We often disregard a person’s entire story. We make assumptions from videos, articles, and quotes. A person’s life is rarely fully known. Mine is not. I have a story before my problems made an appearance. Most people do….
People are unaware of situations in my childhood. The life before what is known. The woman whom you know has been this way for 41 years. The me you know was covered up by horrible situations, but has existed since her birth.
I do not think it would surprise anyone that my first picture post-birth was of me cringing in anger at the obstetrician. Or that I was enormous, both in size and length. That immediately after my birth, my doctor told my mother that I was a “real bruiser” That my parents watched in shock as a ran endlessly down a beach as a toddler. That one book that taught me to read was Children’s Canterbury Tales. That I wrote and bound my own books in kindergarten. A conglomerate of covers made from laminated carboard and wallpaper samples covering construction paper written on with crayon.
That I was at the gym every morning at 5am before elementary school. That at age 6 , I asked Santa Claus for a heart monitor and stop watch so that I could train myself to compete in triathlons. That by age 6, I competed in races on military bases. That at age 7, race judges had to ask my parents if I was really a girl. Little girls are not usually athletic competition for full grown men.
That at every childhood sleepover since age 6 :I spent time helping my friends parents workout while everyone else was playing with Barbies.
How at age 4: I told Santa Claus I wanted a black Barbie “because she was beautiful”. That the same Christmas I left Santa a quality control questionnaire demanding an excuse for his not delivering presents to poor children. That my first biographical essay in 6th grade was about the Olympian FloJo.
Not one bit of the me you know is new. This is just a small taste of my childhood. There is more to me than people even realize. This is an example of one shouldn’t judge. I am not just someone’s perception or opinion. People often lose their way, but they are more than their problems. We were all children once.
I am not eating disorders or neurological problems or sleep disorders or mental disorders or physical problems. I am simply an addict and alcoholic. I’m not merely a weightlifter or a writer. I’m not simply a medical situation or anything people may define me as. I am me. I am not my body. Or books or exercise.
No one truly is. We mistakenly allow these things to define us. As proof of our worthiness. When they aren’t. Everyone is worthy. Point blank, So I believe.
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