this is what I did. I became used to the messaging that shaped my life by my family, and the society that I live in. "You can't.." "You're disabled.." "You're handicapped.." "You're a dependent.." "You're on government aid.." "You're smart but.." "People will always help you.." "It's okay no one expects.." "No one is going to because you're.." "You're qualified for services.." "You're not qualified for services.." "Just work the system.."
These were just some of the things I heard, I spoke (more like I just mimicked), I saw the process and the experience. Of course not all of these things are negative! I would like to think that I've had a fairly positive experience of my role in my community, and in society at large - at least it's something that I can say I am proud of having today!

But I do think that when we have a disability others are quick to flock around us, like a feeding frenzy of pigeons at a park, to pick and squawk their two cents in. Everyone has a different idea of what we need, of what we'll be capable of, of where we should go in life, of the best course of action, of who will provide the best care - it's no wonder why some young people (or older?) may feel consumed by their disability! It's frustrating and can easily spiral into a disheartening feeling, that you have a thousand papers (of all the same information to fill out), and you need to call hundreds of (government automated voice) representatives just to say: yes I am disabled, yes this is what I need and I know damn well you can provide this. Is it just me or does that sound incredibly needy?

This is why I have begun, recently, to flip the equation. When I call I introduce myself as "Sandy..and I work at...and I need help with this..and could you tell me my options.." As opposed to "Hi I use a wheelchair and.." It might be a small change in the conversation, just a small flipping of the words - but I have noticed a readily positive change in reaction just from the way I present myself. The truth is just like us, other people have the same senses we do - they too are getting fed certain messages over and over again. We can't change how their senses process those messages, but we can change what they are being fed.
Sure, maybe after reading this post you will try this out for yourself (and if you do - let me know how it goes!) but I don't want to just sit here and tell you this is what has worked for me, and therefore you should do it. I am not your mother, your teacher, or pfff anyone in any kind of authority. This is not a game of Simon Says for you!  
I'm just another young person experimenting with the way I interact with the outside world, trying to reach for those scattered breadcrumbs around me - and deciding for myself who to toss them to. Consider this an invitation to join me.   

I'm just going to go ahead and make the assumption that you, dear-questioner-of-my-walking-abilities, has no concept of what "little" actually means. I'm so glad you asked because I'm more than happy to explain!

Little isn't something that can really be measured in inches or feet, so much as it is lived in years as someone who is a mostly-functioning 3ft tall adult. Little isn't something that can be sized up in your weird corner-eye glance, it's something that needs careful scrutiny on an x-ray for that tiniest sliver of a fracture. Because that tiniest sliver can actually be causing a very big pain. Little isn't something you can purchase and wear when you buy clothes from Gap Kids as a college student, it's just a paradigm and a frame of mind that we decide to put on ourselves. And just trust me on this one - this frame of mind isn't really a one-size-fits-all garment. Actually, you need to be a very big person to understand what "little" really means. It's kind of like how you need to experience sadness to understand what happiness is all about. Get it?

The first time I walked I was around four years-old and had already read my first beginner's chapter book: Amelia Bedelia! As I stood between the metal railings, feet planted in "proper walking position," legs strapped into my braces, and my physical therapists' hands on my waist - I had no concept of what "walking a little bit" meant. I understood walking, I understood standing, I understood that mom and dad were - needlessly - nervously standing by, because as I understood it: walking is something everyone does and this is not a big deal. So I walked: one foot in front of the other, the way I had seen my older brother and my parents, and my friends at school walk. I copied what was around me because that is how children first learn. As far as I had observed at that point, no one around me was concerned about walking "even a little." They just did it.

That first time I walked a few steps and then a few more, all the way to the end of the railing when I fumbled a bit to turn around. Did my upper body turn and cross over first? Was I supposed to reach one hand over to the other side of the railing? Or did my feet turn sideways first? Actually - back up. Wait a minute. Before all of those questions of "how do I turn around? And what do I do now?" came careening into my brain, I thought "Wow cool! I just walked!" My palms were sweaty, I probably looked a little robotic in my uncertain positioning, and even though I couldn't see my physical therapist behind me - I knew that she was beaming. After that first session was over she probably wrote in her physical therapist patient chart: patient walked with the assistance of bars and long leg braces. Distance covered: 5 ft. 

