Dodge and Weave

Tis the season to be merry ... 


I went t the grocery store on Friday. I had to buy a few ingredients for the Christmas Eve dinner I was cooking. (That cooking is a whole post by itself!) When I get to the store there was not a cart to be found! (even though Ashley Swore that no one would be grocery store, because all food shopping would be done already!) I ended up having to settle for one of those with the attached infant seat. Now, it's hard enough for me to see over and standard cart! In addition the front of the cart is where I, typically, put all my items. Being 4' tall I need to improvise so I can access everything.


Well, using a cart that I could not see over, coupled with piling all my items in a "seat," made for an impossible trip. No one moved around me like they should have. I was in this, perpetual, dance of dodge and weaving. Needless to say a few people go hit! Hey if you don't dodge, I can't guarantee that I'll weave in time. 


While, I was in the toilet paper aisle I couldn't reach the four pack on sale!! That's typically not a huge deal for me. I turned to a man walking toward me and said "Sir, could you please had me the pack of toilet paper right there?" His eyes looked up at the toilet paper, then darted to me. As he glanced back up to the paper he said "I'm in a hurry" and walked past me! Now, unless you had plans to meet Jesus himself, how much of a "hurry" could prevent you from handing me something!


Every shopping trip for me includes, at least, 3 strangers handing me things. I've never had anyone tell me NO!!! 

Is it wrong that leaving the store I hoped that he fell, forgot to buy something, ran out of gas or got a flat tire? I wanted something to happen that would really cause him to be late!! 

Mirror image

While Christmas shopping yesterday, I saw a woman. Not just any woman ... a woman like me. She was a "little person" (have I mentioned how much I hate that term?) But by definition she was. And she was in a wheelchair. In in an odd, and almost, awkward moment we stared at each other. 


In that moment I felt not alone. Judging from her smile I think she felt the same feeling. Running into another "Little person" is not like a red head running into another person with freckles. It was powerful and has far more energy.  There is a stronger vibrational pull between people who relate with other people who always stand out. No matter how hard we try to blend in. When you run into someone who stands out in the same obvious way there is a sudden sense of finally blending in. 

Ripples in a pond

I'm sitting here in Starbucks, job searching. After the hustle of the holidays I am enjoying the quiet.... well not so quiet. As I eavesdropped on a lady a few chairs away (Not all my fault she had that cell yell thing going for her!) I over-heard that she was a teacher. This was my opportunity, and man did I jump on it! I truly believe that you find yourself in the right place at the right time. 


I introduced myself to this extremely sweet woman, I explained that I was a public speaker, and offered to come in a speak to her classes. After a week of climbing on shelves, putting small children at ease, with my "short legs" explanation, I realized that this is why I was here. Not just here in Starbucks ... Starbucks is a reflection of a greater picture. My existence is. I'm here, on this planet, in this country, at the right time. 


In a world that is tearing its self apart due to diversity there needs to be the pillar that stands quietly in the center of the storm. I feel like it's time for me to e that pillar. I'm not overstating my life, or trying to present myself as some Joan of Arch. Believe me, I will not be burned at the stake for any cause! However, I have stood in the center of this for my entire life. 


I've found so much inspiration in people who have embraced the fact that they're different, and were willing to put themselves out there. 


Kyle Maynard, Joey Dipolo, Christopher Reeves, and and Kara Ayers have all been droplets in my pond. Thus, they have generated the ripples that are beginning to reach far beyond myself. I am greater than my four feet. The sum total of my life is not 91 broken bones, and 15 years confined to a wheelchair. I hope that those numbers eventually evolve into infinite lives touched and endless years of inspiration. 


I'll never change the world. (I've come to terms with that.) But perhaps I am here to change someone's world. 


The Onesoure door slammed on my face, and that was because this is the door that needed to open. Now that it's open ... I just need to step through it!

The sand is running quicker than I can catch it.

I feel like I'm running out of time. I'm not sure what the time that escapes me would be for. I just know that it's running out. I'm so behind the, proverbial, 8 ball. It took so long for me to get up on my feet (literally) that I lost so much time. Time to become ... I missed the years it takes to grow into yourself. So here I am, at 30 playing "catch up." I looking for a career, discovering who my friends are, and learning who I am. I'm doing all this while trying to forgive and let go of the people and moments that have harmed me.


The scars I bare ar on my psyche, as well as my body. For years the physical scars defined me. It was all I felt I had that allowed me to stand out. Many of my emotional scars are a direct reflection of the one on my body. They mirror each other, and I'm just now, learning not to look to that mirror to see a reflection of myself. 


