As I brainstormed topics to write about in this column, I realized that this month marks two years since I began writing op-eds for the newspaper. When that dawned on me, I’m not going to lie: I became emotional because a lot has changed during these past two years — including me.
Before two years ago, I had never written an op-ed nor really had any desire to do so. I loved to write and have been enamored by stories for as long as I can remember, but I was, quite honestly, scared to death to begin telling my own story. In seeing how deplorably disabled individuals have been treated by society — both historically and currently — I had convinced myself that no one cared about my story. Thankfully, several professors took me under their wings and gave me the push that I very much needed to step into my own as a writer. Flash forward to two years later, where you, my readers, still welcome me into your heads and hearts on a monthly basis.
That being said, it is not always easy to come up with poignant topics every month. When I first accepted the offer to become a columnist over two years ago, I was overjoyed at the prospect of sharing my viewpoints with people outside of my immediate family and friends. But several months in, the anxiety began to creep in; what if I run out of topics to write about? What if the problems and stigmatisms that I encounter on a daily basis aren’t enough to maintain peoples’ interest? That combined with the paralyzing fear of writer’s block all enter my mind about once a month as I prepare to write this column.
And this month, I had a particularly hard time deciding what I wanted to write about. While I was deliberating and doing research, I had a flash of inspiration enter into my mind: write about what you know, write a Christmas column. This may come as no surprise to some of you, but I tend to overthink things, so when this idea came to me I knew I had to go with it. Because it is a fitting topic, considering we are in the throes of the holiday season.
Therefore, this is my take on what Christmas means to me.
This may sound cliché, but the holiday season has always been my favorite time of the year. There is just something magical in the air as people bustle around shopping for loved ones and putting up decorations. And I love decorating for Christmas. Almost too much so. See, I have this theory about people, that you are either obsessed with Halloween or Christmas. And I am definitely a member of the latter group.
My mom and I actually put up nine Christmas trees in our house. Yes, you read that correctly, I did say nine. In addition to the trees, there is also the life-size Nativity scene that we put in front of our front door. Just in case there was any doubt in your minds, we are the Clark Griswolds of our cul-de-sac.
All jokes aside though, this time of year is very significant to me and my family for a multitude of reasons. And not all of them are jovial.
I spent the early years of my childhood in and out of the Intensive Care Unit. There was one year, when I was approximately 6, that I was admitted to the hospital on Christmas Day. It was the year that I had wanted a guitar for Christmas after becoming thoroughly obsessed with the Disney Channel show, Hannah Montana. Just like most other girls my age, I loved to dance and sing and my disability was not going to stop me from becoming an international pop star.
My disability wasn’t the problem though. The problem had been set into motion a few weeks prior, when I had participated in a school play and contracted RSV, a nasty respiratory infection, from one of my classmates. My parents had done their best to keep me home by upping my respiratory routines to keep the infected mucus at bay. However, by the time Christmas morning rolled around, I was so weak that I could barely manage from choking on the mucus mounting in my lungs to sit in my wheelchair long enough to open my presents —which included my coveted guitar.
A few hours later, I was in an ambulance on the way to Baystate where I would be placed on a non-invasive ventilator, until a bed opened up at Boston Children’s Hospital where I would conclude my several weeks’ stint of IVs and antibiotics.
This is just one instance of the several that occurred around the holidays. So in all fairness, it is likely that a subconscious part of me associates the holidays with my own mortality. Therefore, I think it’s important to revel in the beauty and good cheer of the holiday season because I have always equated the season with hope. Hope is, arguably, one of the greatest gifts we have at our disposal, and during these past few years, it is something that we need to cling to now more than ever.
Today, the Christmas season means something altogether different to me. It is when I stumbled upon one of my greatest passions in this life, when I claimed my writing voice and wrote my first op-ed. I have grown so much, in both my confidence as a writer and as a person, while pouring my heart out to you these past couple of years.
And the privilege that I have of sharing the subjects currently weighing on my mind with all of you, has been one of the greatest gifts I have ever received.
Joanna Buoniconti is a freelance writer and an editorial intern at INCLUDAS Publishing. She can be reached at columnist@gazettenet.com.