My Pathway to Purpose: A True Story about Overcoming Obstacles and Finding My Inner Self

Preface

There is a line at which the sky and earth appear to meet, known as the horizon. When something deep and magical happens within us and we find that one moment of clarity that is reminiscent of sky and earth uniting, we know it as purpose.

In my forty-year journey, I have encountered plentiful challenges. Through all of them, I have emerged a better person who has learned the power of living positively, and the beauty of living and loving life to the fullest.

I trust we are here to grow through life experiences and obstacles along the way. My wish is to share my story, so perhaps those who see the glass half empty may learn how to see it half full, as I have discovered throughout the years.

We all have a purpose, and it has taken everything I have been through to lead me in finding mine, which I am so proud to say I now have.

Please join me in my journey as I walk the path of time, finally finding myself and my reason for being.

Welcome into my life…

***

Heidi, would you please leave the classroom immediately and go stand in the hallway.

Mortified, I left my first grade music class and did what the teacher had asked of me. I cried, feeling ashamed, and humiliated, and well…very uncomfortable. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to use the bathroom soon enough, and I had wet my pants.

Since kindergarten, I was too embarrassed to ask the teacher if I could go to the bathroom. To me, it was something very private, and I didn’t want the other kids to know where I was going and what I was doing. Not a big deal, right? Other kids had no problem asking to go to the bathroom. As for me, I only felt comfortable in the privacy of my own bathroom at home. If I could get through a whole day at school without having to go at all, that was a great day! But, that was few and far in between, and I remember, one too many times, going to the nurse’s office to change my underwear. Vividly, I remember a big box filled with newly packaged underwear, with both patterned and solid colors, and I always picked the ones with the patterns.

On this particular day in music class as the entire group was singing a rendition of Puff the Magic Dragon, the kid sitting next to me said Eww, you stink!

I sang louder with the class to drown out his words. Little Jackie Paper loved that rascal Puff… He kept right on with, You smell like a dirty diaper, and You smell like dog food.

Shut up, you meanie, I said, feeling embarrassed.

Ms. English, the music teacher, caught onto the two of us which is when she stopped the class from singing, and reprimanded me out of the room. Was there no justice? Paul was the one who started it. Why wasn’t he asked to leave?

As I stood in the hallway, wondering if I should just start walking to the nurse’s office to pick out my new pair of patterned underwear (I was starting to have a really nice collection at home, by this time), the guidance counselor, Mrs. Grant, passed by.

What’s wrong, sweetheart? she asked, with such grace and kindness.

I was sent out of the room, I told her.

C’mon darling, let’s take a walk, she said.

Mrs. Grant, obviously, could smell me as she took me by the hand and walked with me to the nurse’s office.

Here we are, my dear; the nurse will help you now, she said. And everything is going to be just fine, don’t you worry your pretty little head about anything.

She winked at me and proceeded on her way.

I truly believe each of us have angels from the minute we are born, some seen, some not. This very special guidance counselor in first grade was one of my angels, there at the most perfect time helping me more than she would ever come to know.

Chapter 1

At twenty-four years old, my Dad instantly fell in love with my mother. Mom was sixteen, and they were part of a group that was getting ready to sing for the patients at a Veterans Hospital in Baltimore, Maryland. Dad, being a performer himself, was drawn to her knowing she had a passion for singing, as did he. Mom told me that she was extremely nervous to sing following him because he had the vocals of Pavarotti, and she felt more like an American Idol audition reject next to him.

They married on July 3, 1962 in the middle of the week. Apparently, it was cheaper to get married on a weekday, to which their parents were certainly more receptive!

Two years later, they welcomed a baby girl, Linda. Three years after that, my sister Dina was born, and yet again three years later on September 12th, 1970, I arrived.

We were a middle class family, living in a split level home, and Dad owned a company called The Glass Man. With his big glass truck parked in the driveway, and the four-door, family friendly, Mercury Sable on the street, we were a pretty normal family.

I attended preschool, and have warmhearted memories of singing in the Thanksgiving show—Thanksgiving was always my favorite time of year. We dressed as Pilgrims, and sang My Favorite Things, from The Sound of Music.

In kindergarten, Mrs. Campbell’s class, I mostly enjoyed arts and crafts. I adored creating things with my hands! I liked story time as well and could always lose myself in whatever was being read, especially The Velveteen Rabbit. This story has been my most beloved book—especially because it teaches what it means to be real and to be loved.

During the summers, we vacationed on the beach in Wildwood, New Jersey. And when we were home, we played outside, in the court, with our friends. It was a court of seven houses and every house had kids our age. I became most friendly with Marley and Meredith. Marley was one year younger than me and lived directly across the court, and Meredith was one year older and lived across the street on the main road.

As I look back, those younger years seemed to be so innocent and carefree…and they were.

Chapter 2

I truly believe everyone’s foundation begins to mold and revolutionize from the second they look into their parents’ eyes at birth. When people say everything stems from childhood, it is so remarkably true! As children, we are entirely vulnerable and know nothing other than what we are taught and what we observe.

I started to become molded as a toddler, precisely after learning how to walk…straight to the cookie drawer about ten times in ten minutes. That certainly shaped me for the future, when I taught myself how to eat in massive abundance!

