Freedom of Voice

I am going to say this unapologetically and without the disclaimer I often feel the need to include: I detest when people refer to teachers, nurses, or any other public servants as heroes. I find it even more egregious when they are likened to superheroes.  That's not to say that I don't admire the hell out of people who continue to follow their calling and manage to do amazing things with very little, people who have had many of the vital resources stripped away and still pull off near miracles on a daily basis.  Do they do heroic things? Certainly. But, it's too much pressure to expect them to strap on a costume and complete feats of strength every single day.   They shouldn't have to be heroes in the first place. In fact, calling them heroes seems like a way to placate them, to keep them going when we ask them to keep doing better while giving them less and less.  This poem is dedicated to those people ready to step off a pedestal they never asked to be on....

There once was a girl with a hollow leg and an iron stomach. She could eat whatever she wanted  whenever she wanted, in any combo, without any ill effects. She became cheap entertainment for family members who would marvel at how much she could put down, her grandfather once making her a giant Paul Bunyan size breakfast and calling the neighbor over to marvel at how much food she could inhale even though she was so tiny. Her tall and skinny frame earned her the nickname "Bony Butt."  She learned over the years that food and weight are complicated, both tied to conflicting emotions such as happiness and guilt. She also learned that hollow legs turn into thunder thighs and bony butts can collect a lot of flesh.  More recently, she has learned that foods can harm or heal--and that it looks different for each individual. She has learned that she doesn't need to apologize for being picky about what she chooses to put down her gullet, for she is the one who pays the price when ...

Disclaimer: At the risk of becoming one of the parents in the hilarious Progressive commercials, I'm going to tell a little tale of an injury, not because I am looking for sympathy, but because of the lesson I learned from it. I won't, however, tell you what I ate or what time I woke up. Nor will I ask silly questions about technology or hang inspirational signs throughout the house. Promise.  I felt the "pop" inside my leg as I did banded low side shuffles, part of a DIY total body workout I pieced together on the Sunday before our 3-day anniversary staycation. My shinny shin shin was already screaming from leg day at the gym a couple of days prior, but I convinced myself it was nothing.  And then a took a few steps to return equipment to its rightful place. Ouch. I hobbled the quarter mile home, still talking myself off the ledge. You just need to stretch it.  This walk will help. It's fine. You're fine. Everything is fine.  I applied some ice and threw on a...