Last night I gave my first presentation as a certified melanoma educator to my sorority sisters. My journey to this point began in 2012, when my aunt Kris was diagnosed with stage IV melanoma and our family became embroiled in the unfairness of the disease. For a long time, I flirted with involvement: I worked on lobbying for a version of an anti-tanning bill in Kansas that we are still fighting for, four years later. When I discovered I could become a peer educator, I was elated. Finally, I could use my passion for being the center of attention for some good.
I had prepared a lot of jokes for this presentation and I was, unsurprisingly, excited to tell them (side note– if I could have any job without consequence it would either be a farmer or a late night talk show host). I was also really nervous. My presentation was about something that could be perceived as a personal attack for much of my audience because indoor tanning is extremely popular among young women and UV exposure (from the sun and indoor tanning) causes 90% of melanomas. I was scared that people would roll their eyes or even walk out on me. I avoided telling people what my presentation was about until they were already seated. I prepared a long speech for the beginning of my presentation about how this was a non-judgmental space which included that I would avoid making direct eye contact if it made people uncomfortable.
I didn’t end up making that speech. When I told my audience that my presentation was about melanoma prevention and detection, several people exclaimed, “Yes! I needed this.” I nearly had to pick my jaw up off the floor. When I expected hostility, I was welcomed. When I talked about melanoma detection– a section called “Moles Outta Control”– I saw people inspecting their moles. One girl even shared her own melanoma scar. When my voice broke as I talked about my aunt Kris’s heartbreaking battle with melanoma, they listened to my story as raptly as if I was announcing the themes for the rest of the year’s date parties. Though I feared talking about my story would make me a pariah, after I was finished people came to talk to me the same old way about the same things: our marketing test, my plans for Friday night. Everywhere that I expected apathy, there was willingness, engagement, and empathy. I could not have asked for a better first audience.
It was a lesson to me in the ways we try to protect ourselves from injury: by assuming the worst in others, by losing faith before even starting. It takes courage to go where you think you will fail, but it is calming and revitalizing to weather a storm– or calm water where you thought a storm would be. I need to take more leaps of faith.
xo, happy Friday, stay out of the sun.
Megan
The title of this post is from the amount of sunscreen you should use every time you apply: one ounce or a little less than a shot glass worth.
anything for a joke 