So here I am ... 30 and free. I'm seeking the things that I was not able to seek before. And slowly, I'm earning them. One small discovery at a time. I stopped looking for the perfect life, because I don't have enough time to catch that all and once. I'm seeking the perfect moment.

Invisable

It's so hard to feel like "nothing." In a world full of "somethings" I feel like I'm not even seen. I feel expendable. There's a purpose that I severe for a short period of time- when that service is over, I'm fade into the background of life.


Eventually, after years of fading you become non-existent. That's where I am, and who notices? No one! How'd did I end up here? I was some of everything, and suddenly I'm all of nothing.  I wanted so much, but I got nothing. As much as I was sure, I was equally confused. As much as I was confident, I was extremely insecure. I don't know who I am, because of all that I tried to be.


I'm in love with a man who'll never be in love with me. I long for a career, which I've been trying to find for ten years. Those are things I've, almost, accepted I'll never have.  Some might call that "giving up." Some may call it "facing reality." I view it somewhere in between.


How be do you become "something?" College didn't do it. Job after job is not doing it. Friends won't do it. Men won't give me the opportunity to do it. So I do what I do. I chasing the things that seem unattainable. I push beyond my limits. I defy my comfort zone. I make the world uncomfortable, so I can make the world let me in.


I got in. I fit in. Now I just need to be something within.

Personality in waves

I sit here in this hospital room, trying to keep myself awake. Finding myself alone, bored and mentally exhausted.

-This is not ortho
- This is not Heart
- this is not even a true hospitalization. - I'm here being monitored, in the hope of finally getting my seizures under control. Something that has been ever evasive for the past five years. This feels like ghost hunting, of sorts. There is all this technology, recordings in multiple mediums all with the hope of "catching" something.

So I sit and wait. When the waiting become unbearable: I sit and I watch. The EEG monitor is right in front of me. So for hours I've been watching all the peaks and valleys that comprise my Brain activity. I sit in awe as I wonder what each line means. What the spikes and deeps of the thin black like means. I almost wonder if who I am can be revealed in those lines. - I doubt it, but it's still neat to wonder. I've tried altering my thoughts and actions to watch the changes in that rhythmic black line. Needless to say, I have no clue what I'm looking. Like a ghost if it's there I can't see it. - That's the frustrating part of this whole thing ... of my whole life. Never being able to see what was coming next, or what was happening right in front of me. One door lead to another and another and ... before I knew it I was deep in this rabbit hole. A maze of endless tests, medical mysteries and miracles all at the same time.

As I was reviewing my medical history with an admitting nurse here, we reached April 10, 2003 - The day that essentially brought me here. That's a day I celebrate and loathe every year. That was day of my Brain Hemorrhage, and subsequent surgery. - As we reached the end of my tale, she turned and said " You're very lucky. That scenario, typically end well." - She may be right, but there's no telling yet- I am not in my final act. How do we know that, that false ending was not just another door inside my rabbit hole?

I often wonder where my story will end. When will I be out of "war stories" to tell? I want the day when the most exciting story I have to tell, about the prior year, is how wonderful my trip to Tahiti was. 

My Neurologist commended me for "living a normal life" in spite of the threat of having a seizure, at any moment. To that I had no response. A mere chuckle was sufficient. I don't live a normal life, and I'm OK with that. Let's face it: the standard for normal does not entail fighting to keep yourself awake until 4am, while having your head feeling like a sixth grade Science project. 

I go through every day living my life. And today this is my life, and tomorrow may be something else. Good, bad or indifferent, there will be something else. Like the lines on the monitor before me. - The only thing that is constant is that the wave changes - every single pattern, is not a pattern at all. It is more of a rhythmic mosaic. That, almost, poetically sums up my life.

Today it's Brain Waves. Tomorrow it might be a Seizure. Next month it could be a broken leg.

But one day ....

It will be Tahiti 

I got this great pair of heels, the type of heels that everyone notices, and compliments you on. I wore them for the first time today. I felt so sexy, as I put them on and walked out my front door. However, as the day wore on I started realizing just how "unsexy" I actually looked. Every time I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection on a glass door- I felt ridiculous. I thought I looked great, but I realized that I "waddled." I was walking like a penguin. I don't walk with the most grace as it is and the 3 inch heels just mad that blatantly obvious.

