Dear beautiful woman,

You ever wake up most days, and you’re all smiles? Yeah, that’s a great feeling! The way I see it is, If you can get through 245 of the 365 days in a year being happy, then that’s a pretty good year to me. That possibly leaves you with 120 days of uncertainty.

How do you feel on a day-to-day basis? What are you thankful for when you wake up? Do you ever think for one second that you may not be here the next day? Scary thought, huh?

I woke up one morning in November of 2021, not feeling great. It was during the pandemic and I had a bad cough. I thought the Rona had taken hostage over me. It was just a miserable feeling. My body didn’t feel well. I knew something was wrong.

The doctor visit was a little bizarre to me. The doctor was prescribing medication to me without checking my lungs out with an x-ray. I asked the doctor “can I have an x-ray?” She replied” sure”. The X-ray results were in and it showed a shadow in my lungs. My body with a shadow didn’t make sense. What does that even mean? I tested negative for corona, strep, and flu. I could not figure out what was going on.

The insurance didn’t approve me yet for a CAT scan of my lungs. I felt a tug on my lungs, as if someone tapped me and said “we need a further examination”

Weeks later, I still didn’t feel well. I was at work feeling like I was having an anxiety attack. I never had one before so I couldn’t compare this feeling to anything else. My body was definitely speaking to me. I called an Uber and went straight to the hospital. My body was still tapping me and saying “get a CAT scan”. Sometimes your body can turn in t a Bully to make sure you understand it’s language.

“I can’t breathe, ma’am”, is what I stated to the doctor. To be honest, physically I could breathe fine but mentally, I could not. I decided to exaggerate just a little so I can get the answers that I was looking for. I was rushed into the machine and received a CAT scan of my lungs.

“FINALLY, let’s do this”, I said to my body. I could feel my heart beating in my chest. My body was still talking to me. After the scan, I was placed in the waiting room. Scans showed a mass that was near my heart since 2011, has become too big and I will need surgery to remove it.

I thought to myself “is this woman talking to me, because ain’t no way I had a mass since 2011 and I was never informed”. It’s 2020 now. I asked myself “could that be a mistake?”.

I continued to do further testing and was able to be seen by a surgeon. The surgeon stated that the cat scans show a mass near my heart and it needs to me removed.

I was alone in the doctors office trying not to cry. “I have two sons and I need to see them grow into the great young men that they are becoming”. I learned a true lesson of “when your body speaks, you need to listen”

My surgery was scheduled at another hospital. I couldn’t dare have surgery in a hospital that never informed me of my mass in the first place. My body rejected that surgeon and his theories.

With the help of my attorney that I worked for, I scheduled my surgery in the City for March 2022. I had an MRI on January 25th. That was my dads birthday. My body knew that I was going to be ok, just for the simple fact that I would get clear answers from a test that I am taking on my dads birthday. He passed in 2018 from colon cancer.

March 2021 came and I was cut open to hand my mass removed from around my heart. Once I was opened,unbox revealed that it was not near my heart, it was wrapped around my lung. It was huge. My body had a score of “3”and these hospitals scored “0”.
A thoracic surgeon was on board and he saved the day. I thought to myself “thank god I listened to my body. I would have never known”.

It was not a speedy recovery. I went from not knowing anything that was going on in my body to having a tumor that was non cancerous out of my body.

Healing was not easy. I had to go back to work while I was trying to heal. The people I worked for asked me “what’s taking you so long to heal?” A woman being cut down her breast, asking her what’s taking long to heal? Imagine that shit! I quit and didn’t look back.

I didn’t know that I had the strength to build myself back up. My body has been through plenty of other surgeries but not like this one. My lungs were collapsed during this surgery and that’s not easy. I didn’t know that it takes mental, emotional and physical strength to get yourself back together.

I have a scar down the middle of my breast and I felt that I would be embarrassed to show my body. It’s a scar of resilience, courage and fight. I fought for my body and I’m glad I did. I am not going to be embarrassed of what happened to my body ever. I’m here and I’m alive.

Listen to your body at all times. It speaks to you, because you simply wouldn’t know.

I didn’t really know how to go about this but: I have alopecia; this isn’t a haircut.
I know, I know it looks like I get this done-
but that’s not the case.
See its felt strange lately, with all of the “shorty I like your cut”
& “what’s your shave setting”; because when I first moved here it was a lot of “god bless you” & “are you okay” whispers of “ why would she do that”
..why would I be diagnosed with a disease at the age of five?
Um.
Now that the shoe is on the other foot; now that things are more ‘positive’-
I feel a pit in my stomach.
Because it negates the struggle to get here.
Assumptions that I’m riding a trend.
Which, I’m happy that those younger than me w/ the same disease, will receive less scrutiny..but what about me?
My story untold; still unable to book roles, from the lack of typecast provided for fully bald women:
living a normal life, not cancerous, not villainous, no powers..where?
I write my own.
Submit my screenplays, send publishing companies my pages.
And I know it takes time, but my voice is muted through the patience; my heart breaks while I wait-
but I grab the tape.
Allowing myself space from the rejection I face.
Because I know in its wake, awaits my fate.