I'm pretty confident that she didn't check off on her charts:
X  Patient Walked A Little.        Patient Walked A Lot.
But I'm not a physical therapist so what do I know?

So as you're standing there in the aisle of the airplane or bus, or if you're standing in front of an amusement park ride, or maybe you're on the deck of a swimming pool, or you're standing at the foot of my hospital bed, or you're on the dock in front of a boat - and you ask "Can you walk even a little?" Please don't be offended when I look back at you baffled. I just don't understand your question. I mean, I get what you're asking - but I don't actually * get * it. Maybe it's because you are uncertain of how to transfer me, which is fair and I would be happy to help guide you. Maybe it's because you don't want to assume that I can't walk at all because for many people translates into I can't do anything at all. Or maybe you are uncertain of how much help you should offer, and don't want to come off as intruding on my stubborn independence. Thank you, I appreciate it.

(Don't even get me started on how it must feel for those of my friends who can't walk even a little! This is one of those rare moments in the world when something "even just a little" is not taken as an easy feat, it's not taken as anything even close to 'cute,' it's probably not even taken as anything little at all! For someone who can't walk, your 'little' question may be an unwarranted reminder of a BIG 'failing.' Your question may have just driven a big awkward spear into where you meant to inflate a raft). 

But for someone who has never put her steps forward (or backwards) in life in terms of little - I hope you understand why your question comes off as slightly jarring and a little awkward. Does it make a difference to you whether or not I can walk a little after having rod surgery? Or a lot after breaking my femur? Are you going to record the "little-ness" or "big-ness" of my walking ability in a patient chart I don't know exists? Why should we put a 'size' on our steps at all? Why can't we just accept it without the vague restrictions and fuzzy borders?

Those are my questions to you and when you've answered me all of those, then you can answer for me this question: "Can YOU walk even a little?" And let me know how it feels.

If you think your friends/families/other networks might appreciate this, feel free to share this with them! ALL of the content and posts on this blog are always open for sharing -- the more the merrier :-)

In previous entries I have written about the guilt my mom may have grappled with, and I have also written about the guilt my friends may have had in the face of accidents.

But what about my own? Do I have any guilt that the O.I. has inadvertently brought on? Yes, plenty. Do I know how to deal with all of them? No absolutely not.

I feel guilty when my friends can't go places they really secretly want to go because it's not accessible for me. I feel guilty that someday my brothers might have a child with O.I. I feel guilty when family vacations are limited to what Sandy can or can't do. I feel guilty when I interrupt a crowded restaurant of diners who need to stand-up and pull in chairs so I can get past. I feel guilty when parents come up tell me "my child is severely disabled and is not nearly as capable as you are.." I feel guilty when I hear about babies with O.I. who are taken away from parents who are accused of child abuse. I feel guilty when I hear about how much my mother cried in my earliest days. The list could go on forever, each statement more absurd than the next.

Many of you are probably thinking, but Sandy none of this is really your fault or anything that you can control! I know, I know. Believe me I've told myself hundreds of thousands of times that friends are supportive. Family will always love you. Strangers are not blaming you. And you had no choice in this odd chain of events, it is what it is.
Yet that feeling exists. It's difficult to explain what it feels like but I will try: It is in the slow wave of red that washes over my face as I get embarrassed, it is in the uncertain eye-twitching awkward glance around the room, it's when I look down at the floor and mumble a useless "I'm sorry", it's tangled in that lump in my throat that I try to shrug away, sometimes it's in the complete blank stare that I give - eyes wide and filled with all the things that I could say but shouldn't need to. The feeling can be microscopic and a mere speck of dust on the tip of an eyelash, or it can be an enormous shadow that flicks across my face like clouds pacing in front of the moon. 

So how do I deal with it? Well that's an unfinished answer because I haven't really figured out how to exactly. Part of it is that I am getting better at my own self-confidence, and realizing my own self-worth. The notion that I am valued and not a free-loading burden presents itself to me in various ways every day. These are the moments when I wish my heart and my head were not such polar opposites; because the fact of the matter is at the end of the day no human being should feel guilty for being. Sometimes those moments of realization happen to snag on the fishhook of my attention, and then it wiggles desperately in front of my face until I think okay already, I get it - I have something else to be proud about! Other times these moments slip between my fingers no matter how many times they fall into the palms of my hands. But like a child splashing in the first real summer rainstorm I am out there, palms open and upward - grinning eagerly for that next opportunity to catch a drop of something sweet and joyous. All it takes is one drop for your entire hand to feel wet.  

