By Dan Vander Plaats, TGC. (Photo: Devin Phaly/Unsplash)
I have an identity crisis.
Most of the time, I experience life as an average person. I’m married with two grown and married children. I work, take care of my yard, and serve in my church. My life, in so many ways, looks ordinary.
But then there’s another simple, familiar occurrence: meeting someone for the first time. In those moments, my world becomes unordinary.
It’s obvious why this happens: I talk funny. When I was born, one of my vocal cords and part of my tongue were paralyzed, along with other smaller impairments. By God’s grace, I learned to talk, to function in the world in a way that, for the most part, allows me to blend in.
Yet all my life is lived in this tension: Almost all the time, I’m just another guy. Then, in brief but recurring moments, I’m the guy who talks funny, who’s different, who’s disabled.
So, who am I? How should I understand these two aspects of who I am?
Three Narratives That Call Me
I can struggle to answer these questions because of three competing narratives the world, and often my own heart, continually offers me.
The first is deeply appealing: I am an overcomer, the guy with an inspirational story. I get to be the man who wasn’t supposed to walk, talk, or live normally, but somehow did anyway. If I’m honest, that narrative is attractive. Who wouldn’t want to be seen that way?
The second narrative is one I don’t go looking for: I’m a victim. This is the story about myself that emerges when someone doesn’t understand what I’ve said, or looks at me with discomfort. Suddenly, I’m not living a normal life anymore. In those moments, I feel like I’m a person who gets marginalized because of my disability.