My walk resembles that of a drunken sailor, or so I've been told. I wore braces on my legs until I was five and I never developed the graceful walk of most women.
My voice can be coarse and shrill and grating. I can't count the number of times I've been told to tone it down.
My laugh is loud and often startles people when they first hear it.
My teeth are crooked and chipped from years of bulimia and lack of dental care.
My hands are short, stubby, and rough. I try to paint my nails but they just end up chipped and broken.
But. My crazy walk feels peaceful as I slowly amble through the woods with my niece, stopping every few seconds to help her pick up a rock she's found or delight in some leaves she thinks are beautiful. I walk at her pace, not rushing her as most other adults do.
My loud, grating voice is low and soothing as I comfort a crying woman who has just found out bad news. It's supportive and gentle as I help her make hard decisions and find the courage to take care of herself.
My loud laugh delights my partner and friends, who stop what they are doing and laugh along with me for the sheer joy of being alive.
My teeth may not be pretty, but my smile is warm and reassuring. My smile makes people feel safe, and loved, and welcome.
My stubby hands can do anything. Build a table, change the oil in my car, then switch to more domestic duties as I cook delicious and filling meals for my family and coworkers, and keep our home clean.
I may not have grace, but I've got something better.
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