Trust Me, We're Normal, and So Is That Alien in The Spa Over On Pluto
Imagine two versions of the same scenario: A polar plunge.
If you haven’t paid attention to this worldly event in the winter months, this is the fantastical event of jumping into freezing water and trying really hard to survive while a cluster of wildly approving fans cheer you on as cameras record your antics for all the world to gawk at, while for some, money is raised for nonprofits. One of these days I might try it. Might.
Version One: The swimmer poised to jump into the freezing water understands what they’re about to experience. They’ve either done this before, or they have a clear expectation that jumping into liquid ice will be an utter shock to the system. They figure the norm is going to be hard.
Version Two: The swimmer is an alien visiting from another planet and has no idea what is about to happen. It doesn’t even know what the word “water” means. It might think this will be like that vacation it took to Pluto once, where the only thing to do there was lie in a spa all day.
The buzzer goes off, and everyone jumps in. The swimmer who has at least some idea of what that water is going to feel like experiences a complete shock to the system, one hundred percent, but his mind knows this is to be expected — it’s normal to feel shocked by icy water — so there isn’t the added panic or fear of this aberration. The body responds swiftly to the temperature, telling him to “get the hell out!” but he didn’t have the added fear of the unexpected. He expected something beyond belief.
The alien, on the other hand, is both shocked and panicked, spinning inside as it tries to deal with both the physical chaos and the mental grapple because it has no idea it’s normal for the body to react so harshly to ice water. It has double the fear, and thus, it decides visiting Earth was a bad idea — and it’s leaving tomorrow on the first alien flight home.
Knowing that our reaction to our hardships and challenges is part of the deal lessens the struggle we face. Yes, we are having a tough time with something hard. But no, we’re not weird or less or wrong or weak to be having the reaction we’re having. No, the world isn’t falling apart. Or maybe it is. But either way, we know that we’re not flawed for struggling with it. If we assume that we are, the struggle is often worse. When we know our experience is at least partly to be expected, we don’t feel so alone. Others have been here, too.
Okay, fine. The example of an alien dealing with a polar plunge might not be so relatable. Plus, I imagine it’d be hard to rationalize anything in the throes of such a hit to the nervous system. How about having a challenge in college? Has any college attendee not had some struggle? If not academic in nature, then social difficulties, being far from home, or managing all the novelty. How about having a hard time raising children? What about losing a job and having to find a new one? And relationship challenges? A dime a dozen.
Life is challenging. Period.
I was diagnosed with ADHD not too many years ago, in my mid-fifties. By that time, I’d learned so much about it because I was certified as a neurodiversity coach. Little by little, sitting in my classes, reading the books and magazines, going through studies, it dawned on me that maybe I had it. It seemed so.
It was so. And when I found this out, do you want to know my first reaction? I was thrilled. I know, I know. You didn’t expect that, perhaps. But in my line of work, the coaches who had ADHD were the ones whose clients felt they genuinely understood what they were going through. Those coaches would see their self-doubt, anxiety, and regret as normal. They knew their struggle with attention and emotion was to be expected. They understood.
Just these small moments of normalizing for someone can go a long way toward eliminating the freak-out of the alien in the icy water. Yes, things are tough. Yes, this is the way of things. But I’m not weird. Skin coming into contact with ice is hard, so now what? How do I figure out how to swim in cold water for thirty seconds? How do I figure out how to handle living in a dorm?
Two years ago, I had my first focal aware seizures. I’ve switched meds a few times, and they haven’t been the most fun substance to put in my body. I’ll have to stay on meds for the rest of my life, to the best of my knowledge. They keep the seizures at bay. But this doesn’t mean I don’t have mental fallout from the experience, or from the meds. I’m doing very well, back to my regular self, but sometimes at night I’ll get a tinge of the fear I felt when the seizures first hit two years before.
And I think I’m alone in this, or odd, or the only one who feels this.
Not true, of course. My experience is typical. I am normal; this is normal. The struggle wasn’t because of me. The struggle was something to be managed by me. Seizures are funky. Life is funky. Just keep on truckin’.
What’s normal, then? It depends. We’ll craft normalcy as a society, a power structure, or as individuals. What we determine to be normal can be helpful or harmful. Not all norms are positive. Over history, we’ve had to recraft our definition of what’s normal or to be expected — thankfully. This goes for a society’s history or for our own.
If you walk through a grocery store parking lot — at least near my house — you’ll see some employees with various disabilities managing the shopping carts in the parking lot, moving them back to the storefront as needed. It didn’t used to be like this. Decades ago, it wasn’t. It took some time for our society to accept that opportunities for everyone could be the norm. This was a positive change in what we consider to be normal.
I say all this because sometimes I talk to people who are struggling with something so human, so common, and they feel like a freak for struggling the way they are. They’re ashamed. All my heart wants to say is, “You’re not only not a freak, but you’re a rock star for groping your way through, for trying, for moving to the other side of this utterly human experience.” My mouth says it, of course, but I wish they could see how much my heart feels it.
Some days, I think I’m the only person in the world who struggles with something. I guess we need to keep reminding ourselves and each other. If you’re a human, experiencing this human life is as normal as it gets.
If you’re an alien — I’m not sure, but it’s probably similar.
Have a lovely rest of your week, my friends.
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