Exercising One’s Sensitivity is an Act of Resistance
Four years ago, I was walking down the hallway of the Conservatory when I saw a sign that read: “Become a community fellow! Apply here.” I’ve always thought of myself as a community fellow, but in the 4 years since I moved to Boston, I had yet to find a place to behave as one. Growing up with a star therapist as a mom, helping others seemed like the “right” thing to do, but to be quite honest, I found it conflicting to think about community work as “helping others”. Growing up on the spectrum, I would get frustrated and angry when therapists or social workers would try to “help” me. All I wanted was to feel understood. All I wanted was to feel like I needed the same amount of help as others. I just needed a little bit longer to reply to questions or the volume of people’s voices to be a little bit quieter. I did not need help. I needed sensitivity.
When I applied for my community fellowship, I met Tanya Maggi, the dean of Community Partnerships and Performance at the New England Conservatory. We talked for hours about life and death, about our families, and about our pets - who are also part of our families.
“More soon!” Dean Maggi said. “I hope you are ready to love this!”
I internally hoped I was. I left the room with a weird sense of excitement and uncertainty. What have I gotten myself into?
Weeks later, I received an email from Tanya. I was going to lead a Songwriting group for adults in mental health recovery for a nonprofit called Tunefoolery. I remember calling my mom and asking her, “Is this a real job?”
Of course, I was nervous. I had never worked with other neurodivergent folks, though I fit into that category myself.
I’ve been teaching the Songwriting workshop every Tuesday for the last 3 years. I still have questions. I still sometimes don’t know if I’m being too harsh or too lenient. But I do know one thing: I am not there to “help” anybody, I am there to exercise my sensitivity. I’m there to wait a couple of extra seconds before interrupting someone. I’m there to be sure we talk about our days before we work on songs. I’m there so we can help each other figure out how to use food stamps. I’m there to be in silence if we need quiet space. Exercising one’s sensitivity is an act of resistance. I hope you can exercise yours too.
