Frequently, when I share stories of my childhood, I get the sense that people don’t believe me. Not that they think that I am a pathological liar. They just can’t seem to balance what I am telling them with what they know of the world. Maybe this is all inference on my part, but I don’t think it is. I do have to remind myself that my childhood experience is unbelievable. And while others have crazy stories as well, most people I interact with have the suburban life style perspective with little exposure to what else is out in the world. We are so used to our developments, apartments, and trailer parks. Of course, that is how everyone lives, right? Not so much, especially in areas outside of the United States, dark places on the edge of large urban centers, and hidden in the deep woods of Appalachia. Though even while I lived in Appalachia where people built porches on small RVs just to build it in and add on another porch, even there my teachers didn’t believe how we lived.

The social workers who drove me home one day after school didn’t believe me either. And they couldn’t imagine that anyone had to walk two miles to get to a bus stop. And who could blame them. Haven’t we all heard the old story “I had to walk uphill two miles in the snow – both ways!” Well, there was definitely an uphill, but it was only on the way home.

These ladies were escorting me home because I had fallen in the creek on my way to the bus. By the time I had finished my walk and the bus showed up, my shoes and jeans were frozen. I remember a feeling of fear as the bus driver had me sit on the floor in front of the heater to try to get my feet warm. So the social workers were taking me home to confirm my story.  They probably thought I decided to play in the creek on my way to school. Really??? Truth was, the creek crossed the lane I lived on seven times. The further the lane extended beyond our property the wider it became. The final crossing was wide enough that it had a small foot bridge (a board stretched from one bank to the other). Unfortunately during a rain storm, the board washed away. I must have been the only one to use it so no one either noticed or cared to replace it. I never considered mentioning it. With a running start, I could jump it so all was well except that morning. That morning was on the tail end of a storm and all the crossings were wider. I ran and jumped but didn’t make it.

The social workers had a small sedan to bring me home. I was just thankful for a ride and someone to talk to. Unfortunately, but not surprising, we had to leave their car at a neighbor’s house about 3/4 of a mile from where I lived because their car couldn’t manage the ruts in the road. And there was no way they would be able to cross our portion of the creek where the bank in the road rose about 12 inches into a steep climb. Most vehicles couldn’t get to our place. They hadn’t counted on that. So they had great pleasure gasping up the hill on the final stretch – navigating my off road walking path which could have easily been mistaken for a deer trail. I knew they were already a bit shocked by the reality of my situation. Then we came to the clearing with my home. “This is where you live?!?” They were staring right at it and still didn’t believe.

Why share all of this? I want to ask that we all consider that our sense of normal and reality isn’t necessarily the same as other people. And we shouldn’t immediately assume someone is lying because what they are saying doesn’t fit into our view of the world. With all of my experiences, I am very sensitive to a lack of integrity and lying. I don’t want people to assume I am lying or to be lied to. I don’t want written off just because doctors have no clue how to help me. And I would love if, as friends, we could be real with each other. Life is hard enough as it is. And through honesty and taking down our masks, we could possibly help each other walk through the challenges life hands us.