Originally published as a guest article on Honestly Unfiltered on November 14, 2020.

The warm-up to play volleyball in my high school gym class was one minute of push-ups followed by one minute of sit-ups. There was a strict rule that if any individual student stopped or wasn’t fully participating, everyone in the entire class had to start over. The gym teacher had a habit of calling out those individuals by name, just to be sure that the whole class knew who to attribute the extra minute of punishment warm-ups.

I don’t think there was anyone in my class that got called out by name more than me. All because I had two bars and fifteen plus screws running down my spine, preventing me from being able to sit-ups altogether. Something that my gym teacher often forgot as he shouted my name and chuckled as he told the class I was doing the wrong warm up. Every time, I had to correct him, saying we previously established that I’d do push-ups the entire two minutes because of my spinal fusion surgery (which was not even a fair trade in my opinion). Regardless of whether or not the full class had to actually do the extra minute of warm-ups, it was consistently embarrassing and made me resent being different.

When I think about the most uncomfortable ways that my invisible illness has manifested itself, I often think about high school gym class. The time I “failed” the sit-up test and was given zero credit for the day. The time I got kicked out of yoga and had to walk around the basketball courts alone for the rest of the class period. The time I elected not to participate in the trust fall activity for fear of hurting my back and was shamed for it. The list could go on and on.

Looking back on the 13 years since my spinal fusion surgery, the majority of intensely uncomfortable situations occurred in high school. That’s probably true for most people though. And I’m sure we are all grateful that those experiences are behind us. I know I am. Having to wear a back brace and undergo an 11.5 hour surgery to correct my 60 degree curve from my severe Scoliosis was a tough thing to go through as a teenager. But I am much stronger because of it.

While I am fortunately not in as many uncomfortable situations, I am frequently reminded of the impact that Scoliosis has had on my life. It may always be difficult for me to stand for extended periods of time, lift heavy items, and participate in strenuous physical activities without pain, but I allow my personal challenges to fuel my drive to succeed in the areas I know I can excel in. For me, those areas are art and design.

I started my own design business, Lettering Works, in 2016, after graduating from college and winning $10,000 in startup funding from my university. I became entrepreneurial because I wanted to have control over the situations I was in and find ways to play to my strengths. I didn’t want to find myself in any sort of equivalent to my high school gym class where I was just one of many - required to output the same results as everyone else, despite my differences. I fully believed I could build a career and lifestyle that was tailored to my specific needs, interests, and limitations - and I did.

Four years later and I am thriving on my own, establishing direct relationships with businesses I might otherwise never dreamed of working with. As my own boss, I give myself permission to do what works for me and leave behind what doesn’t. I can confidently follow my dreams knowing that I don’t have to experience the awkwardness of asking a supervisor or boss for permission to do things differently or explain myself. No more silently suffering at the expense of trying to fit in.

I don’t judge myself if I work from bed because I know I am not doing it out of laziness, but rather necessity. I am more than content opting for wholesale opportunities in lieu of in-person events that require more physical stamina than I can muster up. I consistently focus on seeking out opportunities that align with my abilities. It’s not always easy. Having chronic illnesses sometimes means slowing down, adjusting your goals, and listening to your body. But I won’t let anyone tell me I can’t be successful following my passions and paving out a unique career path for myself.

Throughout the challenges I’ve overcome, I’ve learned how essential it is to advocate for yourself. No one will know exactly how you feel unless you tell them. Recognizing what you need and asking for it takes more intention than we often dedicate to ourselves and our personal well-being. This goes beyond physical needs into emotional, mental, and spiritual as well.

How many times have you not asked for an exception or extension when you really needed it? Maybe a loved one passed away, you were feeling the weight of your own chronic illness, or you really needed to take a mental health day? If you need it, ask for it. And don’t be afraid to go out on your own to craft the path that is just right for you. Like me, you just might find that it is the single best thing you could do for yourself.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Chelsie Tamms is an award-winning lettering artist and designer based out of Chicago. She is the owner of Lettering Works, a branding studio that connects businesses to their audience through creativity and strategy. With over 10 years of practice of lettering and design, Chelsie is passionate about craft and intention. When she’s not designing, she can be found eating ice cream, traveling internationally, or starting a new passion project.

Chelsie had a spinal fusion surgery at age 14.