In the first few seasons of The Late Show, Stephen Colbert did a recurring skit, then a best-selling book, called Midnight Confessions, in which he “confesses” to his audience with the disclaimer that he isn’t sure these things are really sins but that he does “feel bad about them.” While Stephen and his writers are famously funny, I am not, so my JC’s Confessions will be somewhat more serious reflections, but they will be things that I feel bad about. Stephen’s audience always forgives him at the end of the segment; I’m not expecting that – and these aren’t really sins – but comments are always welcome.
I am (perhaps overly) proud of my intellect.
It wasn’t always that way.
I was brought up with the ethos of “do the best you can” and the good fortune that my best fit in well with the expectations of schooling. That, coupled with a natural love of learning, landed me various honors. High school valedictorian, also attained by both my older and younger sisters. Phi Beta Kappa and summa cum laude at Smith College, where I was also the Presser Scholar in music my senior year. While I was thrilled to be recognized, I could chalk up the honors to my hard work and liberal-artsy curiosity rather than ascribing it to particular intelligence.
Developing pride came more as a self-defense mechanism when I was a young mom. I had chosen to be the full-time, at-home caregiver, facilitated by the time and place in which B and I were navigating parenthood. This was not, though, the lifestyle expected of a high-achieving, Seven-Sisters grad. Without the external validation of a paying job and in contravention of the “having it all” Super-woman model of the 1980s, I developed pride in who I was and what I chose to do – and do well, as I continued to do the best that I could – almost as a defense mechanism.
This quiet pride helped me navigate a number of challenges in our family life and in my volunteer work over decades, but pride is both a positive attribute and a “deadly sin.”
As many of you know, I’ve been struggling with a still-not-fully-diagnosed medical condition, now well into its second year, that has caused significant brain fog and fatigue. In particular, I’ve lost access to my creative side, which is a huge blow to my life as a poet, and my ability to research, synthesize, and think critically is diminished both in scope and duration.
It’s a difficult time in my life and made more so because my intellect has long been such a core part of my identity.
Who am I living with this disability?
How will I face the prospect of losing the life of the mind that I have cultivated and loved for so long?
I’ve been fighting my way through the medical maze to try to regain what I’ve lost but it’s not at all clear at this point that it will be possible. I also am facing the prospect that I could deteriorate further.
Can I remain proud of who I am?
I know the answer should be yes, in keeping with the dignity inherent in each person.
It remains to be seen if I can apply the grace I give to others to myself.
Joanne Corey 