Me too

At the age of two, my mother left me in my father's custody for 2+ years. Since the idea of adopting me was not his, he decided to find whatever babysitters he could that day to leave me with. This went on for the two years I lived with him.

My earliest memory of what I believe to be sexual abuse is me sitting in a bathtub (naked) in a dark bathroom at a stranger's house.

That's it.

I don't remember being fondled or anything of the sort. All I remember is a dark bathroom and the overwhelming feeling of uneasiness.

Years later, I finally did decide to speak up to my mother and tell her "something bad happened to me," she refused to believe me because I didn't remember details.

The disbelief would continue throughout my life.

Puberty came early for me in the form of breasts. Men often asked my mother if I was 18 when I was only 13.

There was a young lady I had gotten close to at church who was a bit older than myself. She invited my mother and I to her wedding. At the reception, a man in his thirties asked me to dance. I happily said yes. I was about 13 or 14 and this man wanted to dance with me. I distinctly remember after two or three dances, he tells me he wishes we could be alone. He then proceeds to ask if I knew what we would do if we were alone. I merely nodded. I never saw him after that.

During my teenage years, my father took in some boarders. Two men in their twenties who spent a lot of time trying to corner me or would just leer at me. I was so relieved the day they moved out.

One day, in my own home, my father asked me to take one of his workers to the kitchen to get a tool out of a drawer. Instead, he touched my breast. Right there. He just reached out and touched my breast. I was scared and shocked. I never spoke up. I was too scared.

Similar incidents would continue to happen throughout my teenage years and early twenties.

The man I worked for while my mother was ill sexually harassed me, including at the meal after my mother's funeral.

Shortly after her death and a couple of days before Thanksgiving 2004, I was sexually assaulted in my own bed by someone I knew. He was never arrested. The detective asked if I was having an affair with him and was this a lover's spat? The attacker continued to call and harass me, telling me that essentially I asked for it.

That's the major reason I left Miami. I was scared for my life.

The harassment by men hasn't stopped since moving either.

Just the other day, the produce manager at a local grocery store gave me a leery smile as he does all women and said, "Anything for my girl."

He claims he's friendly and flirts with "everybody."

It's just plain disgusting. A call to corporate will be made.

While some have been polarized by the "Me too" movement, I have been freed by it.

"But she loved you so much..."

My mother was abusive.

There, I said it.

After 40 years, I'm finally able to publicly acknowledge that my mother was both verbally and emotionally abusive to me.

I realize that those who knew her casually may be shocked by the above statement, but I can assure you, it's the truth.

You saw the smile and heard the infinite amount of praise. I saw the anger and heard the word "stupid" more times than I care to admit.

I have this one very vivid memory of sitting on my bed crying. Like numerous times before, I had done something to upset her. This time must have been particularly bad because she told me she wasn't going to love me anymore because I was bad. I pleaded with her, told her I was sorry, and she said it wasn't good enough and she didn't love me.

I lived that torment often. In school, if I received anything less than an A, it wasn't good enough. In public, she'd put on the proud parent facade. The minute we were alone, she became this whole other person. A person I was terrified of.

The summer between my junior and senior year in high school, I put on some weight. She was absolutely livid. I was told I was fat.

One day, I skipped lunch to make up a test. One turned to two, then a week went by, then a month, and so on. I started dropping weight and she was happy. I, on the other hand, was sick. In a span of a few months, I dropped 3 sizes.

A year later, I confessed to her, only to have her call me stupid.

I remember an incident where our electricity got turned off. I had to go pay the bill with money I received from a settlement. She was unhappy because she felt I took too long to pay the bill that day and called me an ungrateful bitch. We were living off of my money at the time and I did what I was told, yet I was ungrateful.

I was often called names or told awful things.

Once she told me that if my (future) husband hit/beat me, I'd deserve it because I had a bad attitude.

There's so much more I could talk about, but at least this is a start.

It wasn't any easier to write than it was to read, believe me.

Overcoming Personal Stumbling Blocks

Every January, thousands of people make a New Year’s resolution to lose weight. It could be that 10 pounds put on over the holidays or maybe even that weight they gained in college but never lost. Gyms offer specials to attract these people. Group fitness classes are packed. Then something happens. February rolls around and classes start thinning out. Why? What’s stopping these people from sticking to their resolution?

