Last week I attended the Krimes Against Kids conference in Orlando, Florida where I was privileged enough to be asked to present the breakout session, “Heroes, Villains, and Healing”. I want to say it was a great conference and in many ways it was. The conference was well run, attended, and I connected with some amazing people doing some amazing work to prevent and reduce the impact of trauma and abuse on children. The only problem was…me.
            Since my proposal had been accepted to speak at Krimes Against Kids (KAK) at the beginning of the year, I was excited to participate. Although I had never attended the conference, many exhibitors and presenters at the San Diego Conference for Child Maltreatment in San Diego, CA, and the Child Abuse Symposium in Huntsville, AL, often spoke of KAK with fondness. I knew it would be an enjoyable experience, but when I stood up in front of my audience to begin presenting something inside me began to deflate. For one reason or another, I began feeling like an imposter. As if I didn’t belong. As if there was no reason for me to be presenting on a topic I had not studied as a professional. Halfway through, I began to lose focus on the topic of the slides, but instead on the seemingly blank expressions of the people looking back at me. I went through the motions, but I didn’t believe what I was saying. It lacked making a connection. In the speech and debate world we call this going on auto pilot.
Soon, I found myself rushing through sentences, stumbling over words, and forgetting the names of important comics like Flashpoint. The voices in my head told me the audience could care less about Guy Gardner’s passion as a Star Saphire and Red Lantern, or John Stewart’s radical self-acceptance following the destruction of Xanshi. So, I began rushing, skipping a few slides and finishing in an hour when I was given an hour and thirty minutes for the entire presentation. Soon, I finished and immediately wanted to run away and hide, believing there was no way I would be able to sell enough books to justify making the trip to Florida and buying a table as an exhibitor. Instead, I did what I was “supposed” to do and took questions from the audience.
One of the first people to ask a question was a woman named, Violet. She said she started the breakout session taking notes, but soon stopped and instead spent the remainder of the time listing my strengths. She proceeded to tell me how I was courageous, passionate, funny, and a good speaker. She complimented me and afterwards, I hated her for it and told her so. Everything she said she saw in me, I did not see in myself. I wanted to cry but held back the tears for later, thanked and cursed her, and continued fielding questions. Afterward, there were people waiting at my table to purchase a book and tell me how much they enjoyed the presentation.
The point of this story is not to say you never know the impact your words can have on another person, or that my mood changed for the better afterward. Just the opposite. It’s been three days and I still believe my presentation was horrible and that I have no reason speaking on this topic of healing and superheroes. In fact, I packed up and left early to escape my feelings of shame and guilt. Lately, my doubts have been winning and my self-esteem has been lacking. Most days I’m filled with fear creating feelings of self-hatred and anger. I try to write and speak and read, but the voice in the back of my head asks, “What’s the point?”  I’m sure others feel this same way (especially in the current climate) and for survivors this is an everyday battle. It is something I’m working on and it’s something I wanted to share as I work to accept my inner Daredevil. Thanks for taking the time to read. And if you need anything as you work to accept your inner Daredevil, please free to reach out and let me know.
All the best,
Kenny