How invested are you? Do you have stocks, bonds, real estate, currency, or a 401K? These investments are important to you and your future, right? You need to plan for your retirement and be prepared for the unknown. So where did you go wrong? You never invested in yourself!
You can live in a nice home, drive an expensive car, wear designer clothes, and get your hair and nails done, but that is just a cover up. What is really going on inside? I am speaking of your health. You can dress it up however you choose but it doesn't change what is underneath.
You pretend, you justify, you persuade, you convince yourself you are doing the best you can. But the reality is quite the opposite. You are weak, pathetic, lame and lying to yourself. Putting garbage into a pretty box wrapped in beautiful paper and tied with a bow is still garbage on the inside. It rots over time and gets stinky and requires more and more effort to cover up.
So why are you willing to invest in your material future but not your physical future? One is more important than the other because if you're dead, you won't be around to enjoy the material things you worked so hard for.
Your poor health is costing you more than you think. It's easier to just grab lunch at the nearest fast food restaurant because you're in a hurry to get to your next big sales meeting. You deserve those happy hour drinks and appetizers because you put in a long hard day at the office. You earned another night on the couch because you worked a 12-hour day closing yet another multi-million dollar deal. You're just too tired to go for a walk or get to the gym. The kids have so many activities and homework that you just can't be selfish and workout.
Admit it, you have used these excuses time and time again to justify why you have not invested in your health. How many medications are you taking to control your high blood pressure, your anxiety, your cholesterol or your depression? You blame your genetics or your life stressers. You justify because you must provide for your loved ones. You convince yourself you are a good person because you are putting others before yourself. You persuade others to follow your lead because you feel guilty for not investing in yourself.
Guess what? You are wrong. You are doing a disservice to everyone. You are setting a poor example for your children, family and friends by continuing to eat unhealthy, not exercising and working yourself to death. If you keep on your path of self-destruction, you won't be around to enjoy your home, your family or your material possessions.
There is nothing more important than your health. If you're healthy, you're happy. You're happy because you're alive. More than likely, the average person will not make a living being at an optimum level of health, but it will save you time and money. You will sleep better, feel less stress, need less medication, won't need to keep buying bigger pants, and there will be fewer trips to the doctor's office.
We all need to earn a living. That is a fact of life but what's the point if getting to the finish line comes sooner than you want it to? Step back and evaluate what type of race you have chosen to participate in. Will it be a race full of hurdles you can jump? Will it be a race where you have to use a pole to vault yourself over the bar and hope you make it? Or will you just tread water and hope you can hang on long enough?
The choice is yours to make. It does not have to be one extreme or the other, but you must find a balance. Do you want to teeter on the cliff's edge not knowing when the rocks will give away or walk the tight rope with a safety net below? There are no guarantees in life, as we all know, but you can make a choice to prolong your warranty so how much are you willing to invest in yourself?
Rachel
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Stupid is as Stupid does.
You can't fix stupid. Or can you?
We see Stupid everyday all day long. Often times, we look the other way. We try to convince ourselves we didn't actually see Stupid. We chalk Stupid up to ignorance, youth, immaturity and maybe even lack of actual intelligence. But Stupid lurks everywhere. Stupid never takes a vacation. Stupid shows up on time, every time.
Stupid is reliable. Stupid never lets us down. We fight Stupid, we argue Stupid, we ignore Stupid, we laugh at Stupid, but we can never seem to get rid of Stupid. Do we really want to fix Stupid? Is it possible to fix Stupid? Should we fix Stupid? How will society change if Stupid no longer exists?
We are patient with Stupid. We educate Stupid. We correct Stupid. But sometimes, Stupid just won't go away. We get frustrated and even swear at Stupid. We can't escape Stupid.
We don't like to think we are Stupid, but at one time or another we are Stupid. We make Stupid decisions, make Stupid comments and make Stupid moves. We understand Stupid and still can't stand Stupid because we see a little bit of Stupid in ourselves.
What is our responsibility to Stupid and how much are we accountable for Stupid? That is up to you. You decide Stupid's strength and it's hold on you. If Stupid rules than you must live by Stupid rules.
DON'T BE STUPID!
We see Stupid everyday all day long. Often times, we look the other way. We try to convince ourselves we didn't actually see Stupid. We chalk Stupid up to ignorance, youth, immaturity and maybe even lack of actual intelligence. But Stupid lurks everywhere. Stupid never takes a vacation. Stupid shows up on time, every time.
Stupid is reliable. Stupid never lets us down. We fight Stupid, we argue Stupid, we ignore Stupid, we laugh at Stupid, but we can never seem to get rid of Stupid. Do we really want to fix Stupid? Is it possible to fix Stupid? Should we fix Stupid? How will society change if Stupid no longer exists?
We are patient with Stupid. We educate Stupid. We correct Stupid. But sometimes, Stupid just won't go away. We get frustrated and even swear at Stupid. We can't escape Stupid.
