It started out to be a day like any other day.  My Mom woke me up, I swung my legs out of bed, stumbled to the bathroom and went right back under the covers.  It was another cold day.  I could tell by the sound of the wind whistling through my bedroom windows and the darkness that refused to break even though it was 7 am.   I got dressed while remaining mostly under the covers, exposing only one limb at a time.  I finally took a deep breath and went downstairs to my breakfast of champions – Life cereal.  

Recent days had me thinking a lot about suddenly coming down with a stomach ache.  I knew that my day to give my oral report was quickly approaching and was probably today.  This was something I had hoped to avoid.  Forever.  I could only imagine how silent the classroom would be as I went to the front of the room.  It would be like a death march for me.  Everyone would be watching as I held up my notes and tried to recall what it was I was talking about.  My vision would start to blur and I would quickly forget what I was doing.  Then as the silence in the room became more deafening, certainly because of the extreme ringing in my ears, my index cards would slip to the floor through my sweaty hands.  When I picked them up I would realize to my horror that they were completely out of order.  At this point I would forget everything.  My name, my topic, where I was and I would undoubtedly start to cry.  At least on the inside.  I knew that the worst part of the whole experience would be my own feeling of failure.   Plus I would probably actually fail.  This tape played over and over in my head.  It didn’t matter how many times I practiced at home.  I just couldn’t turn it off.  All I wanted to do was crawl back to bed and stay there.  

But my Mom was finishing up my lunch box and asking me to get ready.  “Karen Ann.  You’re going to be late.  Come get your stuff and get a move on.”  My bookbag and lunch box were matching and both had the familiar smell of plastic and bologna.  This was a bit comforting.  Even so, as I picked them up and started out the door I thought,  “Please let this day be over and let me still be in one piece”.  

I hated the trip to and from school.  Not because I hated school but because I had to take the bus.  It was awful.  It smelled like old plastic and dirt, was never heated and most of the kids were mean.  Not necessarily to me but to everyone.  Even the bus driver was a jerk.  And if I had to hear “Loving You”, by Minnie Riperton one more time I would most certainly start screaming.  I think it was the only song on the bus driver’s radio.

Plus there was this memory of getting on a bus in kindergarten.  Not a daily conscious memory but one that was forever imprinted on me.  When I was five I contracted a virus that left me paralyzed for a couple of weeks.  I was lucky enough to have a strong immune system, one that would ultimately fight the virus off but not until it temporarily disabled me leaving me and my parents frightened for my life.

At first my illness was most obvious in the mornings when it was difficult for me to climb the steps to the school bus.  My Mom would lift me up and wait until I was seated before leaving the bus stop for home.    I remember looking back at my Mom as I made my way down the bus aisle and thinking maybe I can shrink to about 1 inch tall and hide in a corner of the bus where no one will see me trying to get around.

This has become a common theme for me.  One that I am feeling right now as I make my way to my class to give my oral report.  If only I could shrink down and wait it out in a corner of the room.   Then rise up when it is over.  Of course the question is how could I give the report as a 1 inch person.  I couldn’t and therein lies the rub.

I would come to know this feeling very well over the course of my life.  This feeling of wanting to be ignored.  Of not thinking that I have anything of value to offer to anyone.  Now I am asking why?  Where did this come from?  Was I born with this feeling of fear and doubt about myself?  Of wanting to be maybe not actually invisible, but small — very very small.   Or did it stem from being sick as a child?  Of not wanting people to watch me or feel sorry for me as I struggled to walk.  I’m not sure I’ll ever figure it out.

I think it is interesting that I don’t actually wish for invisibility but to be tiny.  I want to be there but not be noticed.  Maybe I just want my presence to be on my own terms.  I want to be the one in control.  This makes sense to me.  For some time as a little girl I didn’t have a choice to be present.  In an active way, that is.  I was sidelined without wanting to be.  Now I am uncomfortable being forced into a spotlight.  I want to determine when I show up.

Whatever the convoluted reason for my anxiety around this, all I know right now is that I’m about to be called to the front of the class to give my report and I am most definitely not 1 inch tall.