Content Note: assault, sexual assault, rape, trauma, abuse, violence, rage
I had to calm down before I could write this post. It’s taken about a week and a half since I cracked, crying, unable to stop, unable to believe what so many people seem to think.
I mention this not to demonstrate my emotional fragility (I’m actually in pretty good shape), but to emphasise a point before we go any further: this is personal. I don’t just mean for me – I mean for women in general, or for people socialised as women. It’s personal, and it has a deep, heavy weight to it, one that I didn’t even realise until I finally caved under the onslaught.
But for people not affected by it, it seems to be a thought experiment. A mild sense of discomfort, a desire to play “Devil’s Advocate”, to run the numbers, to make a wry face and look offended. They dive eagerly into the discussion, tossing aside heart-wrenching personal experiences, ripping apart horrifying statistics of abuse and suffering, insisting that they and they alone are the logical ones, the sensible ones, and they demand attention right now.
This makes the discussion inherently unbalanced, right from the start. Continue Reading
When I go and see my personal trainer (also an exercise physiologist), or my physiotherapist, or my podiatrist, I inevitably end up apologising for and explaining my body, and how it’s put together.
These people have been treating me for a while, and it’s also literally their job to observe how I move. They know how my body is put together. Their job is to help me move more efficiently, with less pain.
I really don’t have to awkwardly, anxiously explain that my single-leg squat is super wobbly because my right leg has quite noticeable internal rotation and the leg is permanently twisted because years of bad motor habits mean that the bone and muscle have just grown that way. It isn’t possible to correct it – merely compensate for it.
Getting a diagnosis of ADHD at age 36 with a PhD and two degrees under my belt has thrown me for a loop, and no mistake. Of course, I increased the intensity of my reading, trying to understand what my brain is doing, why it makes life hard, and how the hell I got this far before I fell apart (i.e.: the past three years have been a disaster from an ADHD perspective).
It turns out that there are a lot of ways that people with ADHD can cope with their problems, mask the symptoms (and I’m still ashamed and embarrassed by a bunch of them, which I need to work through), and generally delay diagnosis. Even qualified psychiatrists can be fooled by these coping mechanisms, thinking that a person is coping a lot better than they are. Continue Reading
The last couple of years have been a glorious roller coaster of diagnosis, treatment, and rapid changes to my quality of life. I started out as a person who was constantly exhausted and in pain and unable to focus on anything, stressed and overwhelmed, watching my life slide away from me while I tried to get things done and failed, needing to rest and work out and rest and work out and everything else fell by the wayside.
It’s been frustrating, miserable, and overwhelming. It’s eaten money, and time, and career opportunities. I leaned heavily on Husband and my wonderful friends to drag myself through it all, trying to find a way to be awake, to not be in pain, to concentrate long enough to succeed at something. And without those friends, and certainly without Husband, I don’t think I’d have reached the end of this ride (not that I’m necessarily at the end, but I have all the big pieces of the puzzle).
And yet, I can’t regret it, because now I understand the shit that my body and my brain are pulling on me.
I’ve written frequently about how I’m a bendy individual, and how having a defective collagen gene or two has presented a multitude of difficulties and challenges. Ever since a physiotherapist first frowned at my feet and muttered under his breath, “Oh, where do we begin?” I’ve been aware that there’s something not quite right about how my body works.
For a long time, I thought there was nothing that could be done. I figured that all I could do was physiotherapy – strengthen the muscles that support my joints, build up my core strength in particular, make sure that I undertook activities that would train my dysfunctional proprioception (feedback from the rest of my body, knowing where I am in space, balancing).
A few years ago, I learned that hypermobility syndrome, or Ehlers-Danlos, depending on which moniker one ended up with, was a multi-systemic condition. This makes perfect sense. Collagen is a family of structural proteins distributed throughout the entire body. Defective collagen doesn’t just make you stretchy in your joints and skin: it affects temperature regulation, energy levels, immune response, gut function, urinary function, and so on. People with hypermobility syndrome can present symptoms from all of these areas or maybe just one or two.
But I still figured there was no point pursuing a formal diagnosis. It sounded expensive and troublesome.