We don't like to think we are Stupid, but at one time or another we are Stupid. We make Stupid decisions, make Stupid comments and make Stupid moves. We understand Stupid and still can't stand Stupid because we see a little bit of Stupid in ourselves.
What is our responsibility to Stupid and how much are we accountable for Stupid? That is up to you. You decide Stupid's strength and it's hold on you. If Stupid rules than you must live by Stupid rules.
DON'T BE STUPID!
Saturday, March 24, 2012
BOOBS Rule!
Boobs, boobies, tatas, moobs, titties, tits, fun bags, breasts, headlights, cans, jugs, hooters, honkers, knockers, rack and the list goes on!
Boobs are in a class all by themselves. They serve multiple purposes and attract an endless amount of attention from both sexes. Boobs are functional, practical and entertaining. Boobs play an important role in our lives from birth into adulthood. They feed us in our early years, evoke curiosity in our youth, prompt exploration and excitement in our teens into adulthood.
Boobs come in many shapes, sizes, dimensions and even substances! Everyone has their own ideal of what kind of boobs they prefer, men and women alike. Some like flat, others perky, some big, some small, some just a handful, others a mouthful and even some like more than they can handle. Some real, some saline, some silicone, some Kleenex.
Boobs evoke many emotions for a variety of reasons. Sadness if they are too small, frustration if too big, painful if cancer ridden, and excitement if just right. It doesn't matter if you are a male of a female. We can't help but stare at them. We notice them. We make fun of them. We want them. We don't want them. We strap them down, we push them up, we hide them, we flaunt them, we covet them, we hate them, we love them.
Boobs seems to take on a life of their own and transform over time. As we age and gravity comes into play, they begin to droop, sag, hang and sometimes take on the 'rock in the sock' or the 'coin-purse' look. So we push, pull and shove them around sometimes with fabric or by going under the knife in an attempt to keep them just as they were.
What is it about boobs? We even use the word boob to describe someone - "Quit acting like a boob". "He is such a boob". Some get offended when a mother 'whips it out' to feed her child, yet when it is whipped out in a strip club, everyone is game! We are dismayed by wardrobe malfunctions but may enjoy low-cut shirts. Most don't appreciate the shadow of a nipple through a shirt but get excited when one 'nips out'.
Boob are so confusing. So many mixed messages. Sometime we can touch, sometimes we can't. Sometimes we can talk about them, others times it's taboo. Sometimes we can look at them without getting chastised, other times we get slapped. So many rules and they are always changing!
So next time you have a rack attack and can't help but wonder what those jugs can handle. Take a step back and realize that even those knockers which make a great set up fun bags will keep you a breast of all the boob rules if you attempt to turn on those headlights!
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Gray Matters
Have you ever noticed the different standards between men and women? How did these come about and why do they continue to take hold? Do they actually bother us or are they just accepted as part of the stereotypical differences?
It begins at a very young age. If a boy likes to play with dolls, he is a sissy. If a girl likes to play with trucks, she is a tomboy. A boy who is promiscuous is experienced, a girl is a slut. A man with gray hair is distinguished, a woman is old. An assertive or aggressive man is successful, whereas a woman is a Bitch. A man who made it to the top earned it while a woman slept her way there. A man who is muscular is athletic, a woman is butch. A stay home Dad is a lucky, a working mom is neglectful.
Some of these may be a bit oversimplified, but the general idea is there. We are a double standard society. We try to fight it and pretend we have progressed past these stereotypes but they still rear their ugly head time after time. It'snot just between men and women as we al know. You're thinking, don't be silly. This isn't true anymore.
But it is. When is the last time you saw a fat, bald woman with wrinkles on the news? When have you seen a man selling a cleaning product on TV other than Mr. Clean or Oxiclean? How about a male escort/prostitute on a TV series? A non-sexed up female cop on a TV series?
Of course, we reinforce some of these stereotypes without even being aware that we are doing just that. Is this a bad thing? Does it really matter? Is it a true depiction of everyday life or do we project it to be what we think it should be?
Not everything is black and white. There is the 'gray area' but should we be allowed to pick and choose when that gray area should be applicable? We are all guilty of the 'gray area' whether you admit it to yourself or not. I'd like to think of it as a compromise. It can cross every facet of your life. We mold this 'gray area' into our lives because we must. Without the 'gray area', we would be a very rigid and unforgiving society.
A few examples: You're either married or single. You are a woman or a man. You are gay or straight. But even these classifications get blurred as we progress as a society. Couples are in committed relationships, but not married. There are transgender and transsexual individuals. We have bi-sexual individuals. Is one better than the other? Who says? What makes 'them' right? These all fall into the 'gray area'. It does not make one any better or any worse than the 'black and white' classifications.
We are all human. There is no gray area about that - we are not different species. It's the life we choose to lead that creates the differences among us. It's our choices that create the 'gray area'. A bit simplistic yes, but stripping it down to the basics sometimes opens our eyes to just how closed our minds have been.
