11 Big Lessons I've Learned as a Little Person

Monica M. Taddeo

Description

Monica navigates both physical and emotional challenges through her story, 11 Big Lessons. Facing physical pain, discrimination and harassments, Monica turns these harsh instances into big takeaways that can be applied to anyone’s life. Some lessons need to be learned the hard way in order to be truly understood.
Being born into a world, where fitting in was not an option, triumphs and defeats are not uncommon in Monica Taddeo’s life. Born with achondroplasia, a form of dwarfism, this New York Author chronicles her life from her youngest years to the present with the life-changing lessons she has learned along the way. As young as three, Monica underwent her first major surgery followed up by in her tween years undergoing extended limb-lengthening surgeries as well as other corrective surgeries into her later life. Over twenty surgeries and many lessons later, Monica continues the journey to find her true self through her determination, strength and courage.

Sujets

• Personal Memoirs
• Determination
• Biography
• Strength
• Dwarfism
• Autobiography

Informations

• Publié par: Balboa Press
• Date de parution: 13 mars 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9798765236291
• Langue: English

Extrait

11 BIG LESSONS I’VE LEARNED AS A LITTLE PERSON

LESSONS FOR THE TALL, SMALL, AND ALL THOSE IN BETWEEN





MONICA M. TADDEO









Copyright © 2023 Monica M. Taddeo.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.



Balboa Press
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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well- being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.



ISBN: 979-8-7652-3614-7 (sc)
ISBN: 979-8-7652-3629-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022920674

Balboa Press rev. date: 02/16/2023



CONTENTS
Lesson 1 Lighten your soul: it’s kind to ask for help.
Lesson 2 Kindness is a sign of strength; harshness only shows weakness.
Lesson 3 When the world makes you feel small, you’ve got to fight big.
Lesson 4 Pain comes in all forms—none worse than another.
Lesson 5 Nobody else owns your narrative; keep those who know your true story close.
Lesson 6 Scars hold stories, even the scars we cannot see.
Lesson 7 You only get one body: make it a goal to measure up.
Lesson 8 Breaking can be beautiful.
Lesson 9 Your challenges will be different; your joys will be too.
Lesson 10 You won’t fit in, and ultimately, you won’t want to.
Lesson 11 You will do great; you will be great; you are great.

About the Author



LESSON 1
LIGHTEN YOUR SOUL: IT’S KIND TO ASK FOR HELP.
Simply by starting to read this book, you are already finding help in a way and looking for lessons or ways to better yourself. You may even just be looking to relate to someone else, someone like you, or someone unlike you. But I guess first we have to ask ourselves, What is help? It can come in so many shapes and forms. For our purposes, we will define help as something that someone can do to make one’s life easier or better. This isn’t the same as a favor; rather, it is simply a selfless gift that people can offer to one another. Something that requires no responsibility but instead is given freely because one can. When it all comes down to it, why would we not do what is best for those around us?
On the other hand, asking for help is often seen as a weakness, and to those who are already looked upon as lesser than or weaker than, it’s not a step we often want to take. It can be seen as a crutch that is taken advantage of, or even something that is completely depended upon. We are here to change this view. This lesson is not just for people of similar stature but for all those needing some assistance but hesitating to ask out of fear or embarrassment. It’s for those hardheaded folks who refuse to ask for help as they preach independence and base their self-worth on that. It’s likely these same people who refuse to ask for assistance are the ones who really need it and would benefit from it the most.
When you are younger, asking for help is just what you do. There is no burden of guilt that comes with asking your mom to help you blow-dry your hair for a special holiday or asking your dad to open the jar of peanut butter that was closed just a bit too tightly. As a young person, you usually have people around you to help you no matter where you go. As we become older, it seems like fewer people are there to help, or at least fewer are offering to help in exchange for nothing; but if you look closely, there are still many helpers out there.
Unfortunately, and in this case only, having a strong sense of empathy for those around us can hinder us. Usually, empathy is kindness and compassion for others, but when it comes to asking for help, it can be more of a heavy weight we carry. Before I ask for help, I often have to think, Am I being a burden or a bother to this person? Should I just try another way before annoying anyone else?
“Burden,” “annoying,” and “bother”—all words that have run through my self-talk too many times before. The list goes on and on. At the end of the day, your self-talk can convince you to not to ask for help, but that does not mean it’s the truth. You have to know that you need to lighten your soul. It’s kind to ask for help.
Often, in my experience, help comes in the form of embarrassment. Ever since I was a child, I was taught to be independent, which is what all parents want their children to be and all children want of themselves. It wasn’t until I was a little older that I realized the discrepancies between my situation and that of my peers. In my younger years, I was oblivious to any differences at all, or I wasn’t made to see them yet.
Then at the young age of seven, I could no longer reach items in school that my peers could. This included items in the lunch line, shelves in the classrooms, and parts of the board. I would try to eye which part of the chalkboard I could reach to see if I should even raise my hand to volunteer to write up an answer, but usually, I estimated incorrectly and would come up short. I would take that dreadful trip to the board, not be able to reach where the question was written, and write the answer down on the chalk or marker tray. It felt like defeat walking back, with my head hung low. Then I would look back at where my answer was compared to everyone else’s. My teachers, who always meant well, would usually move my answer up for me. This help was meant to be kind, but it did not feel great. I felt embarrassing. I felt heavy, and I felt as though I was not enough.
The most memorable part of my life as an elementary student was needing help to reach the water fountain. I would usually just skip the water fountain after gym or recess, pretending I was not thirsty. We’d come back after a game of dodgeball or scooter races with beads of sweat on our faces, but nope, I was fine. My dad, a teacher at the school, and my mom had a stool placed at the hallway water fountain for me. I was then able to easily drink from the fountain, but just seeing the stool reminded me that I was different. It was a constant reminder that I needed help with something that none of my classmates did. It was a constant reminder that I was different and that normal fixtures were not made for me. This was a heavy lesson to carry as a child, but it would have to be learned eventually. It wasn’t until I would see other kids using it, even if they didn’t need it, that I felt more comfortable and grateful that my parents had done this for me. This was my first experience with equity that I can remember, and definitely my easiest.
Forget about a small stool, though; my feats and lessons would become bigger as I grew up in a school that was not very handicap friendly. Once I was in middle school, I began a series of limb-lengthening surgeries. This would leave me wheelchair-bound for two years between many different procedures. The option of being homeschooled was the normal route to take while undergoing these procedures, but it wasn’t a road I was ready to travel down. I knew I at least had to fight to go because school was my life, and I lived to see my friends. I could not accept this idea that I was not going to school, even if it meant having constant cramping pains, training my bladder, or the sheer complications that come with going to school in a wheelchair. Pain was not about to stop me from trying.
Arriving at school, I had to enter through the band room, as it was the only entrance that was level with the ground. I would swerve my way past music stands, xylophones, and the large piano in the front of the room before reaching the hallway. There was no elevator in the building to get me to the second floor. This is where a lot of embarrassment came into play. My classes were generously moved to the first floor, which was not so fun for my peers to have to be downstairs with the younger kids. This left me feeling sorry for them and carrying around extra guilt in my chair as I knew their classes were moved just for me.
Three classes—home economics, technology, and library—could only be held on different levels because of the classroom setup. This forced my mom, my mom’s friend Carol, and my dad to carry me up and down the stairs each and every morning for the first period of the day. I always hoped we would get it done before the bell rang so that no one would see me dangling from their arms and looking helpless. Instead of dreading this, I should’ve been grateful to the adults who were helping me in such a generous way. Little did I know that they were happy to do it. They enjoyed seeing me with my