Part I: Stuck in Freedom

1997, somewhere around 10 a.m. I don’t remember the season. What I do remember is the warmth of my father’s presence, the TV noise, and a gut-wrenching frustration.

My dad helped me put on my T-shirt—well, partly. Out of nowhere (though I wonder how many months he had been preparing for this moment), he left me stuck in the T-shirt’s sleeves.

I was born almost stuck in my mother’s womb, and now, five years later—since my first loud cry—I found myself stuck again. This time, I wasn’t at the zero minute of my life. I was old enough to understand what it feels like.

“Come on, put on the T-shirt yourself. I know it’s difficult, but you have to learn to do it yourself, daughter,” he said, with a quasi-authoritative voice drowned in sorrow.

I started crying—not to manipulate my dad, not to ask for help. I just cried because I understood that there would be limits to my freedom in life. What I didn’t know then was that these same limits would one day bring another kind of freedom—an antidote to everything and anyone who would try to hinder me from living my life the way I wanted. A freedom that built me into what I am today: loving, courageous, and unafraid of being both rigorous and vulnerable.

Roughly 25 years later, I felt the same frustration. This time, it was more painful. More intense. More frightening. My Erb’s Palsy had turned into a chain of back challenges: mid-back pain from overusing my left side, muscle imbalance, and lower back pain that began stealing my legs’ strength.

I got sick of it. I cried—not only from excruciating pain but mostly because of the thought that I’d always have that chain. Whether wrapped around me or dragging behind me, it would always be there.

No, nothing changed overnight. On the contrary, it was exactly like that quote:
“I had to fight like hell, and fighting like hell has made me what I am.”

It was slow, painful, tedious—alternating backward and forward (literally and metaphorically), lonesome, and frustrating.

I don’t know how many tantrums and whys I threw at God and at myself. But eventually, I got sick of asking the unimportant and learned to focus on the important: patience. I thought I had to focus on healing. But through nights and days of prayer, God taught me humility and showed me what I really needed to work on.
It turned out the weakest link in the chain wasn’t my arm or my back—it was my patience. I had worked a decade on my impulsiveness and thought I could finally take a break from strengthening my character. The joke was on me. God—and my back—had other plans.

Going back to that moment when my dad left me to dress myself, knowing that I’d feel scared, powerless, and probably hurt and confused by his act, I now see it as one of the most crucial lessons in my life.

After pushing through the sleeves of my t-shirt, I learned what it means to be free—for the very first time in my life.

Factor: Dictatorial Physical Therapist

I don’t remember much of my toddler and preschool years, but I vividly remember the physical therapy sessions. I had a rigid, impatient, yet dedicated woman in her late fifties as a physical therapist.
I don’t remember her face thoroughly, but I do remember that she was a corpulent woman with a considerable amount of wrinkles and gray hair.

Meeting her and spending a few hours weekly with her was the last thing in the world I wanted to do. Every time my dad and I would arrive at the building where she worked, I would start crying in the elevator. What I remember the most was the nervous beating of my heart when I stood at the door.
Every session was traumatic and scary because she was quite impatient and wouldn’t allow me to express much emotion. To me, it felt like she had all the freedom to suppress my fear, anxiety, pain, and frustration.

I felt powerless. So did my father.
Like an abandoned kitten on the street, I would look at him with eyes that pleaded for help, and feel even more scared and frustrated because he wouldn’t react. I clearly remember the sadness in his eyes and his suffering written all over his face.
He was my protector, guardian angel, teacher, and best friend, yet he wouldn’t react because he knew she was helping me. Despite her rigid approach, he had no choice but to let her do her impeccable work.

I never despised her. I was afraid of her. Fifteen years later, I understood why she was the way she was. Besides the fact that she was already at the end of her career and had little to no patience left, she was also raised in eastern communism.

I grew to despise false authority in any form.

The irony? I spent my youth under a political regime that was becoming increasingly dictatorial. My anger grew and gave birth to the most essential thing in my life: the ability to express myself creatively and to rebel against oppression and limits—including those of my own arm.

To Be Continued

Song of the day: Blackbird – Alter Bridge

Note: All songs, lyrics, artworks, images, and other forms of inspiration shared here reflect a deeply personal way of expressing emotions tied to a specific period in my life. Some of these pieces may not represent my current thoughts, beliefs, or circumstances, but I continue to include them as an authentic reflection of what I felt and experienced at that time.

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Originally written on February 1st, 2024. Publicly shared on Instagram on February 3rd, 2024.

© All rights reserved. Written by Ana Topshiova, Founder at Zebras and Magpies.

This story is shared with the purpose of encouraging and supporting others on similar journeys, as well as educating, connecting, and raising awareness about Erb’s Palsy/BPI.