Between the ages of 9 and 16 I was on a myriad of prescription medication and labeled physically and mentally disabled. What began with antidepressants led to sleeping pills that led eventually to pain pills, the climax being prescribed oxicontine as a 110lb 16-year-old right when it hit the merket.
One day I met a doctor who was considered disabled, but he no longer took drugs. He excercised. You could see the ravage that his disability and years of drugs and idleness took on him. But he was building this new beautiful body by dillegently pursuing weight training. He even studied sports medicine and worked continually with olympic athletes.
Now I do yoga at a midwifery education and movement space. I actively create a space for women and families to explore the natural healing powers the body already possesses, breath and movement and meditation.
I am wary of pharmacutical healing practices and seek out naturopaths for my primary care.
I've taken responsibility of my health and my body and that has made not only a healthy, beautiful body, but also a full and meaningful life.
I have so many times felt drawn to telling my story, these fuzzy pockets of pain from my physically devastated entrance into adulthood. It's pretty scary and strange how it all happened. But maybe that is exactly why my story needs to be told. Silence prevent nothing, whereas truth may shed some light on the gross manipulation that a 'standardize' care approach took on my well being. May my following posts be read with an open heart and a clear mind.