It begins at a very young age. If a boy likes to play with dolls, he is a sissy. If a girl likes to play with trucks, she is a tomboy. A boy who is promiscuous is experienced, a girl is a slut. A man with gray hair is distinguished, a woman is old. An assertive or aggressive man is successful, whereas a woman is a Bitch. A man who made it to the top earned it while a woman slept her way there. A man who is muscular is athletic, a woman is butch. A stay home Dad is a lucky, a working mom is neglectful.
Some of these may be a bit oversimplified, but the general idea is there. We are a double standard society. We try to fight it and pretend we have progressed past these stereotypes but they still rear their ugly head time after time. It'snot just between men and women as we al know. You're thinking, don't be silly. This isn't true anymore.
But it is. When is the last time you saw a fat, bald woman with wrinkles on the news? When have you seen a man selling a cleaning product on TV other than Mr. Clean or Oxiclean? How about a male escort/prostitute on a TV series? A non-sexed up female cop on a TV series?
Of course, we reinforce some of these stereotypes without even being aware that we are doing just that. Is this a bad thing? Does it really matter? Is it a true depiction of everyday life or do we project it to be what we think it should be?
Not everything is black and white. There is the 'gray area' but should we be allowed to pick and choose when that gray area should be applicable? We are all guilty of the 'gray area' whether you admit it to yourself or not. I'd like to think of it as a compromise. It can cross every facet of your life. We mold this 'gray area' into our lives because we must. Without the 'gray area', we would be a very rigid and unforgiving society.
A few examples: You're either married or single. You are a woman or a man. You are gay or straight. But even these classifications get blurred as we progress as a society. Couples are in committed relationships, but not married. There are transgender and transsexual individuals. We have bi-sexual individuals. Is one better than the other? Who says? What makes 'them' right? These all fall into the 'gray area'. It does not make one any better or any worse than the 'black and white' classifications.
We are all human. There is no gray area about that - we are not different species. It's the life we choose to lead that creates the differences among us. It's our choices that create the 'gray area'. A bit simplistic yes, but stripping it down to the basics sometimes opens our eyes to just how closed our minds have been.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Aging Badly
Why are we in such a rush to grow up? When we get here, we want to go back, back to the carefree days of our childhood. We wish we would have cherished those times more than we did. If only we knew then what we know now.
We couldn't wait to turn 13 so we were officially a teenager, 16 years old so we could drive, 18 years old so we could vote, and the coveted 21 years old so we could legally drink. And after that, it's all downhill. No one wants to turn 30 years old because you're no longer a 20 something and once you turn 40 years old you are halfway to death!
I have never really been bothered my age except for the early milestones mentioned. I didn't blink an eye when I turned 30 and I was excited to turn 40 because then I could compete in the Masters category for my figure competitions!
So rather than dwelling on my numerical age, I live by the age that I feel I am. As a result, some would say that I am aging badly.
I'm happy about it. I'm doing a great job at it. I have no regrets about it and I hope I just keep getting better at it. Aging badly has done wonders for me! Don't be confused. It's a good thing. You will want to age badly too.
So what are the rules to aging badly? There are no rules unless you want to make some rules. But rules just get in the way so forget them. You can do those things which you didn't do as a youth but wish you had done. Now, I'm not talking about doing drugs, smoking, drinking excessively or just being plain stupid. It's a craft that you can master but you will need practice. You may have homework to do but it's homework by your design. Homework that stimulates and challenges the kid lost inside of you.
So how do you begin? That's up to you. You must decide what aging badly means to you. For me, it means I have gone against the grain of the norm for my age bracket. I began getting tattoos at age 38. I wear my hair longer than a 41 year old should. I say things that are 'inappropriate' but funny, according to my 15 year old daughter. I don't do things to please others, I do them for myself. I have muscles that a suburbanite mom should not be sporting. I wear clear five inch high heels with an itsy-bitsy teeny weeny bikini on stage (for figure competitions people, I have not become a stripper!). My idea of relaxing is sitting in my recliner knitting while watching cop shows. I'm a home body. So as you can see, I am all over the board. I cannot be classified as a muscle head, a knitting granny or a biker chick. I don't fit the norm.
I don't always do what is expected, but do as I want to do. That's the beauty of being aging badly. I am in charge of my decisions both good and bad. I get to reap the rewards and suffer the consequences but it's because I have chosen to age badly.
I'm aging badly by most people's standards. Yet, I feel happy, fulfilled, and inspired by my choices because they are MY choices. They fit me and are not the standard for anyone else. I spend a large portion of my free time working out and I've never been healthier. But some would say I'm obsessed and others presume and assume without really knowing the truth. I love what it does for me both mentally and physically. It is a stress reliever, a time to think, a time to relax and a time to exert my frustrations.
At night, I knit and crochet like a granny in my recliner while I watch cop shows. So does that mean I am a couch potato addicted to reality TV? I'm aging badly because what 41 year old enjoys granny crafts? I am young. I should be out living life and enjoying happy hours. I have my own version of happiness.
