LU Student Advocates for a Community that Ushers in Conversation About Disabilities

The moment Caden Throndson’s life began, it  changed in an instant.

Throndson suffered a life-altering birth injury that severed his brachial plexus nerve in his shoulder after he was caught during delivery on a bone and his entire head twisted nearly off his shoulder. The numerous surgeries he underwent to remedy this injury resulted in complete paralysis of his left arm. 

The severity of Throndson’s injury shocked doctors, and the reality of navigating the difficulties he would face cast a shadow over every part of his life.

“Whether it was my family life, my church life or anything I went through, it was honestly pretty difficult,” Throndson said. 

Although Throndson grew up as a pastor’s son, he remained a devout atheist and evolutionist until the age of 16. Throndson’s anger towards God and even his family grew over time as he began to blame them for everything that happened to him in his life. Until the third grade, Throndson attended a Christian school in Pensacola, Florida, and remembers how the bullying he endured there shaped him.

“People used to call me ‘deformity’ and call me ‘the disabled kid,’ and it became my identity,” Throndson said. “No one knew me for my personality [or] anything that I did. I just became the disabled kid.”

Throndson’s family made the move to Colorado for his fourth-grade year, but his deeply rooted anger made it difficult for him to make friends. The bullying taught Throndson to hate people, and by the time he was in middle school, acting out was a source of catharsis for him. 

Throndson said age 12 was one of the darkest parts of his life. He began dealing with anorexia, clinical depression and despised the church. Throndson recognized this time as his unraveling, and while on a mission trip, Throndson was sexually assaulted by an older Christian boy. The immeasurable weight of that trauma coupled with continuous bullying solidified the bitterness Throndson carried for years.

Throndson attempted to make friends within his youth group and the neighborhood in which he lived, but his isolation only intensified, and soon he turned to stealing for relief. 

“I was not a Christian. I was not doing well mentally. The only adrenaline I got was stealing from like Walmart or gas stations or from the people around me,” Throndson said.

Right before he turned 16, Throndson reluctantly went on another mission trip, and this was where he said he “realized everything.” He remembered vividly the salvation message preached to him on that trip at a church plant in Idaho and how the weight of his own selfishness and pain was consuming him at that point in his life. It was there, though, that Throndson began truly living.

He turned from stealing and stopped surrounding himself with people who encouraged him to act out of selfishness and hurt. While he walked in freedom from that day on, the remnants of his painful past still existed even in his life at Liberty University.

Throndson faced the difficult reality at Liberty that not a lot of people were familiar with the complexities of disability culture, and this resulted in ignorant comments and constant stares. Even walking into his junior year as an RA, the sometimes hurtful curiosity surrounding his disability came to light in the smallest moments, like realizing that people were not staring at his eyes when he passed, only his arm.

“They’re curious, and they don’t want to know me. They want to know what happened to my body,” Throndson said. 

Throndson enjoys playing volleyball and soccer as a means of hanging out with his friends and notes that his arm does not restrict him, but other people do. Throndson takes moments where others are insensitive with their questions or jokes and turns them into learning opportunities. 

His heart for the RA position stems from a desire to teach and lead others who are willing to learn about not only God but how to love other Christians well.

Throndson spoke on stage at the RA orientation this year and addressed his peers with the simple yet powerful idea that disabilities were not something they were used to speaking about.

“I know that you’re not used to talking about this. I know that you’re not used to dealing with disability in any way, so let’s talk about it,” Throndson said.

Open discourse is the most effective teaching tool, and Throndson welcomes opportunities to teach students how to approach people on their hall who have disabilities.

Throndson stands as an advocate for vulnerability and honesty when it comes to sharing his story. He believes that confusion and misinformation stem from silence, and asking and answering questions eliminate that silence.

“There are so many times where people just look at me and see me as the disabled kid and don’t see a story, but I’m the one with a mouth. I’m the one who can voice and communicate that story, so why not utilize it?” Throndson said. 

Looking forward, Throndson hopes to see more open discussion on hard topics at Liberty and hopes that if there is a takeaway from someone hearing his story, it is an encouragement to be brave and have hope.

“Don’t be afraid to share your story. You have no idea how your story can touch another person until you start sharing,” Throndson said.

Vires is a feature writer. Follow her on Twitter at @nadiavires.