I went from feeling hot to feeling awkward in 15 seconds. And to top it off: the shoes hurt like hell!!

It's been a long time ...

I was in a high school today. It has 15 years, since I began HS and 12 years since I graduated. It was so interesting, to be among that "student dynamic." I don't think, when My life was that atmosphere I knew what my peers really thought. I always, wanted to know what was behind those stares, and awkward glances. I didn't have the guts to ask than.

I'm 30 years-old, and got the opportunity to ask ... there not, my peers anymore, but the questions, thoughts and opinions are still very much the same. I don't set out to be an "inspiration." Although, that comes with the territory. I just like dispelling those myths. I reached those kids, faster and more effective, than ever. I was almost surprised, and impressed by how candid, and open they were. Yet how appropriate they seemed. If you want to see the world with unbiased truth, look at it through the eyes of a child. Ask them what they think. Let them ask what they want to know.

I heard some uncomfortable things today. Much of it I've heard before. But what I know is ... don't ask the question, unless you want the answer. I didn't always feel as comfortable as I do know. I asked, and answered things that I typically don't get asked, and don't address. I hope in doing so the 75-ish kids I spoke with left school feeling much more secure in who they are, and all the things they'll never be.

If someone told me then ...

Osteio
   Osteiogenesis
     Osteiogenesis Imperfecta
             Translation, in it's purest Latin form : Imperfect bones from the beginning.
Layman's terms Brittle Bone Disease. 

What does all this mean? Well who the hell knows. 25 years ago it was as much of a mystery as it is now. I spent more energy, than I care to admit, attempting to turn imperfect bones into a perfect life. Let me tell you how well that worked. I embraced my imperfect bones, years ago. In fact I love the stories it gives me tell, and relish the opportunities when I get to tell them. The doctor in me still thrives on "scar stories." 

If someone told me then to stop chasing perfection, I wouldn't have spent 30 years feeling that I've failed. However, if I didn't spend 30 years feeling that I've failed how would I be in a position to show people that they haven't?

Ressilency

The question I'm asked most often but dread the most is "how do you do it?" The truth is I don't know. I guess, because I always have. I know no other way of life. You just get up and keep going. I guess if I were sitting on the opposite side of my life, I'd want to know the same thing.

There's no manual for life, If there were every one's life would be a hell of alot easier.

So I find it ironic that I've been asked to give of a speech on resiliency. That's something that I can't teach. That's something that can't be taught. It's a form of courage, that you will embrace or you wont.

I threw myself head first into my life, with reckless abandon. Not the kind of recklessness that leads you down the wrong path. Instead, my thought was that not much could really get any worse. I had to do something. So ... I did everything. In the process I broke 91 bones- 91 bones that would have broken anyway.

There's do and there's don't. I often find myself on the side of do.

My body is covered with scars. Each scar maps a  place that was cut into, a place that I handed over to someone, with the hope that it would lead some where "better." If you follow the trail of my scars, you essentially follow my evolution. But what allows you to follow the evolution of my spirit?

I'd rather have my body covered with scars, than spirit broken.- Broken by all the scars of broken wishes, and lost dreams of all the things I never did.

I guess that is resiliency.

There's the world ... There's the home and than thaere's me ...

I just had a dispute with my father, about my desire to buy a home and customize the kitchen, Why is that a concept too hard for him to grasp? I guess my situation is impossible to understand until you live in a world that does not "fit" you.

Everyday I exsist in a world that was not designed for my exsistance. After a day full of climbing and reaching I don't want to come home to a place where I have to do the same. It's exhausting to drag a step stool around my kitchen and climb up and down just to cook a chicken breast!

My life is taking on a new direction and I'm finally starting to feel that there are places where I can "fit"

Mom, You were supposed to write this. The foreword to to this very book, was to be written by mom. What I learned through the process of this reflection, and illustration on all the years that are my life is simple: My mom already wrote the foreword. On July 21,1980 my mom started this story. That is the day that my mom gave me life. Every breath I took, fall I had, and cast I wore was because of that fateful day in the summer of 1980. My mom was the start, support and reason for all that I am.

Am I strong? Certainly. Am I fragile? Of course. That is the paradox of being Taniya. What was the constant, that steadied me was mom. Every time she drove me to hospital, wiped away my tears, picked me up when I fell, encouraged me to succeed and held me tight when I believed that I failed she was writing. She had no clue, that she was writing the foreword to my life. She is just as, if not more, responsible for the pages and chapters that follow.