What’s stopping YOU? I know, you have small children, work 40+ hours a week, you’re exhausted, gym memberships are too expensive, and most importantly you don’t have time. While I can’t and don’t intend to speak for others, I can speak for myself. I, too, made many excuses about why I couldn’t or didn’t want to work out.

In the summer of 2012, I started experiencing daily migraines. My doctor referred me to a neurologist. Unfortunately, the neurologist office could not give me an appointment until January 2013. Thankfully, my headaches eventually went away. 

When January rolled around, I decided to keep my appointment. I had not been seen by a neurologist since I was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy at the age of two. Going into the appointment, I had made the decision to ask about physical therapy. I wasn’t sure if it would do anything to help me. At that point, I hadn’t had therapy in 20 years. Could anything really make a difference being that I was 35, overweight, suffering from arthritis, and severely out of shape? To my surprise, the doctor said yes, therapy was a good idea. 

I began therapy at the end of January 2013 and also started going to the gym 3-4 times a week. There were plenty of days that I wanted to give up. I didn’t want to go to therapy, let alone get up and go to the gym. Then something happened – I started losing weight. As the weight came off, walking became easier. In turn, I was able to graduate from a walker to crutches, something I never thought possible.

I make time to exercise and have become extremely dedicated to working out. 

I’ve also started making small changes to my diet. That’s been one of the hardest parts, but I’m working on it. I’ve had my fair share of obstacles and setbacks over the past year. I pushed through them, even at my lowest point. 

Friends and strangers (via Instagram and Twitter) often tell me how inspirational I am. Think about this: I can’t hop on a traditional treadmill or just go for a walk. I have to modify the majority of exercises I do. For example, I do push-ups standing up and Zumba sitting down. It’s not easy; then again, nothing worthwhile is ever easy. I have adopted a “no excuses” philosophy. I always say that if I can do it, anyone can.

So…what’s stopping you?

Independent woman?

I'm often taken aback when people ask if I can drive immediately after seeing me exit my vehicle by myself. I suppose I find it so odd because it's normal to me. I would never consider asking an able-bodied person exiting a vehicle the same question. They would most likely assume I had a screw loose or that I certainly must be joking. That being said, allow me to pose a question.

What is normal?

Myself and a few of my disabled friends were taught early on that we weren't "normal." I was fortunate enough to be mainstreamed into "regular" classes with "regular" children. Despite being in advanced and honors classes throughout middle and high school, I was under the label of Exceptional Student Education (ESE). To this day, I find myself using certain terms in regards to able-bodied persons. It's hard not to when you've been conditioned to do so.

So many times, I tell those I've met that my disability doesn't define who I am as a person. Often times, I believe myself.  Then there are times that I get frustrated with myself and even with my disability. The fact that I have to depend on others for such basic needs as putting on my shoes and leg braces and getting in and out of the shower is something I struggle with on a daily basis.

How is it I can get dressed, cook, drive and many other things on my own, but am not able to do those two things? It's very difficult to accept the fact that I may never be 100% independent. On the flip side, I'm only as independent as I am thanks to my mother. She literally shut doors in my face, just to make sure I could open them when I was by myself. For that, I'm thankful. Her favorite thing to say to me was, "What would you do if I wasn't here?" My first reaction was that I wouldn't be trying to do whatever it was that was giving me a hard time.

I now know that was not the correct attitude to have. I had to earn the independence that I do have and have to appreciate it daily. There won't always be an automatic door or someone to open a door for me, or someone to pick something up that's fallen. These minor obstacles are part of my day to day life along with a slew of others. However, I chose to focus on the positive.

I've been told that I make everything I do look so easy, so effortless. That couldn't be farther from the truth. As I've stated in a previous blog post, I have to think about everything I do, every motion I make. If I want to stand up, I have to count to three, then stand up. In essence, I have to prepare my brain for the next action my body's going to perform. While that can be challenging at times, it's almost second nature to me now.

Speaking of challenges, I encourage you to take five minutes after reading this and pick a daily task you always do. When you open that car door, stir the food you're cooking for dinner, or whatever the case may be, think about every action you do. How do you hold your keys? The spoon?

Now imagine doing that all day, every day. That is my day-to-day life as a dis-handi-capable person.

Inspirational?

Lately, I've had a lot of people tell me how inspirational I am to them. I simply smile and thank them. While I do want to inspire and influence people in a positive way, I've had a difficult time hearing that I am considered "inspiring" to some. There seems to be a gap between my expectations and reality. It wasn't until recently that I became very self conscious of the fact that I am the only one in a wheelchair in all the Zumba classes I attend. 