My diet is restrictive and many people say "You only live once Rachel, why don't you enjoy it?" Little do they know, they hit the nail on the head. I do indulge now and then on fabulous foods. My addiction to chocolate rears it's ugly head more often than not. However, I have been overweight in the past and did not enjoy it. I hated putting on four pairs of pants each morning to see if the next would fit better than the last. So 'living life' and eating whatever I wanted backfired and in the end made me miserable.
My standards of 'living life' are different than most. It took me along time to get here and now that I have arrived, I will continue to age badly and enjoy every minute of it. Aging badly will permit me to live a healthier, happier, medication free life. My grandmother has aged badly and is 96 years old to prove it. But that is a story for another day.
Youth doesn't need to be wasted on the young. But it will be wasted on you if you don't stop acting your age.
Rachel
We couldn't wait to turn 13 so we were officially a teenager, 16 years old so we could drive, 18 years old so we could vote, and the coveted 21 years old so we could legally drink. And after that, it's all downhill. No one wants to turn 30 years old because you're no longer a 20 something and once you turn 40 years old you are halfway to death!
I have never really been bothered my age except for the early milestones mentioned. I didn't blink an eye when I turned 30 and I was excited to turn 40 because then I could compete in the Masters category for my figure competitions!
So rather than dwelling on my numerical age, I live by the age that I feel I am. As a result, some would say that I am aging badly.
I'm happy about it. I'm doing a great job at it. I have no regrets about it and I hope I just keep getting better at it. Aging badly has done wonders for me! Don't be confused. It's a good thing. You will want to age badly too.
So what are the rules to aging badly? There are no rules unless you want to make some rules. But rules just get in the way so forget them. You can do those things which you didn't do as a youth but wish you had done. Now, I'm not talking about doing drugs, smoking, drinking excessively or just being plain stupid. It's a craft that you can master but you will need practice. You may have homework to do but it's homework by your design. Homework that stimulates and challenges the kid lost inside of you.
So how do you begin? That's up to you. You must decide what aging badly means to you. For me, it means I have gone against the grain of the norm for my age bracket. I began getting tattoos at age 38. I wear my hair longer than a 41 year old should. I say things that are 'inappropriate' but funny, according to my 15 year old daughter. I don't do things to please others, I do them for myself. I have muscles that a suburbanite mom should not be sporting. I wear clear five inch high heels with an itsy-bitsy teeny weeny bikini on stage (for figure competitions people, I have not become a stripper!). My idea of relaxing is sitting in my recliner knitting while watching cop shows. I'm a home body. So as you can see, I am all over the board. I cannot be classified as a muscle head, a knitting granny or a biker chick. I don't fit the norm.
I don't always do what is expected, but do as I want to do. That's the beauty of being aging badly. I am in charge of my decisions both good and bad. I get to reap the rewards and suffer the consequences but it's because I have chosen to age badly.
I'm aging badly by most people's standards. Yet, I feel happy, fulfilled, and inspired by my choices because they are MY choices. They fit me and are not the standard for anyone else. I spend a large portion of my free time working out and I've never been healthier. But some would say I'm obsessed and others presume and assume without really knowing the truth. I love what it does for me both mentally and physically. It is a stress reliever, a time to think, a time to relax and a time to exert my frustrations.
At night, I knit and crochet like a granny in my recliner while I watch cop shows. So does that mean I am a couch potato addicted to reality TV? I'm aging badly because what 41 year old enjoys granny crafts? I am young. I should be out living life and enjoying happy hours. I have my own version of happiness.
My diet is restrictive and many people say "You only live once Rachel, why don't you enjoy it?" Little do they know, they hit the nail on the head. I do indulge now and then on fabulous foods. My addiction to chocolate rears it's ugly head more often than not. However, I have been overweight in the past and did not enjoy it. I hated putting on four pairs of pants each morning to see if the next would fit better than the last. So 'living life' and eating whatever I wanted backfired and in the end made me miserable.
My standards of 'living life' are different than most. It took me along time to get here and now that I have arrived, I will continue to age badly and enjoy every minute of it. Aging badly will permit me to live a healthier, happier, medication free life. My grandmother has aged badly and is 96 years old to prove it. But that is a story for another day.
Youth doesn't need to be wasted on the young. But it will be wasted on you if you don't stop acting your age.
Rachel
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Braced for Life
I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a day that changed my life. I was only 12 and in the sixth grade. I was a happy, healthy kid who had very little to worry about in life. But that one day changed everything, both good and bad.
I was in the nurse's office. Every sixth grader in the school had to go through the screening. Most were checked and sent back to class. If you had it, they kept you back and you waited in the hard plastic chairs that rubbed against the wall. I was sitting in one of the chairs, just me. All of the other chairs were empty. All the other kids had gone back to class. I almost started to cry but wouldn't let myself. All my friends already knew because I was not back in class.