In an odd way I am grateful that I am able to feel guilty at times. It means that a.) my friends & family are honest with me b.) that I am able to be honest with myself c.) that I am not living a life of false pretenses. This is the other way I attempt to deal with this sense of guilt that creeps up on me: I recognize that it is there. Sure it's never comfortable and it's never something that I look forward to doing, but every time it pops up I have been able to come away from the incident with more of myself intact than buried.

Barrier Breaking Tip: With enough practice (and mistakes) you can turn any action into a habit.

• Monday: Yeah, yeah, yeah I'll get it done.... later. 
• Tuesday: A few tips on garnering authority from a small package.
• Wednesday: Seriously though, how am I even supposed to respond to that?!
• Thursday: The realm of possibility is infinite with these characters
• Fracture Free Friday: What makes life [with O.I.] easier? 

Often I am asked how I explain my disability or what is it like to have a disability. It's times like those that I wish I could just utter the definition of what disability means and be done with it. But I know rambling off some definition I got from some other source would be an insult to myself and others; besides, I also know it would be too limited in scope, too simple. That's what I'll attempt to do here, define 'disability' on my own terms.

Since I live with a disability I've never looked up what it means in a dictionary. I already know what it means because I live with it, it's a part of my life. However, before I go reinventing the wheel it's important to know what already exists out there. So when I turned to Dictionary.com for a definition of disability (for the first time in my life) I found myself taking a few deep breaths as I read what it said. My immediate thought after reading the definition was what a superficial definition!! The word has a thousand more forms than just being a noun, plural and singular. And it is certainly much more than just the 'inability to do..', 'the condition of being unable to..' or 'an incapacity...' But it wasn't until I got to the part where it said Antonyms: 1. ability, capacity that I began to get angry, furious even at the blatant inaccuracies in word choice. Reading the antonyms made me angry because it seemed to insult my entire existence, my entire life, and the person that I am growing to be.
The way we define our words is a direct reflection of our society. Disability, like the terms race and and culture, is a socially constructed concept. How does society view disability? How is it treated? What is being done about it? The answers to these questions and others shapes how disability is defined. For the most part the society that I live in treats disability as a social obscurity and medical anomaly; it is seen as something that society seeks to provide aide for, or to benefit. Examples of this: This is an event to benefit kids with disabilities.. The school has Special Ed. classes for students with a learning disability.. or That's an organization that provides various services for those with a disability.. Needless to say, by and large, someone with a disability is usually equated with being the recipient of services - medical, social, government, or otherwise. After I thought about it, I realized no wonder why antonyms for the word 'disability' are: ability and capacity. 


But just because it's written that way doesn't make it right.

So I propose a mental shift. And not just in the way that we think of people with a disability. In order for a social mind shift to happen the change in perspective needs to affect everyone, but especially those in the majority of the population. In my two decades of living with a disability, I can boil its meaning down to one word: challenge. A disability means that I have something that challenges myself, and it challenges everyone that I come across in some way small or large. Instead of seeing myself as the recipient of help, services, aide, charity, etc. I see myself as offering an opportunity to challenge others and to continually be challenged myself. With that said, here is my personal working definition of disability -- something that I am sure will change as I learn more about myself..

dis·a·bil·i·ty 

1. a challenge a person may have been born with, or may have come by through an injury or accident, or other trauma 2. a state of being that is outside the norm, exceptional 3. an opportunity that welcomes challenges to expectations and standards 

When he wasn't looking or was too busy folding airplanes to later zing at my face, I would pluck at his Suzuki violin. In my hands it was the size of a guitar on me, but still I would pluck until he screamed at me to put it down for fear that I would break the rental. Both of my brothers play the violin, and while my younger brother is far superior at it - I grew up watching my older brother pull the horse hairs over the strings.