On July 21, 1980 my gave birth to me. She gave me the opportunity to live and breath. She gave me strength and determination. She made every success and moment of "overcoming" possible. And on July 3, 2009 my mom gave me MY LIFE . She held her head high, and silently said "Now, I wrote the foreword: it's time for you to go forth and finish your story."

The pages, months, and years that follow are her's as much as they are mine. nd thus ... here is OUR story.

OK Vs. Alright

I find it so, insanely, hard to temper being a person born of strength with some major physical vulnerabilities. I deny those vulnerabilities until the force their way into the open. I try so hard to maintain the illusion of pure strength and fortitude. I don't want to "get by." I am a woman determined to thrive. The thought of anything else is infuriating.

I had a seizure at work the other day. There was no denying that. People saw that first hand. I wish that I could just pretend that it never happened. It is an event that has drawn unwanted, and undeserved attention to myself. I want the attention to always be for my accomplishments. I often feel like those fleeting moments of praise are because I've accomplished "in spite of and not because of. I showed up to work on time, the day after the seizure. I got accolades for that. Aren't I supposed to show up on time for work? I did nothing special.

There is a difference in "OK" and "Alright." I find OK has  a sense of complacency weaved within it. Alright is the answer I choose to have.

I'm Alright with my seizures
I'm alright being back at work.
I'm alright with my vulnerabilities.
I'm working on being Alright with my physical abnormalities.

Alright means there was never an issue. Alright is where everyone starts. "OK" is where one ends up. I started my life as ALRIGHT, and regardless of what happens in the middle I will not reach the end of my life "OK"

My physical truth is not my personal truth.

I found myself in an elevator with a woman who was disabled, herself, this morning. We were both on or way to a radiology office. She turned, and looked at me and Good job Dick Tracey, where did you park your car?" I didn't get mad, I felt a tremendous amount of compassion for her. She obviously was only capable to recognize physical truth. That means that she can only see her own physical truth, as well.

I try so hard not to allow my physical truth to become my personal truth. That's harder than it sounds. How do you not become what you so obviously are? I still don't have the answer to that. At my very basic understanding of the concept, I live everything else ...

No balls no babies

... I love that quote. That's my motto of sorts. I want success and I'm 4' tall. Without guts I get nowhere, and that's been something I've known since I was little. Therefore, I can, and do out work just about any one person.

I Don't believe in luck and I don't believe in mistakes. Win lose or draw it was all my choice to decide. Many people argue this point with me, but if you really think about it you'll see it's true. No matter what your situation the right preparation, determination and work will land you exactly where you want to be! If I waited for luck to get me here I'd still be waiting! Let's face it "luck" really wasn't on my side to begin with. I decided at 5 or 6 to compete and win every single day. Losing was never an option. Because I never saw that as an option, failure was obsolete.

When  you're of my stature, and my background you have to live "big." Everything I do and say has a "little extra." I tend to be over the top from time to time. That may be to my detriment. But who knows? Again that has been a CHOICE I made.

I don't mind being over the top. (after all I studied theatre!) I like to stand out on my own terms. I like to control how and when I'm on display. If that means dancing in the aisle at Target, or singing show tunes to a manager ... No balls no babies.

I've recently been told to stop trying so hard. Maybe I do work too hard, and place too much pressure on myself. However, slowing down and relying on luck to move things along organically is not a choice, I know, I'm ready or capable of making ...

I can't

As I watch my two-year-old neice grow and change, I quickly realized that we are at the "I can't" stage in her development. The minute she tries something that may be difficult for her, or she fails at: her first response is to whine "I can't. The term I can't is born out of frustration, and simply translates into "I'm tired of trying."

Don't we all feel like that at some point? To see that demonstrated by a two-year- old makes me so angry. I quickly deny her help and say " yes you can." She eventually becomes more frustrated that her pleas are going ignored, than she is by the task at hand that she quickly reaches her victory.

I can't was never a part of my, daily, vocabulary. Mainly because it was not option. I refused to give myself that "out." In and out of hospitals, I clearly saw children who were given that as an option. Some rightfully needed it, some were just given it and relied on it. I didn't want to be the kid who didn't do anything because "I can't" I saw the depth of regret that could turn into. At six and seven I knew that I wanted to be more than what I was. I wanted to play with more than I was given.

I had a desire to transcend far beyond the limitations thrust upon me.So life was not about "I can't" it was like I have to.

