Being different

At a diversity and inclusion conference last week, we had to do some table talk. You know the sort, when they ask you to discuss something with the folks at your table.

The question that we were asked to discuss was brilliant. Truly fascinating. And the answers were very insightful.

It went like this:

"When was the first time, that you realised, that you were different?"

Go on, think about it. When was the first time you realised you were different?

Here is my example. It sounds rather trite, but actually I think I learned a little bit more myself as I pondered the memory later.

It is hard to say if it was the first time that I realised I was different, but let's say, it was an early memory.

It goes back to my school days, which incidentally were rather lovely. I remember sitting on those little grey, plastic chairs, which tuck neatly under the little grey, plastic tables. I would have been waiting for my school dinner to be served (yes in those days we were served whilst seated) by those, usually overweight, but ever so friendly, dinner ladies. Remember them?

Once a week, there woud be chips on the menu (translated as fries to those over the water). Of course chips were the highlight of the week and a huge hit with all the kids.

Well all the kids, except me.

I remember saying, "No thanks, I don't like chips!"

Looking back I remember the gasps of horror of this oddity, this weird behaviour, which the other kids could not fathom. However this did quickly move to, yeah that means more for me, happy kind of behaviour from my little table friends.

What I do not remember is whether I really did not like chips, which is most bizarre, given that I love them now, or whether I was actually denying myself this pleasure because I wanted to stand out. Maybe I wanted to be different. Maybe I wanted to get this attention and reaction.

Either way, I liked the reflective question and maybe I am beginning to learn that actually I enjoyed standing out as a child.  Some would say also as an adult - karoke anyone?

So grab a coffeee, and have a ponder about this one.

What does it tell you about yourself?

As always, let me know.

Chips anyone? No way, I am not sharing!

A bit too fatalistc maybe?

I think I read too much into my journey to work.

If the path is clear and the traffic lights let me through, I often think,  mmmmmmm today will be a good day. Yet on those days, where there are roadworks, red lights all the way and annoying and slow drivers and cyclists in front of me, I tend to believe this is a bad omen for the day, that lies ahead.

Today, the weather was amazing. A cool and sunny Autumnal day. The birds were tweeting and the sun was warming. The traffic lights were all on green and the roadworks had eased up.

I flew down my route to work. It was over much too quickly. I could have continued for hours.

On arrival at work, I had a spring in my step.

So is this day going to be a good one? Of course it is, simply because of the way I am chosing to view the world. I am wearing my rose coloured glasses and taking many deep and slow breaths. I am chosing to see beauty and I am chosing to breathe easy.

I know a special person today, who needs these good vibes, so I am ensuring there is enough of them for the both of us.

Do any of you see your journey to work in this way? Am I too fatalistic? Do I predispose myself too much?

Come on, somebody make me feel that I am normal...............

A poem by somebody else

I laugh and joke about the wig that I wear,

Friends don't hear me curse or swear.

I just shout inside when I see myself in the glass,

I’m not me anymore, not that bonny young lass.

My alopecia began after the birth of my daughter.

I couldn’t blame her, or maybe I ought to!!

I love her smile and the giggles we share,

I’d rather have her than a headful of hair!

I always appear cheery, but no-one knows how I feel

I wonder sometimes is this really real?

The thing with alopecia is the knowledge I lack

About whether my curls will ever come back

You lose your identity, feel like a freak.

Your hair becomes thinner week after week.

I’m totally bald now, my wig covers the skin,

But I look like a man and am crying within.

I know that I must just get on with my life,

I’m loved as a daughter, mum, friend and wife.

As I play with my son and my new little girl

I’ll be waiting and wishing I will get my first curl.