1. Awesome concert seating accommodations. Whenever I go to concerts or sporting events I have always been appropriately accommodated. This usually means getting seats that enable me to view the stage / field, but also maintains my safety. Sometimes there is a roped off section for wheelchair seating (plus one or two guests), other times accessible seating is intermingled with the rest of the concert goers. Either way though, I have never complained about this and ... neither have my friends =) It's particularly sneaky when I (purposely) buy tickets that are NOT accessible beforehand.. and on the day of the event, places will have no choice but to put me in accessible seating! This way I'll just wind up paying the difference of the costs ;-)

2. Courteous and chivalrous behavior. Although there will be some obnoxiously rude moments, for the most part I can expect people will treat me courteously. Who said chivalry was dead? Chairs are always pulled out for me, doors are always held open, and usually I am allowed to enter the elevator or other places first. Also, I personally think it rude when guys check out a woman's ass. Glad that I'm usually sitting down to avoid that kind of staring.

3. No one questions what I'm doing. I might be climbing on top of my wheelchair. I might be driving in the middle of the street in the middle of winter. I might need someone to carry my tray for me while I just point at everything I want to eat. I might be setting off the alarm to an accessible exit / door. Or I might be taking longer than necessary in the accessible bathroom. But rare is the moment when I am questioned about my actions. If any non-wheelchair user were asked why they got to cut the line to the dressing room (to get to the accessible dressing room)... they might get glared at. Me? No one questions me. The wheelchair silently answers all of their questions.

4. I can stop traffic. Growing up in the Northeast (in a city that's known for its crude driving behavior), I have learned that being able to stop traffic is a power I should wield more frequently. In the winters the sidewalks are usually poorly shoveled and there have often been times when I just drive my chair in the middle of the street instead. Even in Boston, a driver that honks at a wheelchair trying to survive the harsh winter would be deemed "Epic Masshole." Other situations: when construction is blocking the ONE curb cut to a sidewalk, I have had police officers stop traffic and construction for me to cross safely. At first I thought it was a bit awkward and silly, but now I think it's just amazing.

5. They don't ask me for money. You know them. Those, usually, 20-somethings who are standing outside in every form of weather wearing THOSE t-shirts, holding those clipboards... ready to accept your Master Card, Visa or American Express for a donation to save the whales. Usually when I'm cruising the city my wheelchair is lower to the ground, this makes me able to go faster - way too fast for them to ask me "do you care about?" It's not that I don't care, it's just that I don't want to be bothered filing out 500 lines of personal identification, and then tugging out a credit card in the vain hopes that maybe my $20/month donation may drastically save a baby otter RIGHT NOW!

What's on your list of perks?? 

Having a rare condition means that being noticed is just a part of the package. If I were a product on a store shelf I would have a WARNING label and it would probably read something like this:

All packed & ready to go!

As I am getting ready to pack for camp there are a thousand questions poking my brain, dancing around my head with sly little smirks on their faces -- like they all have some huge secret that I don't know about. Usually I would be annoyed but this time I don't mind, instead of annoying me, this time around the unknown is exciting and it's also one of the few times in my life where the unknown hasn't cast a long shadow of fear!

As I am packing for the next five days this is what is going through my head:

"Why do I own 12 pairs of jeans?? This is absurd! And how did I pick-up so many free t-shirts from those non-profits that I worked for and interned with?! I literally have an entire wardrobe of idealistic slogans and calls to save the world!
I have no idea what I'm getting myself into as a camp counselor but that's okay. I am telling myself it's going to be fine because I will fall back on my love of helping others, of working with kids, of helping others face challenges, and I hope I will be laughing throughout the entire week. Yes, even when that huge creepy crawly comes near me in the middle of the woods in Maine - I will laugh. As opposed to screaming like the pipsqueak that I can be... okay, I will try my hardest not to scream.

Seriously though:
I am most curious about the group of kids that I will be working with. The camp is geared towards kids who fall somewhere on the Autism spectrum (some have other disabilities as well) -- and I'll admit that I have little to no experience with working/camping with kids with Autism. But I have been assured that no prior professional experience was needed so what can I say? I really am just a sucker for adventures and mystery! Usually I would have done all the research, talked to my friends who were Special Ed majors in college, or thought about various scenarios and how I might react - but not this time around.