My neice got me thinking are we ever limited? Or do we limit ourselves. I believe the later to be true. So then the question arises why would we limit ourselves? I think the biggest part of human nature is to avoid failure. That has exsisted since the dawn of time, and not something easy to evolve out of. To give up feels much better than failing. We control giving up. Failure is something that "happes." While giving up is something that we decide.

A conscious decision to continue, in spite of adversity has to be made, and commited to. How many of us have said we can do something, only to concede the moment we feel out of our depth? I think we would all admit we have been guilty of that at one poit or another.I'm no exception. However, I know if I can't than it wont ever happen. That's not acceptable.

I went to the grocery store the other day, and that was far more frustrating than I wanted it to be. I felt like everything I wanted was, about 2 feet over my head. I stood in asile waiting for people to come down and join me in the asile. Mom's with children, men who had no clue what they were in the store for, and store employees were all targeted by me. "Can you hand me blueberries?" "Can you see what flavors of hummus are on that top shelf?" Some looked at me. like I was insane. Some people were clearly uncomfortable with my request. I thought to myself "I need to ask you to hand me a box of waffles, but you're uncomfortable.?"

I left the strore frustrated, because I was there almost 2 hours, and only bought 60 dollars worth of groceries. As I was loading the bags into my car, 1 at a time, a man approached. He said "M'aam Can I help you?" I almost said "No, I got it." Which is my typical default response. Instead I accepted his offer. It was so nice to be offered  be help, and not feel like I was begging for help. He put all my bags in my car, and I pulled out with the biggest smile on my face!

Irony wrappeed in a contradiction

People call me "strong" and that sounds like nails on a  chalk board to me. I'm not "strong." (Or at least I'm not the personification of what I view as strong.) I falter, I crack, and allow myself to break. I feel things, and am unable to summon the words to express so  I push it down and wait for those feelings to subside. I grapple with moments, days, at times, weeks of feeling like I failed. I still find myself beating up for "falling short."

I liked being seen as "tough." I love telling my scar stories. Anyone who provides a listening ear will hear of all 91 broken bones, the blood and guts of a heart surgery, and the barely escaped with my life Brain surgery. The irony is that the things I feel validate my toughness are the very things that render my body weak and easily broken. How do I find the one ounce of toughness in my most fragile moments.

Courage ...

I draw on courage and my fearlessness. The outside world interpurts that as strength when, in fact, they are two totally separate things. I gave up strenth years ago, because that didn't get me anywhere. If I had a nickle for everytime someone told me "hang in there kiddo it will be better." I would be a self-made millionaire. I also would not have done ANYTHING. I'd still be holding on, with all my "strength" waiting for things to be "better" Things got alot worse long before they began to get better. I learned real young only courage can move you beyond your circumstance. All the strength in the world is useless if you're afraid. So lived by falling, and jumping back up KNOWING I would immediately fall again. I fell, and fell and fell. I had casts removed only to break something else on my way out the doctor's office. So I took a deep breath got a spaking new cast and tried walking out the doctor's office again. I taught myself to rollerblade while only being able to walk using crutches. And yes ... I fell ... alot!

I navigate the world staring at people's crotches, drive a car, while under treatment for seizures, walk through dark parking lots knowing I can fit inside a trunk, break bones and still take a jiu-jitsu class, wrestle with my neice and want to sky dive. I find myself more afraid of aliens, than any of my real life "dangers"

I'm composed of 2/3 courage and 1/3 fearless stupidity. However, this cocktail has gotten me through 30 years. I guess it works. It's so ingrained in me that I couldn't stop living like this, even if I tried.

So please save words like "strong." for people truly deserving. I'm just a woman, who started as a girl with an incredibly fragile body. A girl who over compensated for that by throwing caution to the wind and live each day, fearlessly believing that each time you fall it only hurts for a short time. Eventually you stop fearing falling and then it virtually happens without you even noticing ....

When the world stops turning the only choice you have is to SPIN

The only thing easier thenstanding still is actually walking backwards. How do you find the strength to move forward when all the happiness and joy you recall is in your past? I want so badly to just walk back there. ... Hold my head up high and just walk into years gone bye ...

The only thing that stops me from walking into my past is the idea that your waiting arms just may not be there!

Answers to my most frequently asked question!

Where do you shop?

Now I'm just like any woman ... I LOVE to shop! I love clothes and shoes, more than  naturually healthy! I like to think that I have good style, so it's flattering when people ask me where I shop. However, I know the real question is : "Where do you FIND clothes?" So I'll let you in on my secrets.