I already had glasses. This was not fair. Why me? The school nurse came out of her office and handed me a note for my parents. It was in an envelope, sealed of course! Why the big secret? It was about me, so shouldn't I get to know what it says? I knew I couldn't open it. In my house, you didn't do things like that or you spent quality time in you room. So I left and walked back to class holding the envelope which did not hold a winning ticket. That much I knew.
I walked to elementary school and the walk home never took longer than it did that day. I needed to know what was in the envelope, although I had a general idea. I thrust the envelope at my mom. I had to know. What did it say inside? She opened it, read it, and looked at me. She asked me to turn around and lift up my shirt and bend over. I did and she ran her hand up and down my spine. I had scoliosis.
My spine was crooked, really crooked. I panicked. I knew a kid on the swim team who had scoliosis. He had to wear a brace. That thing was ugly and huge! There was no way I was ever going to wear one of those, ever!
I went to Gillette Children's Hospital which is a 'teaching' hospital. I went through multiple evaluations and had so many x-rays, I'm sure I actually glow at times. During my appointments I stood in a cold sterile room where the walls were covered with light boxes which projected photos of my spine. I spent a lot of hours in that room over a period of three years. Back then, the rooms were not all warm and cozy like they are now. It had a cold tile floor with fluorescent lights and white walls. I still remember.
Then the doctors and student doctors would pour in for the appointment. Sometimes there were as many as eight of them and all staring at me standing there in my little girl bloomer undies and no shirt. Being on the verge of puberty, this was very traumatic for me. There is no other way to describe it. They were almost always all men with the exception of the nurse. Standing in the middle of a cold sterile room, practically naked, with a bunch of men staring at me. I was asked to turn around so they could look at my spine, bend at the waist to see the curvature better, turn sideways to see how my shoulders rolled forward, face front so they could see one shoulder dip lower than the other. The ritual was the same every appointment and could last a half hour. Now keep in mind, I had been a competitive swimmer for many years at this point so I was not exactly shy about my body, but being naked in front of strangers at this fragile age was no picnic in the park.
The day arrived to get fitted for my Milwaukee brace. I was now in the seventh grade. I was at a brand new junior high. It was located out of my regular school district so I had no friends. I was the new kid. My siblings were attending the adjoining senior high school so I was along for the ride to keep us all together. Lucky me.
In order to get the brace to fit my body, I had to go into the hospital for three days and be fitted. My parents would not allow me to get the experimental muscle shock treatment. This was a unit that was applied, via electrodes, to my back to stimulate the muscles at night while I slept. It was too new and had not been tested long enough to yield favorable results. I was doomed to the back brace. I had a double curve and one was high on my spine so the Milwaukee Brace was the remedy. It is still in use today.
The process included wearing a 'wife beater t-shirt' and I was covered in a plaster cast from my neck to my butt. It was a complete mold of me. Once hardened, it was cut off and the metal pieces were formed around the plaster cast. The pelvic area was made of very hard stiff plastic with holes for air. I had a 2- inch wide bar up the middle of my chest which attached to a metal hoop around my neck. There were two more bars, about half the width of the front bar, which ran up my back to my neck and attached to the hoop. The hoop was held shut by a big screw that I fastened in the back. I had a thick pad under my right armpit to push my spine towards the center and another on my lower left side to push my spine the opposing direction. I also had a 5- inch wide cloth panel that wrapped all the way around my abdomen and was secured in the back to pull me forward. I was being pushed and pulled around like Gumby!
I was in my own private jail. I had to wear my brace 23 hours a day. The only other time I got to take it off was for swim practice. When I returned to school, I learned what it felt like to be THAT kid. I was a geek, a dork, a nerd, a freak. I was the only one in the entire school with a brace. A brace that could not be hid unless I wore a turtle neck. But once I sat in my desk, you could tell, I could not bend at my waist, only at my legs. The plastic in the back pressed against the chair seat and drove the brace up into my chin. I was called crippled by a classmate. It was devastating. I didn't want to go back to school.
But I was stuck with it. I had no choice. I had to wear it. There were no options. It wrecked everything. Clothes, boy crushes, making friends, and summer time was the worse! It was hot and gave me a pancake shaped butt!
Over time, I adjusted. I made it a strength rather than a weakness. I was already a competitive swimmer and athletic. I loved gym class and enjoyed beating most of the boys in the Presidential Physical Fitness testing, even though I was a 'cripple'. I used it to psych other swimmers out at swim meets, when I wore it up to the starting blocks underneath my warm-up suit. I went canoeing in the Boundary Waters with Camp Widji for four weeks. I carried canoes over portages while wearing my brace. I went backpacking in the Big Horn Mountains for three weeks while wearing my brace. I broke my brace at least three different times. The doctors were in shock. No one had ever broken one of their braces. I was different. I set a new standard. I did not let the brace control me. I controlled the brace.
I wore my brace for three very long years. As my body matured and my spine stabilized, I was able to decrease the amount of time I had to wear it each day. Eventually, I only had to wear it at night while I slept. I divorced my brace in the middle of my sophomore year of high school. But then, I got braces on my teeth. That was nothing compared to what I had just gone through. I already had glasses so my parents decided it was best not to completely geek accessorize me at one time and held off on the braces until then.
