My birth was a little more dramatic than the standard way a baby enters the world. I was born missing my left hand. Indeed, my limb (手臂) difference could have been a disaster if it hadn't been for what happened next. A nurse placed me in my mother's arms and instructed. "You will take her home. You will love her and treat her as normal."
That is exactly what happened. I played sports, acted in theater, excelled in school and had playdates with friends. While I did get some stares and "polite" questions about my disability, I was lucky because I wasn't made fun of for it.
However, that fact that I was different hit me hard my first day of high school. I was 13， an age when kids are already very self-conscious and the need to fit in is intensified. I remember one of the other kids on the school bus stared just a little too long at my left arm. I felt a sudden urge to hide my hand, so I slipped it into my pocket. I told myself that I'd just hide it that one day, and I was still trying to make friends. But one day of hiding turned into a week, a month, and years—25 to be exact.
When I was 38 years old, tired of hiding and lonely, I met someone special and invited him in. The combination of me finally feeling ready to unhide and his willingness to go through the unhiding process with me was exactly what I needed. For the first time in my life, I allowed someone to really hold my limb, look at it, touch it. love it—love me. I saw my limb difference as something unique about me, something that should be shown, not hidden.
It was a transformational experience, and I learned to love me too. It changed how I lived my entire life and made me happier. I also discovered and joined the Lucky Fin Project, an organization devoted to people with all types of disabilities.
Hiding things, especially from loved ones, is tiring and lonely, and it prevents us from getting help and support. It's time to change that.