It's blatantly obvious that this world was not made for me, and women like me. My mom was very clear that the world was never going to "fit" me. I litterally had to "rise up" to meet the world. and that's what I've done. Nobody sees the everyday things that I do, in my everday life, to fit the world. You never see the step stool that I drag around the kitchen to make dinner. Very few see me climb up shelves at stores to reach what I need. When my spiderman routine fails I resort to throwing things to know what I need off the higher shelf. Very few have asked to look inside my car, to see how I drive. Although, I know most are curious. So the most apparent thing that people do notice is the way I dress!

From the waist up I am the size of an "average" 30 year old woman. I wear a size medium in my shirts, and shop in the junior and misses sections of stores. ('m probably gonna need to give up the junior's section pretty soon! (shopping in the junior's section was on the list of things to stop doing once you're 30!) From the waist down is a totally different story. I used to wear children's pants, and just have them taken up slightly.  But I am not built like that anymore. I filled out in areas that 9-year-olds don't even know they have.

I hate nothing more than having to pay to have clothes altered. That gets expensive, and prevents me from buying any pants with detail below the knee. It was clear that was not going to work, for me. So I decided to try women's capris ... BINGO! Capris fit me like pants. Lucky for me they make lots of styleys of capris and gaucho pants! I've got them in denim for jeans, khakis and even dress. I only have 2 pairs of dress pants that I've had taken up. Then I wanted to wear capris, that would actually be capris on me. In come Bermuda shorts!! This became a huge fashion statement. For me, like magic, they were capris!

Dresses took a little less creativity. Knee lengh dress fit me like gowns. (I have 3 of these.) Dresses that I want to be "short" or of cocktail length .. like th one I wore to my 30th ... those are a bit harder. I found if you go into neighborhoods that cater to woman who don't exactly want to look "classy" VOILA!

Shoes have been my biggest taskI used to fight through shleves of kids shoes looking for the one pair that didn't have barbie, lights, or obnoxious flowers as their main feature. Now some kids shoes do work. Most of my sandles come from the girls section of Target. My heels ... I found a wonderful store in CA, that I shop on the web. They make shoes for litle women. All of my heels are from there www.Cinderellaofboston.com.  They're a bit pricey but they give me the opportnity to wear great shoes, that compliment a great outfit and feel like a woman ...

And that is how I do it!

Stress of success

I've always had an extreme fear and hatred for failure. This was  true only for my own failures. I avoided failure like the plague. Sometimes I'm not sure if I was actually striving for success or running from failure. They may sound like the same thing but they thing, but they are not synonymous.

You may arrive at he exact point but one one is fueled by fear, and the other is driven by hope. The irony is that you need a certain amount of fuel to actually drive.

I have a great opportunity, to be successful, before me yet I'm terrified that the opportunity is not afforded to me. * can't see into the future, so why do I fear that this opportunity is not actually in my future? Somehow, I see it so clearly for everyone else. And then I remind myself that I cannot see into the future. 

So it is in this moment that I ask, once more ... I'm I afraid of my own failure of stressed out over an opportunity for greatness? 

When we learn how to fly we forget how to walk ...

I'm used to the uphill climb, and then the glory of soaring once I reach the top... or at least the brief feeling of soaring. That only lasts until I find the next hill to climb. It's been years since I've truly felt challenaged. Sure I face the everyday challanges, but the last time I really wanted something,  and put forth effort to actually attain it is a far off memory.

Now there is something that I want, and people still attempt to make me feel as inadequet as ever. I almost forgot how much, often people underestimate me. I'm not sure if the fact that people underestimate me should shake me or strengthen me. Does an outside doubt mean that the world views me as weak? Or does it prove that the world sees my strengths and recognizes that I'm a true contender. 

Do you see me as a threat? Maybe you should!

This is me

My name is Taniya. I am 30 years old. I have Osteogenesis Imperfect, OI as it's commonly called. Even more commonly it's referred to as "brittle bone disease."

Let's get through the specifics (the boring medical stuff.) OI is a genetic disorder that affects the type I Collagen the body produces. That Collagen is, either, insufficient or of poor quality. This becomes a disease that spills over into all connective tissues. In my case it was not only my bones that were under attack: I had a blood vessel in my Brain rupture, a heart valve go bad. Interspersed in there were 91 broken bones.

In a nutshell that is the "definition" of my disease. My struggle has always been how NOT to allow it to be the definition of my name, my being and my story.