healing

Words that Harm or Heal: A Guest Post from Jeannie Ewing

Welcome, Tomato Pie Fans! I’m taking a hiatus from blogging to finish the sequel to DON’T YOU FORGET ABOUT ME. Meanwhile, I have a series of guest bloggers taking care of the place. Let’s hear from today’s guest, Jeannie Ewing.

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SENSITIVITY IN LANGUAGE: WORDS THAT HARM OR HEAL?

Although most people don’t know it, my oldest daughter, Felicity, was diagnosed with Sensory Processing Disorder at eighteen months of age.  She appears to be “normal,” so to speak, but her levels of sensitivity to environmental stimuli of all sorts truly varies from day to day.  Because SPD is neurological in its origin, there’s no way (short of having an MRI) to know how or why – or even what – triggers her sensory aversions.

I have to say that this has made me acutely aware of the need for sensitivity in my writing.  Some may say that people are too afraid of offending others when we live in a society that perhaps needs a forthright message.  And this is very true.  But I am definitely more candid by nature, often to the point of abrasion, so learning to be sensitive in the written language has been helpful as an author/blogger.  It’s interesting how something like a child’s diagnosis can translate into a generalization, but in my case, it’s true.

Because Felicity is so easily overwhelmed, I’ve learned to pick up her nonverbal cues of discomfort and anxiety.  Pausing for a few seconds, stepping outside of myself and placing myself in her little brain helps me as a mom to discern how best to respond to her needs.  Sometimes she has inappropriate outbursts when explosive laughter erupts during a dinner conversation, and that is promptly (and privately) addressed with her.  But other times I see the build-up of tension in her face as she places her hands over her ears, and in those situations, I am able to avert a potential meltdown from her simply by whispering in her ear and pulling her aside to give her options for dealing with the anxiety (e.g., deep breathing, calming down in a quiet place, etc.).

This unique aspect of my parenting has transferred into my gift of writing.  I usually write uncensored, because I believe it’s critical to be authentic when expressing myself and my heart.  I still believe that very much.  But instead of instantaneously publishing what I write, I allow it to sit for about twenty-four hours and revisit what I wrote.  Then I can see it with fresh eyes and insight, usually considering my word selection.  There have been times when particular sentences or words I choose could be blatantly offensive to some people, particularly if it refers to one’s cognitive ability or aptitude.  But if I take the time to pray beforehand to the Holy Spirit, He graces me with humility to see how my language may inadvertently hurt someone.

I’m not saying that we always have to be careful of every small word or sentence we say.  There is such a thing as false humility, in which a person is so deliberate and timorous in sharing anything at all with someone or expressing a personal opinion.  We should speak and write both clearly and confidently while keeping in mind the importance of truth in charity.  Praying before we write or speak, then pausing for a few moments truly makes a significant impact in the delivery of our message.  Then our words can heal, inspire, and encourage rather than harm or shame others.

ONE-MINUTE THOUGHT:  How do my words hurt or heal others?  What can I change about how I speak, write, and relate to others today?

Text Copyright 2015 Jeannie Ewing, all rights reserved.
Image Copyright 2015 “Grasshopper” by FeeLoona on Pixabay and edited in Canva by Jeannie Ewing.

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Jeannie Ewing is a writer, speaker, and grief recovery coach.  She is the co-author of Navigating Deep Waters: Meditations for Caregivers.  Jeannie was featured on National Public Radio’s Weekend Edition and Tony Agnesi’s radio show Finding God’s Grace.  She offers her insight from a counselor’s perspective into a variety of topics, including grief, spirituality, and parenting children with special needs.  Jeannie resides in northern Indiana with her husband and two daughters, both of whom have special needs.  For more information on her professional services, please visit her websites lovealonecreates.com or fromgrief2grace.com.

Follow Jeannie on social media:  Facebook | Twitter | LinkedIn | Google+ | Pinterest

Picked Last for Gym Class

One of the themes of Don’t You Forget About Me is the long-term effects of bullying.  When Allison Gingras interviewed me recently for her show A Seeking Heart, I talked about how DYFAM grew out of how much I have learned about forgiveness and that had I attempted to write that book even ten, fifteen years ago, it would have come out as a nanni-nanni-boo-boo vengeance novel.  Now, it is true:  I have long forgiven anyone who hurt me in grade school.

However, I just this morning noticed something that has stuck with me, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.

We are preparing to move.  We hope.  That’s another topic for another day, though.  We’ve lived out here in the Middle of Nowhere for nearly nine years now.  It’s been a rough nine years.  It’s really hard for me to connect with people to begin with.  I’ve always been “weird,” for lack of a better term.  Now, some of you might want to dismiss that with, “Heyyyy, everybody should be their own kind of weird.” Or, “Thank GOD you’re weird! You’re just better than all those normal people,” or whatever our supercali-individualistic society tells us to tell ourselves when we don’t “fit in.”  That’s fine.  That’s all good.  I have no regrets about who I am.  I’ve come to see that the very characteristics that make me a terrible BFF girl friend are making me an awesome wife and a formidable parent.

However.  I may be bad at being a friend.  That doesn’t mean I don’t want friends.  So what I’ve done is join things.  Clubs.  Bible studies.  Service projects.  And if there’s nothing to join, I start something (out here, that happens a lot).  As a result, people find themselves working alongside me sometimes.

However, they don’t pick me.  They choose the activity, but they don’t choose me.

I don’t go to playgrounds or libraries or whatever and start chatting up people,  because my life experience has taught me that those same people wouldn’t pick me. Given the choice, anyway.  That experience started early.  I was always picked last for gym class.  Now I am pretty sure that nothing would have changed that unless some grownup had noticed that I’m dyspraxic and could have used some early intervention OT & PT.  Whatever.  The fact remains that I was always picked last.  “Pick a partner” was the worst thing I ever heard in my schooling career, even through high school, where my experience was markedly better.  I even broke out in cold sweats over it.  I think the most precious gift anyone ever gave me was in Acting I in college.  Our professor assigned us our first two-person scene project, and before the slightest icy bead could form on my spine, a classmate turned around and said, “Erin, you wanna work with me?”  I couldn’t have been more shocked.  Had there been another Erin in the class, I would’ve assumed he meant her.  I still think I said, “Who, me?”

Anyway, these days, I organize activities and programs and events and join various formal groups… and today I realized that’s because I know nobody will pick me.  It’s a hard realization to make, honest and hard.

As I said to Allison in the radio interview mentioned above, I know the poison of self-pity.  I know its danger.  Thankfully I also know that Jesus sends this kind of pain to those He loves because He trusts us with it:  He wants us to know how much it hurts not to be picked.  How often do we not pick Him?

It’s okay to be lonely as long as you’re free.

That’s the only reason I can think of that this kind of pain keeps coming to me, over and over again. Today I have to admit that, no matter how many things I join or form or organize, I will have this pain until I am picked.  I want to be chosen.  And that, my friends, is just another sign that is supposed to point us away from this passing world and towards heaven.  Doubt that?  Go read John 15: 16.  It’s all about the love that is, was, and ever will be.  Love for you.  And, I think, love for me.

Have you had this pain, too?  How have you compensated for it?  Is that working out for you or not so much?  What is one thing, one scary thing, you can do differently to live a life of someone who has been chosen?