21 Apr Growing Pains 3: Coming Back Home

By Beth Livingston

Just months before I was injured in a car accident (see Growing Pains, “Chronicles of a Young Woman Coping with Paralysis,” in the January Action), I had relocated to Bozeman, Montana, from the East Coast. I was still settling in, so to speak, when I caught a Med-Jet to the trauma center in Chicago in August 1989. Returning home to Bozeman in November was bittersweet.

My injury occurred as I was still in the process of exploring my new hometown and working on meeting people. Now I felt unsure how I would be received by the friends I had made. It was hard to conceive that they would accept me, considering that I was struggling to accept myself as an individual with a disability.

Since the day I was injured, I have struggled with feeling “broken” and “less than.” Though I hide my lack of self-assuredness, I know it is there. I avoid mirrors and shy away from my own reflection in store windows. I cringe at the thought of participating in activities that make me feel, or appear, awkward. The truth is, I force myself to do many things I don’t want to do, knowing that it’s healthy for me.

I know that this feeling is self-doubt. It is the way I see myself, far more than how I am seen by others. I say that primarily because it is what I am told by my friends, and at some level, I trust what they are saying to me. It is the one obstacle, however, that still keeps me from really being me, and feeling free. In the 17 years since being injured, I have taught myself to do some pretty amazing things, but somehow loving myself remains a difficult task. I still pine for the old me. But the funny thing is: who ever said the old me was so great?

Getting back home held plenty of challenges, like learning to drive and managing my bowel and bladder in the “real world” where the bathroom seems to always be “down the hall, to the right, and up the first flight of stairs.” I learned to do the tasks of daily living: laundry, dishes, and shopping. Forget making my bed. Too frustrating! (Although my mom will tell you I’ve never made it before in my life.)

My house was remarkably accessible except for the shower, which had a step up. In that case, I had to ask and wait for help. It was trying having to wait to ask for help for something as personal and private as bathing. Sometimes I would have an “accident” and desperately want to shower. Still I would have to wait. Humility and patience are two of the hardest won survival skills you can develop after being spinal cord injured.

While my husband was at work during the day, I could rely on my neighbors, who repaired tractors in the metal shed at the end of our driveway. They shoveled pathways to my car when the snow drifted too high for me to pass, helped with groceries when I needed it, and kept me company when I was lonely. I learned a lot about haying, farm equipment, and “keeping the government off our backs.” I knew that I would need to reinvent how I made a living, and I found that immensely perplexing. My past work history was, by and large, physical work.

Waitressing? No. Construction? No. Realtor? House painter? Cop in the handicapped accessible van/squad car chasing down bad guys? No, no, no. Trapeze acrobat in Cirque Du Soleil? Uh . . . maybe . . .

I finally decided that self-employment was my best bet. I knew what my limitations were, and what my strengths were. I decided I was less likely to fire myself, and I really wanted the experience of doing something on my own. Ever since I was a child, I had attended estate sales with my mom. She never to fire bought a “new” piece of furniture for our house, and I was bit by the “auction bug” as a little girl. Growing up, I often bought and sold old things, mostly dolls and toys, in order to afford things that I wanted. When thinking of a business to start on my own, an antiques store was a natural thought.

My mother and I each have our own share of vices, but buying and selling antiques, for us, is pathological. The spring after my accident, we went into business together and I opened my first retail store.

Beth Livingston is the single mother of two children. She lives in Bozeman, Montana.