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Storytelling has been a passion of mine since the age of two. My writing was my escape from the chaos that was consuming my world. I was happy to escape my reality because it was murkier than my created worlds.

The worlds in my mind were a wonderland of fun and excitement that I could explore ideas of identity. They also help me explore my place in the world, which is more of a challenge because of my disabilities.

I have attention deficit hyperactivity disorder and speech and ocular dyspraxia. ADHD, commonly known, causes me to be unable to focus for long periods of time. Speech dyspraxia affects my fine motor skills. Sometimes, my mind struggles to find the word that I am looking for, which frustrates people who do not understand me. This causes me anxiety, where my mind will blow what someone said out of proportion.

The ocular dyspraxia also affects my motor skills, particularly for physical challenges such as handwriting, tying shoelaces or typing on a computer. These tasks are a challenge, but I found ways to accomplish them by simplifying them down into their fundamental pieces and routines.

The best way I coped was through writing. I began to lean towards writing creatively but was denied by multiple teachers.

Throughout my academic career, I have had to explain my disabilities more than once to people. I felt as if I was a broken record repeating my explanation to them. I wanted to share my work with people but there was a barrier that I was scared to break. This caused me to think that my writing was something to be ashamed of.

My teachers always tried to get me to conform to their narrow expectations of a student. I was forced into writing in an antiquated fashion that seemed archaic and out of place in a 21st century classroom and had no place for people like me. I held my tongue. I try to understand their motives but in my mind there was no justification for their mental torment. Their torment was enough to break me to the point where I hated writing their way but I held onto creative writing as my escape.

The summer before my first year of college, I reinvented myself.

I began to write constantly. I wrote poetry, drafts of stories and personal essays. I wrote an entire page about my anxiety before graduating high school. I kept that page as a reminder of how writing was a coping mechanism for me.

My freshman class taught by Professor Grzecki, Introduction to Creative Writing, was what changed my perspective on creative writing. He taught us how to critically think and how to write using our voices without being worried about being criticized by our peers. I fell in love with writing again.

I was able to appreciate my writing without scrutinizing every little detail. Grzecki was one of the first to provide me actual feedback that was constantly constructive and positive with consideration for my disabilities. I hesitated to write before and he gave me the encouragement that I needed to regain my confidence for my writing. The class reinvigorated me to author my stories.

I was able to grow into a writer that is not afraid to spill her emotions into her work. It made my writing richer with an emotional depth that my writing seemed to lack until now.

From then on, I decided that I will never let another teacher force me to write in a voice that seems foreign and strange to me. I can reflect on my past teachers. My mental health was in the dumps. But since coming to SU, I was able to rebuild my mental health. I could make my own choices for my writing and have authority that was uniquely my own.

I will not let my own voice be dictated by an authority that is trying to force and corrupted by an education board that has never sat in a classroom or tried to know people like me. I hated when I was forced to write in an archaic format that is not used anywhere and in a stress inducing environment that they called a classroom.

A classroom is supposed to be a safe space where the teacher fosters learning and creativity. Teachers are supposed to be role models, but it wasn’t until SU that I found such people.

I am willing to admit that I was vulnerable writing this. But now I can tell myself that no one has the right to make me uncomfortable or feel stupid for enjoying something and anyone breaking this boundary is not worth a second of my time or energy.

I was hurt by people who I trusted and were supposed to be my supporters. The memory of these teachers traumatized me. But I could escape their torment through writing.

My trust is earned slowly and over time. Professor Grzecki was one of the few who earned this. But I can credit myself for rediscovering my passion for writing. I promised myself that I would not shirk away from a challenge that I can face. And if there is a challenge that I can’t face alone, I am unafraid to reach out and ask for help.

Eloise Mizerik is a sophomore, InclusiveU student with a Creative Writing major. She can be reached at esmizeri@syr.edu.

Published on January 15, 2023 at 7:45 pm