Just like most people, I often find myself wondering if my words get taken out of context or if my message is truly conveyed the way I wish it was. I tend not to worry about things being taking out of context as much because the people who truly know me know what I mean. It’s the latter part I’m sometimes concerned with.

Being a talkative person by nature, I think I need to learn how to be more direct with my words at times so my message doesn’t get lost among my ramblings. I need to learn to say things like, “I wish everyone could learn that lesson without the difficulty of going through the experience,” or “I wouldn’t wish that experience on anyone. The lessons learned are a different story.”

They’re probably two of the truest statements I could ever make.

I have met so many people who have been given such an amazing insight by some of the worst of circumstances. These lessons are shared with us by others, but I really don’t know if the true gravity of someone else’s words could ever replace us learning such lessons on our own.

I think back to when my daughter started kindergarten. I was allowed to speak with the parents of her classmates about her and her autism diagnosis during kindergarten roundup. One parent took the time to thank me afterwards for a comment I had made. I said, “Be thankful for everything your child can do, because not every child has it so easy.”

As sincere as I was when I spoke the words, I still hadn’t fully absorbed the concept until my daughter, who couldn’t talk, started having difficulty walking. It was long, hard-fought road to get her the surgery she needed to ensure she didn’t end up in a wheelchair.

I remember the day of surgery. We were at Gillette Children’s Hospital, and my husband looked at some of the children in the waiting room and began to noticeably tear up. One child, in particular, was completely immobilized in a wheelchair and needed a ventilator to breathe. Every few minutes a caretaker would have to suction the breathing tube to keep it clear.

“We are so lucky,” he whispered.

That was a moment of awakening for him and for me, too, in a way.

We’ve always loved Kylee for who she was, despite our concerns for how she would learn to navigate in a world that she doesn’t understand. But in that moment, I gained a deeper appreciation of the lesson I hoped to pass onto other parents during her kindergarten roundup.

Yes, parents should be grateful their children could learn how to read and write and tie their shoes — things my daughter may never learn to do. But I needed to be more grateful, too. My daughter was happy and healthy; we were treating her autism, and a doctor could fix her feet. Even with her setbacks, we had so much to be thankful for.

Six weeks after that surgery, I cried as my daughter took her first steps on her reconstructed feet. Two years later, I bawled when she dribbled a basketball during the statewide Special Olympics tournament. And just before Christmas this year I found myself in tears yet again. Four weeks after bilateral leg surgery, my son stood and took his first couple steps in a set of walking boots. Yes, it was the expected outcome. No, the circumstances surrounding his surgery were not as dire as his sister’s. But I was grateful nonetheless.

Although I would never wish hardship on anyone, we learn much more from adversity than anything else. Looking back, there hasn’t been a memorable challenge in my life that hasn’t resulted in some kind of personal growth. And while there are definitely exceptions, I can honestly say — for the most part — that I wouldn’t trade in one of those experiences, if I couldn’t keep the lesson I learned from it.

I wish everyone the best, the strength to deal with life when it’s at its worst and the wisdom to find the lesson hidden in even the most difficult experiences.

Kelly Wassenberg is the Tribune news clerk and lives with her family in Wells.