The Graduate


My graduation certificate is this t-shirt… which sounds lame until I tell you that OMG I FIT PROPERLY INTO A SIZE M.

“Graduating” from Physical Therapy ultimately means they’ve done as much as they can for me, but gosh darn if using a proactive verb as a parting word doesn’t color your glasses a little rose. All sarcasm aside, I am proud. They were able to teach me some fundamental notions of carriage – because of this I am deep now in a process of retraining my body to, well, accommodate itself.

And pilates. I’m learning some pilates in conjunction with the yoga that by now has proven itself time-honored. We’ve got a Reformer set up in the studio and it’s easy to use for a few minutes daily. As exciting as it is to set forth with a new catalog of functional information, I will miss the people I met (all of whom helped me in one way or another) at PT. It was an honor to work with them, and they can only begin to assume how deeply thankful I am.

That is not me on a Reformer.

That is not me on a Reformer.

I grew up unable to identify with pictures of human bodies in anatomy books… from an early age, I was overweight and didn’t have the same diagrammed shape laid bare in their pages. Things began happening – or didn’t begin happening – in discord with time-honored texts that weighed down my backpack almost as much as did a perception of being a poor translation of their innards.

The techs and therapists at Drayer helped me come to terms with having a body that deserves care… and knowledge, now, that those textbooks weren’t necessarily wrong.

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