I have had a terribly low self-esteem all my life. I come by it honestly as I’m from a culture that eschews saying anything positive about yourself or loved ones. It’s partly to ward off bad spirits, but it’s mostly just being assholes. That’s not true or fair, but it’s how I felt at the time. I already hated myself and then to hear nothing but negatives didn’t help my self-esteem at all. I was a weirdo in so many ways. My parents were immigrants who preferred to be in the old country. They had no use for American life and they stuck to everything Taiwanese.
As a result, I was a stranger in a strange land. They knew very little about American culture, so I was left to struggle on my own. I was fat, awkward, intelligent, and looked markedly different than everyone else. I was miserable and as soon as I realized I was going to die one day, I could not wait until it happened. I was seven, and for two decades, I spent every day wanting to die. Except I was too chicken to actually ever kill myself, so I begrudgingly got up every day and dragged myself through life.
I was deeply depressed. At times, almost catatonically so. The first year K and I were friends, I never reached out to her because, well, I’m not sure exactly why. In part it was because I didn’t reach out to anyone, but it was mostly because I could not believe someone as cool as her would want to be friends with a hot mess like me. About a year after we became friends, she asked me if I actually wanted her to call me. She said she didn’t mind, but she didn’t want to bother me if I didn’t want to be friends.
I was flabbergasted. It never occurred to me that she would feel insecure about me. She was and is the coolest woman I know. She’s the yang to my yin, and she’s the joy-bringer in my life. She’s the type who will say yes to everything that sounds remotely interesting, which has led us to many fine adventures. She supports me in everything I do, and she brings me back to reality when I start spinning out.
The fact that she felt unsure about me was an eye-opener. I called myself Guam (because I was an island), and she reminded me that I wasn’t. I told her that I wanted her to call me and that I loved having her in my life. Once we got that straightened out, things went swimmingly. We can talk every day or every other month, and we pick up as if no time has passed. We can be honest with each other in a way I we can’t be with anyone else.
We met when I was twenty-three and I was at my hot messiest. She was one of the sole reasons I kept on going. I’ll be honest. Without her, I’m not surprised I would have gotten out of bed every day. And it’s not like we talked every day. We did not. This was before the days of texting and social media. We talked and went out maybe once a month. Now, we talk roughly once a month or so and message on FB once a month in addition.
It doesn’t matter, though, how much time passes. We click instantly when we start talking, and it’s as if we had spoken the day before. We are similar in many ways, and different enough in all the right ways. I love her with all my heart, and I am so grateful she’s in my life.
I started Taiji when I was 35 or so. I was still deeply depressed, and I needed something to make me feel better about myself. The main reason I started Taiji was for self-defense, but I also knew that it was good for mental health. It wasn’t an instant cure, though. It took time to build up to the point where it was good for the confidence, but there was a small voice deep inside telling me it was worth it. No matter how much I hated it for the first several years, I listened to that voice that said there was something worthwhile in it.
Because of Taiji, I grew more confident in my ability to navigate crowds–both physically and emotionally. I survived a minor car crash with only a huge bruise on my belly from the seat belt. My mom kept warning me ominously that I was going to get whiplash because her friend’s son’s girlfriend’s uncle’s coworker got it and so did her pastor’s father’s wife’s dog’s walker. She told me about several people who got whiplash from being in a car accident, and she seemed almost disappointed when I didn’t.
I was driving on a local street right before the freeway when I noticed a car hurtling my way from the other side. My brain said, “I’m going to get hit.” I immediately relaxed as her SUV hit me, which I’m convinced saved me lots of grief. She was absolutely hysterical as she gabbled about how her father was going to kill her because he had to be to work in an hour and it was his car. Also, her boyfriend was in the car and he wasn’t supposed to be. She called someone to pick him up. Before he left, he came over to me to see how I was doing. I was just fine.
I ended up consoling the girl (for that is what she was. Or young woman. She was 17, as I found out later from the police report). She looked Indian and was hyperventilating about her father, so I felt a great compassion for her. I comforted her, saying her father would not kill her. He could call Uber, so it was not the end of the world. I did find it humorous that she was the one who hit me, and I was the one who was soothing her.
I could not help it, though. It’s part of my nature. When I see someone hurting, I want to make them feel better. Plus, she didn’t mean to hit me and she was so young.
My car was a loss, but I was fine. It was 100% Taiji that got me through it unscathed. More importantly, Taiji helped me become more confident in my body and in my own skin. I was able to navigate my relationships with my parents better because of it. I went from hating my body to being neutral about it. Same with my face. I considered that a huge leap forward, and then came my medical trauma.
Now, you can’t tell me shit about shit. I love my body and my face, and I don’t care what anyone else thinks. My body got me through hell–twice. It got hit with non-COVID-related walking pneumonia, two cardiac arrests, and a stroke, and it shrugged it off as if it were nothing. You gotta respect that; I certainly do.