Healing Through Acknowledgment: Honoring Those Who Uplifted Me

My therapist recently challenged me to stop justifying and making excuses for those in my past who hurt me. For years, I shaped harmful and toxic core beliefs around their actions, assuming that their treatment of me was somehow deserved or understandable. 

But this week, I finally said it out loud: Certain adult figures and teachers in my life failed me. What they said and how they responded to this creative, quirky, neurodivergent child was wrong. Yes, it was the 1980s, and times were different—but they were in the wrong, not me. 

The most profound part of my healing process isn’t just acknowledging that pain. It’s also recognizing and celebrating the incredible individuals who nurtured, encouraged, and uplifted me during my formative years. They are the ones who saw my potential, embraced my differences, and played a crucial role in shaping the person I am today. 

The Teachers Who Made a Difference 

Miss McCombe, my Grade 3 teacher, was ahead of her time, practicing differentiated learning before it became a well-known educational philosophy. She harnessed my imagination, creativity, and thought process to help me succeed in school. For the first time, I felt confident in a learning environment, and that confidence has stayed with me ever since. 

Shelley Riimand was another incredible teacher who made a lasting impact. She worked hard to connect with every one of her students, and she helped me build confidence in subjects I had been led to believe I wasn’t capable of mastering. She constantly encouraged and inspired me. Years later, my kids had the chance to meet her, and I proudly told them: "She is an example of an exceptional teacher you never forget." 

Then there was Larry Brown. I haven’t seen him since the 1980s, but I will always remember the elementary school-age drama club he ran. Through improv games and collaborative storytelling, he nurtured my love for theater and creative expression. It was one of the few places where I felt like I truly belonged, where no one dismissed me as a "space cadet." Decades later, I rediscovered my passion for theater, and I owe a part of that to him. 

The Family That Supported Me 

My Mom is one of the most beautiful and magnificent people in the world. Even though I went undiagnosed for four decades, she instinctively knew how to foster my imagination and focus on my gifts. She helped me meet my needs and, most importantly, made sure I always felt deeply loved. 

My Dad showed his love in his own way—through hard work and the thoughtful gifts he gave. But what truly mattered was his unwavering support for my interests. I will never forget going to WrestleMania VI with him, even though he really couldn’t stand wrestling. He let me fully dive into my passions, and that meant everything. 

The Friend Who Saw Me 

Growng up I didn’t even realize I was masking—I just knew that I was "weird" and "odd." But David Wierzbicki never cared about any of that. He allowed me to be myself without judgment. With him, I could always be comfortable in my own skin. We spent countless hours crafting imaginative worlds and stories together, and his friendship saved me during some of the toughest school years. 

Gratitude in Healing 

As I continue to process my past and uncover how my neurodivergence—and people’s responses to it—shaped my mental health struggles, I want to take a moment to honor those who made a difference. None of these people knew I was neurodivergent at the time. They didn’t have a framework for understanding my quirks, my hyper-focus, or my struggles. 

And yet, they embraced me. They nurtured my creativity, encouraged my passions, and made me feel seen. 

That, to me, is extraordinary. And I will always be grateful.