My story echoes many others I’ve seen; I was diagnosed with scoliosis at the age of 11. My pediatrician pointed out my spinal curve to my mom, and in a way, it felt all too familiar. My older brother, Forrest, was born with scoliosis. By the time I was diagnosed, he had endured an open back surgery showing limited improvement. Growing up, I knew about his struggles, but I had yet to grasp what that meant for me. I was informed that I would need to wear a back brace and was fitted for one shortly after.
All I could think was ‘Why me?’ In my world, this was the worst possible thing that could happen to a middle school girl. I would have to wear my back brace to school–how embarrassing. I refused to wear it. I didn’t want to. I could not get over the way I looked wearing it, or the way others looked at me. Everyone claimed they couldn’t notice unless I pointed it out. To this day, the reactions to finding out about my scoliosis remain unchanged. “I wouldn’t know unless you told me.”
When I reflect on the years I had to wear my back brace, I wish to tell my younger self how miniscule it really was. Since then, my older brother has had a full spinal reconstruction, my dad has been diagnosed with degenerative scoliosis, and I’ve come to the realization that my scoliosis doesn’t define me. Now, I compete in pageants despite my scoliosis, and I aspire to raise awareness and support funding for scoliosis research. My scoliosis has made me stronger, and I hope every person with a scoliosis diagnosis realizes that they are not alone in the way
that they feel.
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