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THE Magic OF KINDNESS
EMMA CARROLL
Kindness.
Why does it matter so much? More to the point, what does it really mean, anyway?
If you look up the word in the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, you’ll find that kindness, a noun, is defined in the following three ways:
- the quality or state of being kind—treating people with kindness and respect.
- a kind deed: FAVOR (They did me a great kindness.)
- archaic: AFFECTION
We define it a little differently at Born This Way Foundation. Kindness, we like to say, can best be defined as: Doing something for someone else without expecting anything in return. As individuals and as a team, we strive for kindness every day—to empower, change, and enrich lives, to bond us more closely to one another, to replace loneliness with belonging, and to help make this a kinder, braver world.
Kindness, I have seen over and over, has a power that we all too often underestimate. Kindness is a force of nature—in deeds that are small or large, whether performed by other people for us or by us for others. Kindness can literally be lifesaving.
And it is magical.
For most of my life—for reasons you’ll soon see—I’ve understood the need to be shown kindness. But it wasn’t until I was eighteen years old and going through a particularly painful passage that I learned how necessary it is to offer kindness to someone else—even to someone who, from all appearances and by almost every standard, might appear to be on the absolute top of the world.
Though I’ve struggled for years to find beauty in my brokenness, it’s fair to say that I didn’t exactly have the easiest start. Born three months premature, weighing only two pounds and one ounce, the odds were stacked against me. After I sustained a brain bleed at birth, upon reviewing scans of my brain, doctors predicted that if I survived, it was highly likely I would have cerebral palsy—an umbrella term for a group of disorders that impair movement, and in some cases, cognitive function as well.
The former part of their prediction ultimately came to pass. I’ve been in a wheelchair my entire life, am considered a quadriplegic, and much of my childhood was spent in and out of hospitals. Medical care made a huge difference—at least thirty procedures and surgeries so far—but kindness was the thing that really saved me.
Kindness saved me, as I lay crying, contorted in pain and physical illness, during the early hours of one morning after an invasive surgery to put my dysplastic hips back in my socket—for the second time. During recovery, my nurses rarely left me alone as I suffered through the agony of having had my femur broken and realigned. In a body-cast that went from the tips of my toes to just below my ribs—a glow-in-the-dark, plaster shell—I was unable to lie in my bed lower than a forty-five-degree angle.
Kindness saved me whenever my team of doctors had to break bad news, especially after we discovered I would need an incredibly risky spinal fusion surgery to correct severe neuromuscular scoliosis. Their confidence, concern, and caring helped give me the courage to go ahead with the eight-hour surgery and endure the worst pain I’ve ever felt. Their kindness helped me find my faith that God had put me in their capable hands and that I would make it through.
Kindness saved me in the wake of two baclofen pump overdoses that could have killed me but instead left me hospitalized, horribly sick and traumatized. Other children, themselves patients on the floor, boosted my spirits by offering me their toys and their time. Their compassion gave me a sense of normalcy when I needed it most.
And, of course, kindness saved me when, by some kind of magical stroke of good luck, I received an invitation to the Born Brave Bus, the celebrated bus that followed the Born This Way Ball throughout North America in 2013.
No one mentioned anything about the possibility that I might meet Lady Gaga. All I knew was that visits had been organized on behalf of Born This Way Foundation. Naturally, at eighteen years old, all I could think was that this was absolutely rad.
When I think about my life before and after that February day, it’s as if I’m looking at two different versions of myself. Before that day, I saw myself as broken, unworthy, unlovable, unkind. Beyond the many challenges of my childhood, I’d been haunted by depression for years, not to mention the problems of my physical health, once again on a downward spiral. Shortly before graduating high school I hit my personal rock-bottom just as symptoms of then-undiagnosed post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) became overwhelming.
What if I were normal?
I found myself constantly wrestling with that question, along with the completely warped idea that I didn’t do enough to better my health as a child.
Why am I here?