I kept my brace for a very long time. I moved it from house to house as I grew older. It was a reminder of what I had over come. A reminder of my time in jail. A reminder that no matter what life threw at me, I could handle it. This may seem ridiculous to most of you, but it changed my life.
I realized my brace confined me but it did not have to define me. I understood what it was like to be different, but different in a unique way. We are unique for a reason. It is up to you to find that reason and build upon it. It's time to embrace your obstacles and design a course through them.
Rachel
Braced for Life
I was in the nurse's office. Every sixth grader in the school had to go through the screening. Most were checked and sent back to class. If you had it, they kept you back and you waited in the hard plastic chairs that rubbed against the wall. I was sitting in one of the chairs, just me. All of the other chairs were empty. All the other kids had gone back to class. I almost started to cry but wouldn't let myself. All my friends already knew because I was not back in class.
I already had glasses. This was not fair. Why me? The school nurse came out of her office and handed me a note for my parents. It was in an envelope, sealed of course! Why the big secret? It was about me, so shouldn't I get to know what it says? I knew I couldn't open it. In my house, you didn't do things like that or you spent quality time in you room. So I left and walked back to class holding the envelope which did not hold a winning ticket. That much I knew.
I walked to elementary school and the walk home never took longer than it did that day. I needed to know what was in the envelope, although I had a general idea. I thrust the envelope at my mom. I had to know. What did it say inside? She opened it, read it, and looked at me. She asked me to turn around and lift up my shirt and bend over. I did and she ran her hand up and down my spine. I had scoliosis.
My spine was crooked, really crooked. I panicked. I knew a kid on the swim team who had scoliosis. He had to wear a brace. That thing was ugly and huge! There was no way I was ever going to wear one of those, ever!
I went to Gillette Children's Hospital which is a 'teaching' hospital. I went through multiple evaluations and had so many x-rays, I'm sure I actually glow at times. During my appointments I stood in a cold sterile room where the walls were covered with light boxes which projected photos of my spine. I spent a lot of hours in that room over a period of three years. Back then, the rooms were not all warm and cozy like they are now. It had a cold tile floor with fluorescent lights and white walls. I still remember.
Then the doctors and student doctors would pour in for the appointment. Sometimes there were as many as eight of them and all staring at me standing there in my little girl bloomer undies and no shirt. Being on the verge of puberty, this was very traumatic for me. There is no other way to describe it. They were almost always all men with the exception of the nurse. Standing in the middle of a cold sterile room, practically naked, with a bunch of men staring at me. I was asked to turn around so they could look at my spine, bend at the waist to see the curvature better, turn sideways to see how my shoulders rolled forward, face front so they could see one shoulder dip lower than the other. The ritual was the same every appointment and could last a half hour. Now keep in mind, I had been a competitive swimmer for many years at this point so I was not exactly shy about my body, but being naked in front of strangers at this fragile age was no picnic in the park.
The day arrived to get fitted for my Milwaukee brace. I was now in the seventh grade. I was at a brand new junior high. It was located out of my regular school district so I had no friends. I was the new kid. My siblings were attending the adjoining senior high school so I was along for the ride to keep us all together. Lucky me.
In order to get the brace to fit my body, I had to go into the hospital for three days and be fitted. My parents would not allow me to get the experimental muscle shock treatment. This was a unit that was applied, via electrodes, to my back to stimulate the muscles at night while I slept. It was too new and had not been tested long enough to yield favorable results. I was doomed to the back brace. I had a double curve and one was high on my spine so the Milwaukee Brace was the remedy. It is still in use today.
The process included wearing a 'wife beater t-shirt' and I was covered in a plaster cast from my neck to my butt. It was a complete mold of me. Once hardened, it was cut off and the metal pieces were formed around the plaster cast. The pelvic area was made of very hard stiff plastic with holes for air. I had a 2- inch wide bar up the middle of my chest which attached to a metal hoop around my neck. There were two more bars, about half the width of the front bar, which ran up my back to my neck and attached to the hoop. The hoop was held shut by a big screw that I fastened in the back. I had a thick pad under my right armpit to push my spine towards the center and another on my lower left side to push my spine the opposing direction. I also had a 5- inch wide cloth panel that wrapped all the way around my abdomen and was secured in the back to pull me forward. I was being pushed and pulled around like Gumby!
I was in my own private jail. I had to wear my brace 23 hours a day. The only other time I got to take it off was for swim practice. When I returned to school, I learned what it felt like to be THAT kid. I was a geek, a dork, a nerd, a freak. I was the only one in the entire school with a brace. A brace that could not be hid unless I wore a turtle neck. But once I sat in my desk, you could tell, I could not bend at my waist, only at my legs. The plastic in the back pressed against the chair seat and drove the brace up into my chin. I was called crippled by a classmate. It was devastating. I didn't want to go back to school.