Whenever I walk into a class, I get looks from others. Maybe because I always stand in the front (more on that later). It's almost as though they're thinking, "Oh, she's gonna try Zumba." Once class starts and they realize I'm able to keep up with not only them, but the instructor, I'm no longer their focus. After class, a few will come up and compliment me.

The truth is that I'm there to exercise like they are, I just happen to do it sitting down. Being disabled, overweight or both, in my case, does not exempt you from needing to work out. It's taken me years to remember that. The topic of motivation is also often brought to my attention. "I wish I had your motivation," is a common phrase I hear. If seeing me work out despite my disability motivates you, great. However to me, it sounds more like, "Aw, look at you making the effort." I guarantee that if I were able-bodied, no one would give me a second look. 

That brings me back to why I stand in the front in my Zumba classes. The first reason is obviously so I can see the instructor. It's difficult to see from a seated position when you have people standing in front of you. The other reason, as I've mentioned in a previous blog post, is due to my Cerebral Palsy. Visual cues are extremely important. My brain takes a few seconds longer than most to process things. That can be extremely challenging in class.

So there I am in the front of the class while able-bodied people, who are regulars, stand in the back. There's plenty of room. Why not stand in the front? Then there are the people who simply just give up. I didn't give up during my first class, nor have I given up since. My arms have to do twice the work because I'm not using my feet as much as everyone else, which means barely being able to move them after class most of the time.

At the age of 8, I looked at my mother and told her that I was put on this earth to speak for those who can't speak for themselves. I'm here to show others that sitting down or standing up, nothing is going to stop me.

I can and I will accomplish everything I set my mind to.

Zumba for those who can't stand for prolonged periods of time or in a wheelchair

If you think you can't exercise for whatever reason, you're wrong. Zumba instructor Christina Clarke and I have taken routines from a regular class and modified them. 

You just need to take the first step to get healthy/into shape. Why not start out slow with these routines?

If I can do it, so can you!

Video #1 - Limbo by Daddy Yankee (6/22/2013)

Video #2 - Baila Baila - JenCarlos Canela ft Pitbull & El Cata (6/29/2013)

Video #3 - On the Floor - Jennifer Lopez ft Pitbull (7/3/2013)

My journey encounters a few stumbling blocks...

We all hit stumbling blocks at some point in our lives, whether it be at school, home, or work. They can be big ones or ones just big enough to be annoying. I've come across and overcome so many in my lifetime that I took them for granted. How does one take those for granted? Well, you just assume that whenever one does weasel its way into your life, you'll handle it. At least that was my philosophy until two months ago.

As I've previously mentioned, I'm currently attending physical therapy twice a week. The outlook in April was a very bright one. My walking was improving and nothing could stop me. On May 14th, I walked with crutches for the first time in my life. Before my therapist dropped me at the age of 10, the doctor's goal was for me to be able to transition from a walker to crutches. Twenty-five years later, that goal had finally been met.

While I was terrified, I was also excited and dare I say, in awe. When I started physical therapy in late January, I never imagined I'd be walking, let alone on crutches. Things were going well for about three weeks then one of those sneaky stumbling blocks firmly planted itself in my way. I noticed one weekend that I was unable to bear any weight on my feet and the most I could do was shuffle my feet. Pain relievers and Bengay weren't really helping the pain.

My therapist and I were equally confused as to what was causing the pain. After consulting a few other therapists, it was concluded that the way I use/walk on the crutches stretches my calf muscles. Due to the fact that I wear AFOs (braces on my legs), those muscles haven't really been used throughout my life. That, coupled with pushing myself a little too hard, was the culprit. Now that we knew what was causing the pain, the only thing left to do was place heat and Biofreeze on my calves and wait.

After what felt like an eternity (2 weeks to be exact), I was able to go back to the crutches. It was as though I had been walking all along, which I'm so thankful for.

Over the course of the two weeks, I was continually getting frustrated and annoyed with myself. I didn't understand why my "stupid" legs didn't want to cooperate. I wanted nothing more than to get up and walk and it wasn't happening. I couldn't even take two steps without my calves killing me. There were moments where I felt like all that hard work was for nothing. Then I realized something.

I'm not, nor have I ever been, a quitter.

Persistence has always been the key to my success and this time was no different. It's been roughly a month and a half that I've been walking with crutches again. So far, so good.

The next pebble I need to get out of my shoe is my fear and self doubt.