In August, we bring a set of new full-time writers to the blog. Please welcome Christina Ribbens (’19), who will be writing for us on the 2nd of each month. Christina graduated with a major in history and minors in studio art and data science. Originally from Virginia, she now lives in Ann Arbor, MI where she works in campus ministry with Reformed University Fellowship (RUF). She has a benevolent dependency on tea, is always down for a game of pick-up basketball, and would love to have you over for pancakes sometime.

I gave blood the other day for the first time in a while (yes, thank you, I am a good citizen). I’ve never been queasy during previous donations, so after sitting for the recommended fifteen minutes, eating the mini Oreos, and taking some fruit snacks for later (not so good a citizen as to pass up an opportunity for petty theft), I headed home. Still feeling just fine, I made the drive back to my house quite pleased with myself.

It was only a half hour later, after talking to my housemate about our thriving garden and equally thriving ant infestation, that my vision started to blur and my ears started to ring. Brianna turned to make her lunch and didn’t see me cautiously walk over to the couch in the living room. And I didn’t say anything.

If you’re reading this, Brianna, I promise it wasn’t personal. I’m sure you would have been incredibly kind and helpful. It just turns out that I’m really intense about trying to hide moments of physical weakness. 

And if I’m honest, this isn’t anything new. My sophomore year I went to Philadelphia for an internship training weekend. The organization paired us with lovely families to host us, saving some money and allowing us to get to know our co-interns in the way that only sharing a bathroom and an air mattress can. That first morning as I hustled down the beautiful, well-polished hardwood stairs in my standard, cotton-blend socks my feet slipped—I fell on my butt and my left foot kicked the bannister. More precisely, the third toe on my left foot kicked the bannister.

It hurt like the dickens but I made sure to laugh quickly and loudly so everyone downstairs would know I wasn’t embarrassed. I could feel the toe swelling up but I shoved on my shoes and did my best to disguise the limp as I walked with the other girls to the office. The rest of the weekend I had a purple little ball for a toe and didn’t tell anyone.

I remember thinking at the time that I didn’t want to deal with the hassle that might come if I did tell someone and they tried to help me. What were they going to do, take me to urgent care to hear, “Mmm sorry, it’s broken but also…it’s a toe?” Plus, then I’d miss the session on “Which Fictional Character Matches Your Myers-Briggs Type” and I do NOT miss an orientation session (because I’m a good citizen). 

Do I think I made the wrong decision in not sharing my pain? Honestly, I’m not sure. It really may have become a bigger deal than it needed to be. But I do think I probably kept it secret for the wrong reasons. That training had a lot of firsts for me: first time flying solo, missing a connecting flight, taking an Uber, and starting a job that wasn’t at my dad’s office. I think I was so caught up in trying to appear competent and grown-up that I tried to shut down any and all signs of weakness.

This of course can lead to some obstacles in trying to get to know people—then and now, with co-interns and with housemates. 

As much as I’d like to blame the pandemic for the distance I feel in the acquaintanceships I have in my new town, my brief fainting spell the other day shows me that I’m still terrible at being visibly flawed. I know that the only way to have real, make-yourself-at-home friendships is through some meaningful vulnerability, but my instinct is often the same as when I was nineteen. Don’t let them see you in crisis. Wait until it’s resolved and maybe share it as a funny anecdote a few months from now.

I never ended up passing out on the couch. I made it upstairs to my room where I laid on my bed till my ears stopped ringing and my vision cleared. I also never told Brianna what happened and a week from now when she asks me how my day is going, I’ll probably still answer “Pretty good” instead of honestly, “Like so many crumbs underneath a fridge.”

Or maybe she’ll read this and we can share a laugh and a moment of sympathy about how hard it is to be weak. And maybe next time I’ll be more okay with her seeing that I’m human.

Christina Ribbens

Christina Ribbens (’19) studied history, studio art, and data science at Calvin and public humanities at Georgetown. She now lives in the part of Virginia that’s almost Washington, DC where she helps award grants to arts nonprofits. She takes a lot of walks to admire the landscaping in peoples’ front yards, mostly listens to British comedians’ podcasts, and likes to make friends via sports.