But I was stuck with it. I had no choice. I had to wear it. There were no options. It wrecked everything. Clothes, boy crushes, making friends, and summer time was the worse! It was hot and gave me a pancake shaped butt!
Over time, I adjusted. I made it a strength rather than a weakness. I was already a competitive swimmer and athletic. I loved gym class and enjoyed beating most of the boys in the Presidential Physical Fitness testing, even though I was a 'cripple'. I used it to psych other swimmers out at swim meets, when I wore it up to the starting blocks underneath my warm-up suit. I went canoeing in the Boundary Waters with Camp Widji for four weeks. I carried canoes over portages while wearing my brace. I went backpacking in the Big Horn Mountains for three weeks while wearing my brace. I broke my brace at least three different times. The doctors were in shock. No one had ever broken one of their braces. I was different. I set a new standard. I did not let the brace control me. I controlled the brace.
I wore my brace for three very long years. As my body matured and my spine stabilized, I was able to decrease the amount of time I had to wear it each day. Eventually, I only had to wear it at night while I slept. I divorced my brace in the middle of my sophomore year of high school. But then, I got braces on my teeth. That was nothing compared to what I had just gone through. I already had glasses so my parents decided it was best not to completely geek accessorize me at one time and held off on the braces until then.
I kept my brace for a very long time. I moved it from house to house as I grew older. It was a reminder of what I had over come. A reminder of my time in jail. A reminder that no matter what life threw at me, I could handle it. This may seem ridiculous to most of you, but it changed my life.
I realized my brace confined me but it did not have to define me. I understood what it was like to be different, but different in a unique way. We are unique for a reason. It is up to you to find that reason and build upon it. It's time to embrace your obstacles and design a course through them.
Rachel
Braced for Life
Saturday, March 17, 2012
A Minority in my own Family.
It happens without warning. It can't be helped. I fought it at first. It was an uphill battle but in the end, I surrendered. I quit. I don't like it and hate admitting it. But I realized this day was going to come no matter how hard I tried to avoid it.
I turned into my mother. It's OK. I can admit it. It's a love/hate relationship with myself. I was going to be different, be a better version of her, be a new-age mom, cooler, calmer, more fun, more understanding, more patient. But then I realized, I could never even measure up. If I could be half as great as her, I'd be a success.
I love my mom. I love her for all that she taught me whether it was through fear, brain washing, fear, life lessons, fear, love and fear. She helped mold who I am today and for that I am eternally thankful. I am a strong independent woman who can stand on my own two feet thanks to her. (Well, my dad too.)
She is a great role model. I was raised with the mentality that life isn't fair and the sooner I accepted that, the better off I'd be. I could be angry about it or be twice as good as the person next to me. I am one of seven kids and being the second youngest has not always yield the best results. My mom refers to me as the 'forgotten' one as I was so quiet and obedient as a child. I'm not making this up - it's true!
I learned the family golden rules very early in life. It was never an issue 'if' I was going to college, it was a matter of 'when and where' I was going to college. My parents didn't pay for weddings, didn't co-sign loans and only paid college tuition with what they could afford at that given time. If I moved back in after college, I paid rent and still lived by the house rules regardless of my age. These were the big important rules and of course, there were many more house rules as with any family. My house was strict - no bullshit. There were consequences for bad actions or lack of action. My mom and dad did not mess around and I knew it. I was kid number six, I observed, I learned, I soaked it in like a sponge. I watched my older siblings test the waters and knew I enjoyed my bed, food and shelter. I was taught I could be anything I wanted to be when I grew up as long as I worked hard. It didn't matter that I was a girl.
I learned life is hard but it would be harder if I was lazy and dumb. We worked very hard in my family. We had a paper route from the time I was in the second grade. We all helped. That was back in the day when there was a morning and afternoon newspaper. We delivered it on foot or from our banana seat bikes with the paper sac strapped onto the handle bars. We collected payment door-to-door. We were like letter carriers - gotta get it there regardless of the rain, sleet, or snow. We had the same paper route for 10 years.
I mowed lawns, shoveled snow, cleaned houses, and babysat. I got my first job as a bus girl and a hostess when I was 15 years old. I taught swim lessons, life guarded and became a waitress at 16, a skill which carried me financially through college and into adulthood. During tough financial times, I was always able to fall back into it and make it through. I learned how to work hard from watching my mom and my dad.
I pursued my dreams because I was taught it didn't just have to be a dream. It could be reality but my determination and dedication played a factor in making that dream a reality. It wasn't just going to fall upon me. I had to work for it.
One of the most important things I learned from my parents was acceptance. You see, I am one of seven children but I am one of two 'homemade' or biological children. Now if you were paying attention, I said I was kid number six. My only other biological sibling is my youngest sister and she is kid number 7. She and I were born last. My five older siblings are all adopted and either black or bi-racial. They all were members of my family before I was even a twinkle in my parents eye. My siblings are not step siblings or foster siblings, they are my brothers and sisters. I've never thought of them any other way - not once, ever. It is what I know and all I have know for my entire existence. This is my family.