When I see pictures of myself as a little girl, I can honestly say, I was adorable! I had gigantic brown eyes that looked like saucers, a tiny button nose, and long, very thin, straight brown hair, usually styled in two ponytails. My favorite childhood picture of me was taken when I was two years old. I was in Mom and Dad’s bedroom where I stood stark naked (except for one of my feet placed in Dad’s oversized shoe) holding the phone to my ear, probably talking to one of my imaginary friends.

But somewhere along the way, I grew out of that adorableness. My beautiful hair was cut off into a boy’s bowl cut, and I continued my ritual of walking to the cookie drawer ten times in ten minutes, and early on I started to pack on extra weight.

***

Since my sister, Linda, was six years ahead of me in age, I didn’t see too much of her once we started getting older. She was involved with her social life or working at the sandwich place down the street. Dina and I, being three years apart, had much more in common and usually found something fun to do together. Our favorite thing was to create dances and perform them for the family. We also loved to record ourselves singing.

Linda played the piano and studied at the Peabody Institute. She was really outstanding. Upon occasion, the family would gather around the piano and she would play while the rest of us sang. I sang solo sometimes, and thought I was pretty darn good! I remember singing The Greatest Love of All and I could hit those high notes and belt it out. Still, even if the rest of the family thought I was tone deaf (thinking I was more like Mom as an American Idol reject), I thought I was good, and that was all that mattered!

When I was in the sixth grade, Mom worked as a manicurist painting nails. She felt as though I was mature enough to have my own house key and let myself in after school. Every day I sat at the kitchen table and did my homework with the TV on, perhaps contributing to the fact that I was never a straight A student! I can vividly remember the Donahue and Mike Douglas talk shows and I was captivated! And naturally, I always had a snack, whether it was a whole bag of chips, cookies, or whatever I could get my hands on from the refrigerator. There’s nothing like leftover cold spaghetti right out of the bowl! Some of my eating habits were really out of control, and mostly done in private.

After I was finished with my homework, I usually made dinner for the family since Mom had late working hours.

My, how I loved to cook! I had watched Mom cook from an early age and acquired it quite effortlessly. I made pasta, chicken, steak—so many things that I had seen her make. Sometimes I got creative and whipped up a Heidi Stew with whatever I felt like putting in it. Regardless, the outcome was always delicious and everyone cleaned their plates!

When I cooked for the family, I felt so important and grown up. I felt mature beyond my years and appreciated. But, little did I know, my highly respected self esteem would soon be transformed forever.

***

I’ll never understand why society is so stuck on how we look. It’s really a shame, since we all have the same insides. I wonder what the world would be like if we only revealed our insides. People would probably walk around and say, Wow, his heart has a hideous atrium, or my colon’s ileum is so much prettier than hers. The expectations society has on others to be beautiful is all too real and disturbing.

Not being fully aware of society and the pressures to be beautiful, I was perfectly fine in my own skin. Although I still had the short, bowl haircut and a little extra weight around my midsection, arms, and face, I thought I appeared to be normal looking. I still had the same girlfriends from the neighborhood, whom to me were pretty, but no different than how I looked. I was accepted as part of the group in school, got invited to birthday parties and the movies, and went about my life, with no worries.

Until one day, things changed…

I can remember it as though it was yesterday. I had an hour or so before I needed to start cooking dinner and I was sitting alone in the family room watching television.

My two sisters were whispering, as they stood in front of me, staring. I looked at them and Linda laughed.

What? I said, wanting in on the joke.

Dina and I want to know if we can borrow your hair so we can use the grease to make some fried chicken for dinner, Linda blurted.

They started laughing uncontrollably, while I sat there, dumbfounded.

Screw them, I thought, they didn’t even know how to make dinner, as I was the one who always cooked for them!

After getting their high from hurting my feelings, they left and went about their lives. I immediately got up and went to look in the mirror. Oh the mirror! Since Dad was a glass and mirror man, our entire house was filled with mirrors. Mirror tables, hanging mirrors, mirror tissue box covers, and the living room had a huge wall of mirrors. A mirror could not be escaped in our house!

Examining my hair, I guess it did look a bit oily, but I never really thought much about it until then.

I felt upset wondering why they would say something like that. Apparently it was not going to be the last of it as it started becoming a daily affair for them. Sometimes, Linda would even include her friend, Kayla, in the fun as though they needed to include a cheering section.

Is there a skunk in here, or do you just smell like one? We want to make some popcorn—can we use the grease from your hair?

And then the fat jokes started coming.

My spirit and soul were beginning to deteriorate and I found myself locked in my bedroom more often than not, with tears gushing down my face. After hearing those comments incessantly, I started losing self confidence and began walking with my head down in disgrace. I believed everything they were saying and felt fat, smelly and ugly, and at age eleven, I was having self loathing thoughts.

Chapter 3

The mirror started to become my friend, or enemy, depending on how you look at it. As I began believing the comments that were made to me, I became obsessive about my self reflection.

Heidi, your hair is greasy.

Heidi, you look like a boy.

Heidi, you have a double chin, a big stomach, and huge arms.

Heidi, now that I notice it, your nose is kind of big.

Heidi, your thighs are looking like cottage cheese.

Sometimes my inner voice articulated and sometimes I said it aloud, repeatedly, as I scrutinized myself.

Along with crying