From what I know of Explorer's Camp it seems to be just like any other mainstream camp but with the flexibility in the schedule, a and day-to-day routine that works with the various challenges the campers may face. Whether it's extreme anxiety, difficulty following directions, or participating in group activities... ultimately I get the sense that at Explorer's Camp it doesn't matter what the challenge is, the camp works for and with the child. How I wish the real world, the world beyond Explorer's Camp, beyond the next five days that I will experience could function like that always! Imagine a society that works for and with any disability! It almost sounds like a vacation from my usual routine! Instead of the individual constantly needing to find ways to adapt to the everyday, this time, at least for a little while -- it will be my job to help flip their societal expectations a bit. Of course, I am not naive enough to believe that in the span of 5 days I will reverse societal expectations of how people with disabilities live their lives, but it is my hope to help someone at Explorer's Camp believe that it just might be possible."

So that is what is going through my head and I can't wait to update my readers on what my experience was like when I get back. In the mean time, I hope you enjoy the rest of this week's blog posts while I'm away!!

Rays of shine,
Sandy

One of my loyal twitter followers noted that these questions ALWAYS start off like that. I know what your mother and your teacher told you but there are such things as 'stupid' questions. Being in a wheelchair and 'looking different' I have gotten all kinds of practical, and the more absurdly ridonkulous questions thrown my way. I will share a collection of the 'Special' Questions that made it into the Truly Stupid Questions Hall of Fame. And yes, I actually did give these responses.

Q: Have you ever broken a bone from farting?
A: No but we can try it out right now if you want

Q: Can I play with your wheelchair's joystick?
A: (Usually I scream this at the top of my lungs) STOP MAN HANDLING MY JOYSTICK! 
Many of my friends have asked me this because they think it's fun or 'cool' to drive my wheelchair; I guess if you're my friend there are certain perks to rollin' with me ;-) But I'd like to say something else about this question -- It's slightly stupid to me because in my mind it's like asking someone who is able-bodied "Can I play with your legs?" You try asking someone that and let me know how that goes for you. 


Q: How do you know when you've broken a bone?
A: ....Cuz it'll hurt...like... a sh*t ton!
I think it's similar to asking someone how do you know when you have a migraine or a headache?

Q: You went to college?
A: I didn't just GO, I even graduated!


Q: How fast does your wheelchair go?
A: It goes as fast as I need it to go.
Q: So like 30 mph?
A: No, I don't need it to go 30 mph. It goes as fast as I need it to go, most importantly it goes faster than you.
I don't really understand the fascination with people wanting to know how fast things go. Okay, it is pretty cool and all but... so? In the end people who walk are usually still panting out of breath behind me, or just annoyed that I am not waiting for them. 


Q: You can go to the bathroom by yourself?!
A: Yeah, I even know how to work those automatic hand-dryers and soap dispensers....All. By. Myself!


Q (over the telephone): Wait you're really over 18?
A: Yep. I know I sound young over the phone, I get it a lot.
Q: I can't believe this! You sound like you're about 9! Where's your mother? I don't believe you, prove it to me. Is this a joke?
A: ...it's about to be a joke because I am about to laugh at you for being such a cretin you ginormous tool shed.
Q: Oh. Okay. Yeah...uhh..I guess a little kid wouldn't know those words.

Q: How do you get dressed in the morning?
A: I have fairies that come out of my closet that put clothes on me the same way the little birds put Cinderella's dress on

Q: How do you sleep?
A: Hanging upside down from the rafters in a bubble, breathing in special calcium air that helps my bones get stronger.


Tell'em Like It Is: 

• I know that in most of my tips about communicating with others I am always urging people to be considerate, patient, and polite. But sometimes the situation calls for just giving other people a straight-up honest answer. Maybe a little too honest at times
• Try to have an amused tone when you give snarky answers; there's a difference between giving rude snarky answers and sarcastic/amusing snarky responses
• Be confident about yourself when you respond! People are asking YOU the question, so you should stick to your opinions and beliefs, don't worry about what others might think. If they wanted to they could have asked someone else the question instead, but they asked YOU
• Sometimes questions can seem downright rude. Whenever I get these kinds of questions I make sure that my response includes a tone that lets the other person know that 1. I am slightly offended 2. their question was not okay 3. they better get ready to get slammed back!