You may ask why does this matter. It does. It helped define who I am. I refer to it as my bonus education. I feel privileged to have this unique education in a world that is so predicated on first impressions, stereotypes, and social classes. My family is unique. My mom and dad are unique. I am a minority in my own family - one of two white kids, with white parents, and five black siblings. This may be a more common theme today, but it was not the norm over the last 40 years.
So I've learned I am happy to have become my mom. We have many similarities, traits, and interests. I hear her voice, in my head, when I am speaking to my children while passing on the same motherly advice she once gave me. I exhibit her mannerisms when I least expect it. I have her drive and ambition to succeed and yet, I know I am not as great as she is and can only hope to be half the person she is someday.
My mom is a great mom and she found it in her heart to be a mom to five other children that needed a mom. I may be a minority in my own family but it's one in which I would never trade for the world. I hope you, too, are lucky enough to have a mom like mine. But she is mine and not for sale and I'm proud to say I've turned into my mom.
Rachel
I turned into my mother. It's OK. I can admit it. It's a love/hate relationship with myself. I was going to be different, be a better version of her, be a new-age mom, cooler, calmer, more fun, more understanding, more patient. But then I realized, I could never even measure up. If I could be half as great as her, I'd be a success.
I love my mom. I love her for all that she taught me whether it was through fear, brain washing, fear, life lessons, fear, love and fear. She helped mold who I am today and for that I am eternally thankful. I am a strong independent woman who can stand on my own two feet thanks to her. (Well, my dad too.)
She is a great role model. I was raised with the mentality that life isn't fair and the sooner I accepted that, the better off I'd be. I could be angry about it or be twice as good as the person next to me. I am one of seven kids and being the second youngest has not always yield the best results. My mom refers to me as the 'forgotten' one as I was so quiet and obedient as a child. I'm not making this up - it's true!
I learned the family golden rules very early in life. It was never an issue 'if' I was going to college, it was a matter of 'when and where' I was going to college. My parents didn't pay for weddings, didn't co-sign loans and only paid college tuition with what they could afford at that given time. If I moved back in after college, I paid rent and still lived by the house rules regardless of my age. These were the big important rules and of course, there were many more house rules as with any family. My house was strict - no bullshit. There were consequences for bad actions or lack of action. My mom and dad did not mess around and I knew it. I was kid number six, I observed, I learned, I soaked it in like a sponge. I watched my older siblings test the waters and knew I enjoyed my bed, food and shelter. I was taught I could be anything I wanted to be when I grew up as long as I worked hard. It didn't matter that I was a girl.
I learned life is hard but it would be harder if I was lazy and dumb. We worked very hard in my family. We had a paper route from the time I was in the second grade. We all helped. That was back in the day when there was a morning and afternoon newspaper. We delivered it on foot or from our banana seat bikes with the paper sac strapped onto the handle bars. We collected payment door-to-door. We were like letter carriers - gotta get it there regardless of the rain, sleet, or snow. We had the same paper route for 10 years.
I mowed lawns, shoveled snow, cleaned houses, and babysat. I got my first job as a bus girl and a hostess when I was 15 years old. I taught swim lessons, life guarded and became a waitress at 16, a skill which carried me financially through college and into adulthood. During tough financial times, I was always able to fall back into it and make it through. I learned how to work hard from watching my mom and my dad.
I pursued my dreams because I was taught it didn't just have to be a dream. It could be reality but my determination and dedication played a factor in making that dream a reality. It wasn't just going to fall upon me. I had to work for it.
One of the most important things I learned from my parents was acceptance. You see, I am one of seven children but I am one of two 'homemade' or biological children. Now if you were paying attention, I said I was kid number six. My only other biological sibling is my youngest sister and she is kid number 7. She and I were born last. My five older siblings are all adopted and either black or bi-racial. They all were members of my family before I was even a twinkle in my parents eye. My siblings are not step siblings or foster siblings, they are my brothers and sisters. I've never thought of them any other way - not once, ever. It is what I know and all I have know for my entire existence. This is my family.
You may ask why does this matter. It does. It helped define who I am. I refer to it as my bonus education. I feel privileged to have this unique education in a world that is so predicated on first impressions, stereotypes, and social classes. My family is unique. My mom and dad are unique. I am a minority in my own family - one of two white kids, with white parents, and five black siblings. This may be a more common theme today, but it was not the norm over the last 40 years.
So I've learned I am happy to have become my mom. We have many similarities, traits, and interests. I hear her voice, in my head, when I am speaking to my children while passing on the same motherly advice she once gave me. I exhibit her mannerisms when I least expect it. I have her drive and ambition to succeed and yet, I know I am not as great as she is and can only hope to be half the person she is someday.
My mom is a great mom and she found it in her heart to be a mom to five other children that needed a mom. I may be a minority in my own family but it's one in which I would never trade for the world. I hope you, too, are lucky enough to have a mom like mine. But she is mine and not for sale and I'm proud to say I've turned into my mom.
Rachel
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