– written on the L train from Jefferson to Union Sq @ 10:45pm- By Faith Williams

Instagram: few16
Email: faithel1994@gmail.com

You my temple, have been tampered with. However, you’re still standing. You’re still mine. You have been abused in all sorts of ways, yet you stand strong, and this is the reason I stand strong. Physically, emotionally, mentally, beside others, besides myself. Over and over, time and time again. You still heal and shelter me from this life I have been blessed with. You have gifted me with the strength I face this harsh world with. My armor, my shell.
You have gone from a structure I struggled to build with weight to a structure I try to remodel by losing weight all these years later.
I have carried children well past the mark of a delivery date, only to have them cut from me because they were too comfortable to leave naturally. You have given me the greatest gifts I have ever been bestowed with. My boys. Now you have blessed me with another child, a blessing only God can have granted us with when he implanted this child in you.
There are days I feel old and weak, too old to partake in this journey once more. You prove me wrong and get me though another day.
You heal quickly with no help from the medical professionals. That impresses me daily. The amount of pain you have encountered cannot be imagined or described. If I didn’t experience it, I wouldn’t believe it myself. I trust you now more than ever. Witnessing and mentally being apart of the recovery has led me to believe that the only person that has the power to destroy you is me. I will be better. Kinder. Gentle from now on.
I apologize for my mistakes. Please forgive me for my sins against you. I take full accountability for what you have endured and I now find myself having the need to not only forgive others, but most importantly, I must forgive myself first.
I want nothing more than to stop surviving and to start living the life you have carried me through. You have been my protector all these years and now it’s my turn to protect you.

The women he paints
In pastels but mostly blue
Reveling in intimacy
Bathing just standing
Bending without a care
At first glance
not models
But women, they are.
Muffin tops
and never toned
Humans, Women, Tender creatures.

Curves and love handles like vines
No start or finish line
All intertwining,
A beautiful mystery, I see.

I look at these paintings, mesmerized
Go home and see,
Steam from the shower confessing
Beautiful body, that is she.
Needs not look a certain way
Neither his nor hers
Only mine, how divine.

Why do they care
What I should wear?
The clothes,
Kissing and hugging my body
Is nothing compared
to the blissful smile I wear.

Endangered smile
Once again.
After 50 years or so,
They’re taking the reigns.
You take my body,
You take my everything,
Especially that once luminous smile.

Dear Body,

I love you because I severely dislike you.

At one point, I did not know if I would need a helmet to protect me from physically breaking a bone of yours. That is not my only bone to pick with you; it’s hard to swallow that everyday activities are challenging because of you: shoes, buttoning shirts, opening cans, etc., are taxing, but the younger me did not care about any of that: what I missed the most was sports.

Kids are taught to move their bodies from a very young age. Thus sports are encouraged. Signup sheets with a multitude of options are (sometimes)literally thrown their way.

Some are tossed in the garbage; some are run over to a parent or guardian as fast as Usain Bolt. Either way, as one of the only physically disabled kids in the school (that I could see), most people had a choice as to what they wanted to do with that sheet. I didn’t.

Before I even got the paper, my hopes and dreams of being on a team were crushed, like most tennis serves at Wimbledon, fast.

My feet actually did touch the grass of a baseball field, but only with the help of a “ball person” — yes, that is a play-on-words for a person who retrieves the tennis ball after it is hit into the net during a tournament.

I can’t participate like everyone else because My reactions are such I might get hit with the ball if I did not catch it.

Remember The saying “a picture tells more than 1000 words” (made famous by Henrik Ibsen, a Norwegian playwright)? When I was a kid, it told the whole darn story.

My reality was different than my classmates. My dreams, not. Like many people in my age group at the time, I wanted to be a professional athlete.

I still remember thinking a kid on my little league team would make the majors. Not only that, thinking he was Shohei Ohtani — arguably the greatest player in baseball ever.

This kid seemed to be as tall as the Empire State Building. The chances are not that high that he did make it (although my brain is pulling on every cell to convince me otherwise.)

The chances of me looking up if he did: pretty high! (insert laughing emoji)

Everyone and anyway who stepped foot on any field or court lived out a dream I could only imagine; however, one day, my physical therapist (PT) and I were practicing my walking and running speed.

I broke a personal record (I think it was 30 feet in 10 seconds) enough to convince my mom and PT that I should try my feet on the track team.

I practiced for about three days, running around the whole track once. My mom saw I was exhausted, and after the second day, she told my coach to take it easy on me. I probably did not run more than 30 feet in practice once after and quit.

So, I used the body of this article to moan and grown about my very own. How about I turn the eggs sunny side up — hopefully, that frown will turn upside down!

Now at days, I look at things from “the other shoe.”

Sports are about the team and the people who celebrate with you. No game-winning hit can compare to “lacing them up with my team, “trying to play the cards I was dealt and “tying the loose ends” that cerebral palsy hands me every day, and when I “lace them up,” one by one, we have won the Super Bowl.