At first I did it because we all had to. I was in the 5th grade and we were each assigned a 'Reading Buddy', a Kindergartner who we would read picture books with and then do some sort of literacy-related activity. I was roughly the same size as my Reading Buddy but I remember reading together all the classic favorites like Corduroy, Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, countless Frog and Toad adventures, and Dr. Seuss' Yertle the Turtle and Other Stories. Back then my favorite thing about Reading Buddy Time wasn't the fact that I was helping some six year-old guess at "what might happen next?" It was the fact that I got to read, and then as the year went on I loved the fact that I was helping my Reading Buddy learn to read, and hopefully - love reading as much as I did.
I also enjoyed the fact that although I was a kid who might be the same size as a Kindergartner, and might have still needed to be pushed on the "baby" swings - it was possible to have someone else look up to me. More than that though I was also able to help this other person share in an activity that I loved so dearly. While it's quite some time ago and I can't remember how it exactly all made me feel, I imagine that I felt important, purposeful, and for once - I probably enjoyed the feeling of being able to offer someone else help as opposed to it always being the other way around. For a ten or eleven year old kid who was always the only one in her school in a wheelchair, that last feeling was huge.

And so it began: I grew to want and love helping others.  


As I grew older I volunteered at Special Olympics, sang at retirement homes, and tutored younger students. Though I never really consciously thought about it at the time, I am sure that a part of my drive for volunteering began with wanting to "prove something" to others. I'm not sure if it was ever just one thing I was trying to prove, but here are a few that come to mind:
1. I don't need as much help as some people might think I do
2. That I have something to offer to society
3. I don't expect to always be on the receiving end of assistance in society

In college I became more involved in volunteering on a different level. During this time I actually avoided one-on-one volunteering opportunities (i.e. feeding the homeless, doing a shift at a food pantry, or helping underprivileged girls find the right prom dress). At the time I wasn't sure if I really believed that those efforts "worked" or made any "real" dent in the larger-scale issues like poverty or homelessness. But more importantly I avoided those opportunities because I wasn't sure who I was yet. I still felt that I had something to PROVE about being disabled while being able to help other people, I just wasn't sure what it was! I didn't believe that I could offer anything to people in those situations (because they were so different from my own), and instead focused my student-run club (Students for Social Justice) on spreading awareness on bigger picture topics. We invited guest speakers to campus, had discussions after we watched documentaries, or went to protests. I still loved helping others, and at each club meeting or event I was fired up and motivated by my passion to educate others on the issues.
The months and weeks leading up to graduation I had a lot of big decisions to make. I was swamped with finals, law school scholarship applications, trying to decide whether or not I wanted to go straight into law school, or if I should continue figuring out what it was I wanted to help others with. Because law school is such an expensive and mentally intensive commitment I figured that if I was uncertain about it then I probably shouldn't force myself to go. So instead of going straight into grad school I opted to do a year of service with AmeriCorps. I wanted to figure out how I could best serve, in what areas of society, and with what populations; law school I knew would always be there waiting for me.

After too many AmeriCorps applications and researching programs I decided to go with an AmeriCorps Mass Mentoring program - this is a corp of (mostly) young people who serve in mentoring programs throughout the state of Massachusetts. Why did I choose the area of mentoring? I have been incredibly lucky to have many mentors in my life. Because I was the only one in my family who was disabled and had many different interests from the rest of my family members, I always sought out mentors to help me in things that I was interested in or struggled with. I recognized that I would not have gotten to where I am today without my mentors and also realized that many students fall between the cracks and miss out on meeting that important connection to another adult in their life. So for an entire year I spent developing a mentoring program for 18-24 year olds at a local community college in Boston!
The work was exhausting and I was frequently frustrated but what kept me going was that similarly to my love for reading, I truly believed in the importance and effectiveness of mentoring. I knew that if I could only have ONE student go through the mentoring program having had a positive experience, and understanding the importance of having a mentor in his or her life then I would be successful.

That was last year, and now a year later I have a better sense of the population I know I can best serve and why it is important for me to work in that area. But what I think is most important to me is that I have come to understand that I will always continue offering assistance to others, but it won't be because I have "something to prove" - now it's because there will always be something in my life that I love (whether it's a way of life, an activity, some issue I am passionate about, or a hobby) and want to share this with someone else.

This is the group of AmeriCorps Ambassadors of Mentoring I worked with!