Sticks and Stones

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Words have tremendous power. That dumb ass saying about sticks and stones makes sense to say to kids, because its coming from an adult perspective with the experience of having learned to deal with the pain of harsh words. Theoretically. I didn't appreciate that expression as a kid, and I don't appreciate it now.

In reality, many of us are still dealing with the trauma and impact of words. Often, it's not even the words themselves, but the emotion implied and felt when they are thrown at you. When I was a girl, I was a voracious reader and I got called bookworm and bookish. Reading is nothing to be ashamed of, but the way kids teased me made me feel like I was picking my nose in public – or worse. Fortunately, the power of their words wasn't enough to change the power I felt absorbing the words from books, so I continued to read. I also used to get teased about having a big butt and hips. Nicknames like Hubba-Bubba butt, or Budda-Bump-Bridgette sat on my self-image (pun intended) for years and impacted how I saw myself and how I thought others saw me, making me feel like an object. It was almost like a competition to come up with the next "funny" nickname, when they all made me feel small. I never believed I was pretty because they didn't talk about my smile or my eyes, let alone my personality. The implication was either of lust or disgust or that I was attractive only for my body. Nowadays people literally die in the pursuit of a big butt, and ain't that some shit 14 year old me would like to have known??

The point being, how we talk to each other and ourselves matters so much. Our experiences shape the way we feel and therefore, the words we speak and the language we use. At some point we have to become more aware of how we speak and how it impacts others. I met a recently diagnosed woman a couple of weeks ago. "Recently" is relative. For her it's been 9 months that feel like an eternity, and I can feel her on that. Time can stand still, bend, and at the same time rush away as you navigate life with HIV. We talked for awhile about disclosure (I told her there was no rush), about medications and what it's like to take them every day for years (I told her that it is a mini journey within the journey- kinda like a sunrise; somedays you are blessed to wake and see it, and some days the light is harsh and you just want to close the curtains), and we talked a bit about walking the journey and dealing with shame and stigma. She had an experience where she felt belittled by another HIV positive person. (I told her that pissed me off! I felt that sting).

I think, no– I KNOW – sometimes long term survivors forget what those first few years of diagnosis felt like. It is so easy to dismiss six months, nine months, or even three years as "just the beginning" or to say "you're just a baby in this" or "wait till you are ten years in".

*here is where I insert a deep, deep, deep sigh*

I sincerely believe they think it's helpful. It's an attempt to encourage most of the time. Like saying "You got this, it'll be okay". Or my other pet peeve- "you're not going to die". The advocate and person I am at nearly 12 years gets it. But the woman I was at 35 days in, at six months in, and five years in can only cringe, and apologize to this young lady because when I say I felt that, I did. The first time someone said that to me I was so frustrated. It felt like a dismissal of my pain. Like being a girl again and trying not to feel small by something I couldn't control.

It's so important we remember pain, acceptance, and how we navigate trauma is not the same experience for everyone. Especially in light of sticks and stones. Fifteen or 20 years of learning to cope with and accept an HIV diagnosis, or reaching a place where you are thriving and healthy, is not a reason to dismiss what it feels like at a few months or even a few years. Comparing one pill once a day to a handful of pills is not helpful. One pill or 5 – it's still a component of survival with HIV that requires an adjustment.

I just want us to remember to be kind. To be empathetic and encouraging. Most of all to use our words to heal and comfort, not dismiss and belittle. Sticks and stones may not break bones, but words can make us fragile.

Be well. You matter.

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