A Brown U. Gymnast’s Story of Resilience, Vulnerability & Purpose
In the coming months, Hidden Curriculum will talk about building resilience, the value of vulnerability, and identifying your purpose. When reflecting on these ideas I always think of my former student Tori Kinamon.
Tori graduated from Brown’s Health & Human Biology program in 2017. She was a member of the women’s gymnastics team, Royce Fellow for Sport and Society, student researcher, women’s peer counselor, and so much more. Tori’s college experience is inspiring, but it did not begin smoothly. In her essay Open Hands, Open Heart, written for her peers at commencement 2017, Tori offers the story of how a MRSA infection shaped her college experience and taught her the value of vulnerability, community, resilience and purpose. Tori was kind enough to share her essay with Hidden Curriculum. You can read her moving piece below.
Since graduating Tori is pursuing her dream of developing and implementing MRSA awareness and prevention programs with university athletic departments, the NCAA, and soon the NFL. You can connect with Tori on LinkedIn and read more about her story here.
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Open Hands, Open Heart
By Tori Kinamon Brown University ‘17
If I could represent my time at Brown with one gesture, it would be this: open hands. There is something empowering, liberating, and vulnerable about turning your palms toward the sky and adopting this position of gratitude. A spiritual posture seen in the worships of many religions, it communicates that one is fully open to receive information from the world and ready to give back to that world. It’s a starting position from which all other postures of strength are born.
However, I did not arrive at Brown with open hands-- it took experiencing a major obstacle for me to own this posture and appreciate the freedom it bestowed upon me. As an individual with Type A personality tendencies, I had a fixed plan for what my college experience and subsequent life would entail. This plan was well-intentioned, ambitious, and methodical. . . but it allowed little room for exploration, personal growth, or the curveballs life sometimes throws at you.
During my freshman year, I was hospitalized with a severe MRSA infection in my hamstring. I had 8 surgeries over a two-week period, spent one month in the hospital, and the next three months recovering at home. The infection nearly cost me my leg and could have easily cost me my life. Yet the most defining moment during my hospital stay was when I looked out of a window at Rhode Island Hospital and saw the notoriously prominent Sciences Library amidst the Providence skyline (we Brunonians fondly call it the 'SciLi'). I remember thinking “That’s where I should be right now” and feeling so disheartened by the direction my life had suddenly taken. As a motivated student and collegiate athlete, I never expected my second semester of college to be derailed by a dangerous, yet preventable infection. My “life plan” had shattered into pieces and there were no specific instructions on how to reassemble it. Initially, I was fixated on the question of “why me?” which only furthered my feelings of discouragement and desolation. Yet with time, this question evolved. I began asking “What now?” and “So, what?”. . . which were questions that pushed me to search for meaning and purpose amidst the hardship.
I started yearning for the days when I would be back in the SciLi (you know you’ve hit a low point when you’d rather be in one of those cubicles than in your current predicament!). I clung to the hope that eventually, I would return to Brown’s campus and be able to study infectious disease from every possible angle so that I could help other people avoid preventable infections. Even as a freshman, Brown made me believe that I could do that: that I could fight against the pathogen that caused me so much pain and reframe my traumatic situation into something positive by using it to benefit others. To an outsider, that might have looked like naïve optimism, but that conviction stemmed from the indomitable spirit that Brown plants in us all. And that is not a spirit of fear, but one of power, passion, and purpose.
I was blessed to be able to reclaim my health, but the process required me to unclench my fists and live with open hands. This journey was one of my greatest teachers once I allowed it to be. Amongst many, it taught me four important lessons:
ONE: I learned that vulnerability humanizes you. When you are vulnerable with others, you create the space for them to be vulnerable with you. It is simultaneously beautiful and frightening to share your unedited narrative with another person. But this is valuable and needed because it allows you to connect in the deepest ways possible. As psychologists Edward Deci and Richard Ryan explain in their Self-Determination theory, relatedness is one of the basic psychological needs of human beings. We need to interact with, be connected to, and experience caring for other people to establish a sense of belonging. And when you feel like you belong to a community, you find the strength to be vulnerable- to have difficult conversations, to take the necessary risks because you know you are connected to something greater than yourself.
My experiences as a hospital patient, as an injured athlete, and as a student questioning her career trajectory, personal goals and life plans allowed me to relate to other students and teammates in unique ways. I developed a sense of empathy, but was also made aware that you cannot expect to fully understand another person’s feelings or experiences. However, you can always provide them with a listening ear and open heart.
TWO: I learned that community carries you. Life on College Hill presented us all with challenges that extended beyond the academic realm. Reflect on the most difficult moments of your college career. Who stood by you, possibly fought for you, during these times? Maybe it was your teammates who helped you navigate the V-Dub and winter weather in the Northeast while on crutches (shout-out to the Brown Women’s Gymnastics team!). Or friends and peer counselors who provided you with safe spaces to express fears and frustrations. Or perhaps it was your professor, who connected you with research or professional opportunities because they believed in your abilities and asked you to do the same. Hardships can be overwhelming when you focus merely on what is testing you. But when you expand your perspective, you start to see and appreciate who emboldens you to face those difficulties. And this is a much more inspiring sight. So, to all of the people who helped me turn the challenges into manageable, beautiful, and thought-provoking moments, thank you.
THREE: I learned that challenges build up your resilience. Once you’ve overcome a few, you start to see your resilience and come to appreciate it in yourself. After I recovered from the MRSA infection, I returned to the sport of gymnastics with a newly developed mental toughness. I learned how to tap into my internal strength and developed better self-talk, which helped me maintain a positive attitude and sense of gratitude throughout subsequent injuries and setbacks. In this way, my imperfections and insecurities became powerful because they reminded me of the times when I was hurt and pulled myself out of a difficult place. Social activist and First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “Nobody makes you feel inferior without your consent.” Whether it is one person, an organization, an illness or infection that makes you feel this way, know that what makes you different or vulnerable can also be what gives you influence and usefulness. The world needs your narrative.
And FOUR, I learned that purpose drives and fulfills you. There are times when the world feels like it is against you… as many do in the current political landscape. But we are often defined by the most difficult moments in our lives. Because in these moments, we can choose to find meaning amidst the suffering. I struggled with this concept, but had someone who helped me see that life and opportunity can be wed together in unexpected, yet beautiful ways. During my most difficult times, Associate Dean of Undergraduate Biology Katherine Smith stood by me. And she told me to “Ride the wave.” To be patient as I pursued my passion and to trust that whatever was happening in my life had the potential to propel me towards a greater purpose. I hope that everyone has people like Dean Smith in their lives because when someone like Dean Smith believes in you, you are inspired to believe in yourself. And this vitalizes you to enjoy each wave that comes your way as a momentum- building, learning opportunity as opposed to a force equated with fearing the unknown. So, thank you, Dean Smith, for packing your thirty-minute advising appointments with advice that extended far beyond what courses to take and for asking us to imagine becoming more than we thought we could be.
I hope that during this time of commencement, we can reflect on how Brown has prepared us to live life with open hands and open hearts. That we can appreciate how this position of strength primes us to exit the Van Wickle Gates as individuals who are poised to find meaning in the conflict. And lastly, I hope that we all have opportunities to discover a distinct purpose and recognize the unique power that you and you alone have to pursue it.
