If My Hands Had A Personality
If my hands had a personality.
They would shout, SUMMER.
I live with autoimmune conditions.
And two of them affect circulation and connective tissue.
When temps drop, blood flow to my fingers can shut down.
Often before I even leave the house.
Grip strength and stamina fade.
I can’t feel my fingertips for hours.
It is easy to misuse my hands when I can’t feel them.
When I can’t feel the world around me.
I’ve nicked and cut them by mistake.
Burned them.
Slammed them in doors because my nerves went quiet.
And when circulation comes back.
When I can feel my fingers again.
The pain can be relentless.
In winter, it’s the same cycle. Over and over.
Since it gets cold where I live, it can feel personal sometimes.
Like the weather is taunting me.
Like it’s trying to break me.
It knows I leave early for work each day, no matter the consequences.
The cold has taken the ease out of me.
It has made it harder to smile.
Harder to say good morning to my students.
Harder to pick up a paintbrush.
But it’s also lit a FIRE.
How dare the cold try to keep me from what I need.
And from what I want.
There’s an opportunity hidden inside my hardest days.
A kind of potential I can unlock.
Only if I’m brave enough to look straight at what’s happening instead of running from it.
That’s the work.
That’s what the art is for.
