Left-Handed Dominance
I often try to avoid disclosing that I’m diagnosed with left-handed dominance.
I find that when people discover that, they look at me differently
They try a gentle face when asking blunt questions, like “is writing hard for you?” or “are you fit to drive?”
While these questions seem innocent, they remind me that I don’t fall within the “right” hand normative
While I can write, maybe not legibly, the ink smears along the bottom of my hand pay homage to this diagnosis
I try not to let my left-hand dominance define my life; being left-handed doesn’t have to be as bad of a diagnosis they claim
Sure, the media doesn’t paint us in the best light, they often exaggerate the symptoms
Most of us don’t have an erratic outbursts we are not always unhinged, nor do we have different personalities
Left-hand dominance or better known as BPD is something I’ve had most of my life, yet only recently started addressing
When I first started researching what it meant to be diagnosed with BDP, the google searches I found were a bit discouraging
They dramatized what it meant and what it looked like to live life via left-hand dominance
This stigma of what left-hand dominance or BDP looks like is unfortunately wrong. My ink smears do not define me
It is interesting to see how people react when I disclose that I am a left-handed dominant
They treat me as if I were a land mine, and one wrong move will set me off
Some would even boldly declare that I am simply not praying hard enough. Thus, I am left-handed
I must assure you that I would be shaking hands the “right” way if it was indeed that simple
On the topic of God, this apparent reenactment of Job’s story, my left-hand dominance results from a flawed body and world
Indeed I believe God has the power to make me “right,” but where is the fun in that
Yes, my left-hand dominance or BPD has made my life hard to navigate, but it’s also allowed me to grow in the way a “right” hand life wouldn’t
Dealing with this on an hourly basis can be truly difficult and isolating. Yet, the growth and character seem to pay off
The ink smears on the bottom of my hand and in my soul remind me that I do not fall within the “right” handed normative
This life with this diagnosis may be a daily war, yet the battles won or lost never fail to produce some sort of growth
I cannot think of this disorder without appreciating the ink smears, or should I say scars
They remind me that I have made progress,
These smears along the bottom of my hand have produced a work of art.