That question taunted me too, leaving me without concrete answers.
Night after night, I would cry myself to sleep. Like many, I found solace in the message of “Born This Way” and my faith in God—that maybe, somehow, I had something to give. “If I can’t be cured,” I would say in my tear-soaked prayers, “please show me a sense of purpose.”
That was me before February 6, 2013—when once again kindness helped me answer those questions. A new “me” was born in the moments after a petite Lady Gaga, sporting a bright neon green wig and towering high heels, entered the bus. In my imagination, she had always loomed larger than life.
We’ve all seen the meat dress, after all!
Very quickly, what I discovered was the complete opposite. Not only did I see a real, genuine human underneath the glamour, but I also found a genuine sense of connection—and true kindness.
We talked for hours at that show, and something made me realize she was in pain. Call it compassion, call it years of growing up in and out of hospitals, whatever you want, but without thinking, because I was going through very similar things at the time myself, right down to excruciating, daily hip pain, I asked her, “Is your hip bothering you? Are you in pain?”
Eventually, Lady Gaga said that she had been in pain for quite some time due to the stress the show had put on her body. I felt for her, recommended what I could, watched an amazing show, and saw her again after. Everything went off without a hitch from the outside, and she met with other groups of fans who were chosen by tour staff.
Before we parted, her last words to me were: “Emma, when you’re here, let me know. I want to see you again.”
What I didn’t know yet was that, without telling anyone, she went to the hospital the next day and had an MRI, specifically of her hip. The test results revealed a severe injury that no one had known about, largely due to fibromyalgia, a chronic pain syndrome. She had been experiencing widespread pain for some time, but couldn’t identify what was hurting the most.
I did.
Somehow, a few simple, kind words made the difference for her. It’s a strange thing to accept, but a few years later—after I came aboard Born This Way Foundation—I recall having a hard mental health day, to the point that I felt my disabilities made me a burden, that she took me aside to set me straight. Quietly, Lady Gaga insisted I had saved her life on that February 6th meeting—simply by empathizing with her pain. Had I not said anything to her, she told me, she never would have gone to the hospital, and there’s a chance that her life would have turned out vastly, vastly different. She shared the same story with the audience on the Indianapolis stop of the Joanne World Tour; it totally changed my perspective. Knowing I had the same power to bestow kindness on her was the most gratifying lesson I could have been given.
Although over seven years have passed since that fateful day in 2013, I can say without qualification that it stands above the rest in helping me to see the magic of kindness.
If it weren’t for wonderful nurses, I wouldn’t have pushed through excruciating pain.
If it weren’t for amazing doctors, I wouldn’t have faced my biggest fears.
If it weren’t for innocent children also dealt a seemingly difficult hand, I wouldn’t have gotten through my biggest trauma.
And if it weren’t for all of the incredibly difficult obstacles that I have encountered throughout life, I never would have shared kindness—and my pain—just like it was shared with me. Because I was able to share that connection, I not only met someone I’m now honored to call one of my best friends, but whom I helped push through her obstacles, too.
Ultimately, I used my pain for someone else’s good, and at the end of the day, that’s all the girl that cried herself to sleep at night ever wanted. Do I still have bad mental health days sometimes? Of course, but kindness—both in what has been given to me and what I’ve been able to give to others—has been the thing that saved me.
Even when the world around you seems hopeless, never forget: Always spread the magic of kindness. It changes other people, and it might just change you.
And that’s exactly how I found beauty in my brokenness.
Emma, you have been such a bright light in my life since the moment I met you! You have overcome so many obstacles, and your strength and courage continuously inspire me to find kindness in every situation I’m in. I’m so proud of you and am thankful for the gentle kindness you bring with you everywhere you go. Thank you for sharing your story with us, friend. We are all the better for it. I am eternally grateful for Emma and all the light she brings. In the space below, write three people you’re grateful for, and if you’re in need of a kind buddy like Emma or a positive support system, check out The Buddy Project.
