Creative Modifications

The Tanya of last september was nowhere near as strong as I am today–nor as aware of all the things stress can do to this body I’m living in. Sure, I knew to some degree what stress was capable of; afterall, I’ve been around the block a few times, and I’ve seen its effects in my circle. But in some delusional way, I half believed I was beneath its reach–like stress didn’t quality to touch me because of my story and lifestyle. Just one more thing I thought I didn’t “quality” for.
I knew I had to go back to school and retrain in something other than the arts, and I thought Medical Office Administration was a valid, employable field I just had to push through. I had this misconception that I’d be in class with a bunch of sharp-as-a-tack 20-somethings, full of sass to go with their skills. I had compared it to how I thought it might be with the younger crowd I’d seen at Mountain Park Church—but still, I plunged in with my big girl pants on.
Boy, was I wrong.
Did that stop my head from spinning? Of course not. It only made it spin faster as I compared myself to others—especially the few who were lightning-fast at finding answers online. I felt behind before I even had a chance to catch my breath.
But I can say confidently now: I’d much rather work with a program (MS Word, PowerPoint, Excel) than flip through pages of a textbook looking for numbers. I’m proficient in file management, not in memorizing 5–8 different three-letter spellings for medical terms, where each one means something entirely different. And yet, in some twisted sense of torture, I kind of got a kick out of medical terminology—even though, after four hours of it, I’d be cross-eyed with a tension headache. (Pay no attention to the 150 stacks of index cards scattered across my space—just some of the terms I want to etch into my mind somehow.)
My husband used to say I was quiet in person but put me in front of a screen and keyboard and I turn into a social butterfly.
long with the funding for school, I was given a living allowance that has been immensely helpful. Still, I’m reminded of what Stan Lee once wrote: “With great power comes great responsibility.”
One of my instructors and a few classmates brushed off my comments about gaining weight since school started, saying it was “normal.” But that only made me feel worse. Weight has been a lifelong struggle for me. My dad’s offhand comment back in grade six— “They’ll have to roll you in a tarp to get you down the aisle”—is just one of the zingers that’s stuck with me all these years. His and my aunt’s meek attempts to “discourage” me from eating only made me more distrustful—more hateful toward food and more distant from them.
During the weekdays, I genuinely enjoyed having somewhere to be—even if it was just the corner of my bedroom, dressed and decent from the waist up. I used food to soothe the worries and silence the comparison game, while others leaned on their faith, saying, “Give it all to Jesus.” Oh, I was giving it to Jesus—every 3 to 6 minutes after classes ended, when I no longer had to maintain a “together,” focused version of myself. The one who hid her insecurities behind jokes and being silly.
I realized that my love of doing things my way (even if it only makes sense to me) played a big part in how I got things done—and for the most part, that was fine. I stumbled my way through Medical Terminology class because there just wasn’t enough time to spend on each exercise or task the way I needed in order to fully comprehend and keep up with the pace. WP kept reminding me that just because class was done didn’t mean I had to stop learning—I could go back into those chapters and take my time later.
Often, it felt like a battle between doing things “Tanya’s way” versus Tanya’s need for perfectionism. I swear, it was like those two traits were wrestling in a mud pit. Both instructors I had—Angela and Attila—said things in such a way that flipped the “Okay/Safe” switch in my mind. Angela, in particular, made things click during the several classes I had with her. With Attila’s classes (which were mostly all the programs), I barely had time to breathe, let alone sit and knit like I used to. God bless those two instructors beyond belief—ease their aches, ease their frustrations, and grow their gardens.
Stress didn’t just play havoc on my waistline—it hit my joints and muscles with aches and pains I’d never felt in all my seventeen years of knitting. Surely, that couldn’t all be blamed on approaching fifty or the added weight. It got to the point where I couldn’t handle outside stress or drama without, well… blowing it out of proportion and sending myself into a tizzy. I was (and still am) always waiting for the next shoe to drop, rushing to the next task at hand.
As much as it unsettled me, I so enjoyed that sense of purpose—the satisfaction of completing each task and report.
It’s been a wild ride, like having my head outside a spinning top. I’ve been preparing for a placement that has yet to come—testing how I feel in scrubs, waiting for word. I’ve got lunches packed, scrubs altered to fit my funky shape, and a growing awareness that this blog and domain circus, which Attila inspired me to start, might be part of something bigger. It’s giving me a sense of responsibility, possibly preparing me for employment, when for so long I felt like oil forced to mix with water.
Up until recently, it felt like I was finally being seen and given a shot to try. Now, it feels more like Niagara Falls has let me down, with no businesses willing to take a student. I don’t have the school’s name or my instructors beside me out here, and that’s left a lingering fear of failure in the back of my mind.
Still, I’ll keep waiting, keep stalking my inbox, and be smart with this time I have.

“We don’t always get to choose the challenges, but we do get to choose how we grow from them. If you’re navigating change, healing, or starting over –consider this your invitation to be part of th ejourney. Let’s keep showing up, learning, and cheering each other on.”