My three-day break was starting the next day. But, I was too busy reading through an email about one of my graduate classes, to give it much thought. My eyes scanned through the lengthy syllabus and instructions on what to complete before the first class. Summer is over. Now, the changes feel real. While the weeks carried on to the next, it didn't truly feel like summer until I went to the beach on Thursday. I enjoyed a beautiful afternoon with friends and being near the wate

The silk pink ribbons wrapped around my ankles. I stood with my shoulders down, one hand gently placed on the wooden barre at the studio. I tried to go fully onto the toe box of my pointe shoes, but my feet still hurt. The pain continued as I proceeded to follow the instructed steps. What should have been more simple felt impossible for my body. I was only seventeen, had already danced en pointe for over a year. Though turns and combinations in center I never could master. An

A lady approached me at Target. I was browsing the clothing sections, when I quietly heard "excuse me." coming nearby. I assumed she was trying to walk by, but that wasn't the case. I rarely go shopping. But, when I do, I usually have a list and know exactly what I'm looking forward. This is because of the severity of pain and fatigue I experience when walking. If I'm on my feet too long (even as little as ten minutes), I may not be able to do as much the next few days. But,

When I was nineteen, I participated in a research study on chronic pain and art. It was conducted remotely through a university in California. The topic interested me as someone who lives with chronic pain and is passionate about the arts. From there, I sent a brief email to one of the students in the psychology department. After some emails back and forth on scheduling, I had a short interview. This was one of the first times I shared openly about my CMT with someone that