By Chantell Smith-Minns
I wanted to share with you all why the Reaching Out project is a transformation. I want to share with you all, no matter how old you are, how important belonging is.
I am Chantell and I’m working behind the scenes on the in-person element of Reaching Out, working alongside the mentors on this amazing programme. I am neither 18 nor 25, actually nearer to them both combined, however it doesn’t mean that the learning stops. As part of my role, I’ve had some amazing conversations with your Reach mentors. At the age of 39 I’m still learning something new about myself and my upper limb difference.
There is something undeniably transformational in the power of connection and shared experience. Just when you think you know exactly who you are, there, out of the blue, a mirror is held up to you and you see your real self. Behind the scenes I’m a supervisor for the mentors on this project, I’m also a qualified psychotherapist and have my private practice. You should think at my age and in the profession, I should have all my stuff together. But navigating this ableist world comes with all kinds of challenges, some of those I’m still navigating all these years later. I’m going to admit it; I have had a deeply turbulent relationship with my prosthetic arm. Sometimes it has allowed me to be confident, other times it’s caused me physical pain, and I’ve regularly been asked, why wear it if it’s hurting me?
And you know what, that’s a really good question, a question that I’ve not always been able to answer confidently. At the age of 3, I was given my first prosthetic arm to hide my upper limb difference. And this isn’t a piece about how ungrateful I am. It is about the journey I’m taking.
See, you have to remember when I was born in the 80s, we weren’t far from disabled children being put into homes or being abandoned. It was a time where I felt people had to look normal and conform to be accepted by society. There is no doubt I’m thankful for my parents for giving me the opportunity to look normal, whatever that may be. However, times have changed. This is why I feel old, like I’m stuck in my ways, always hiding the difference that makes me individual and a huge part of my identity.
Over the years and there have been many of them, I developed a crippling fear of leaving the house without my prosthetic on. God forbid anybody saw me without my arm, looking normal. It served me so well through school and jobs, it undoubtedly shielded me from unwanted questions when I was younger and meant to fit in. Although it also really hindered me. I’ve often questioned the relationship I have with the prosthetic. I wouldn’t say it is mine or part of me. It’s like a mask that I put on every day much like, makeup to give the overall appearance of societal norm, habitual.
And this is where the epic part comes in, if I wasn’t part of the Reaching Out project, I would not be having conversations with these amazing adults, these people that your young people are going to be mentored by, sharing life stories of how to process identity and overcome adversity. I have no qualms in telling you all, these mentors are incredible. Having only met them a few months ago, my goodness they have been nothing but supportive and transformational in my own personal journey.
So, to revisit the question, why do I wear a prosthetic arm? For me, it’s a means to looking normal. However, as a therapist I know there is no normal, we’re all completely individual, so what was I aiming for in the first place?
The time has come for me to start my own journey, one of accountability and vulnerability. Inspired by the mentors on this project, their courage and their bravery, I’ve really started to question the relationship I have with looking normal. My favourite feeling is that of walking in through the door at home and taking the mask off with a sigh of relief. Is the back pain, the neck ache, the pressure sores all worth it just for a fear of what someday might or might not think?
Here I am in front of you right now feeling liberated that I am slowly breaking through the mask. Proudly telling you I’m sitting here now writing this piece, prosthetic free.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s been a journey! I felt panicked, vulnerable and unsure at times. However, I can confidently get up in the morning now, dress myself and like what I see in the mirror, just the way I am. Almost like a sobriety tracker, I have now been prosthetic free for nearly a month, tackling workplaces, talking to clients and the scariest part – going to the supermarket! Completely wouldn’t have been the case if it wasn’t for the support and encouragement on the 18 to 25 Reaching Out project.