My mom first saw the little purple dot on my leftlegwhen I was just a baby.
Yup, it’s a mouthful.
Only in adulthood would I finally know the name for what made my leg look the way it did.
The author on a run after she learned to embrace her leg. Courtesy of Abby Langer
What I had was so rare that at the time, no doctors knew what to do.
I had MRIs and enough X-rays to make me feel like I would glow with radiation.
But due to how advanced my case was, doctors kept saying there was nothing they could do.
My leg didnt bother me all that much physically.
Otherwise, I could walk, run, ride a bike, and do whatever else kids did.
It was the emotional stuff that was the real problem.
“What happened to your leg?”
people would ask, looking as though it had some horrible secret to tell.
Another time, I went to see a doctor in California about something unrelated.
I cried all the way home.
Luckily, thats pretty much the only time anyone was such a dick about it.
Through it all, I felt weird and deeply flawed.
Around age 12, probably around when I started becoming interested in boys, I stopped wearing shorts.
I opted for sweatpants to hide my leg, even on the hottest days.
At summer camp, Id pray for cold weather and rain so my long pants wouldn’t draw attention.
When forced to wear a bathing suit, Id cross one leg over the other.
Hiding my leg felt like a full-time job.
I was always vigilant, and in the summer, I was alwayshot.
Turns out they were everywhere.
I almost died during the operation, having lost so much blood.
The doctors took some veins out and closed me up.
I couldnt walk for a month, and I had all sorts of post-op complications.
The brutal experience left lasting emotional scars, too.
The questions about what happened to my leg continued.
Being older, I made up some fun answers that, surprisingly, people actually believed.
I wanted to wear skirts and dresses out to bars, but I could never work up the courage.
If that sounds like a lot of work, it was.
If I eventually deemed a guy to be worthy, Id tell him about my leg with great trepidation.
No one ever did, though.
Unfortunately, I couldnt say the same thing about myself.
Once arelationshipwith someone progressed, I was always petrified to get,ahem, exposed in front of him.
I soon learned every guy I dated was thrilled by the simple fact that I was naked.
That tunnel vision didn’t leave room for scars or any other shit I was paranoid about.
She turned to me and said, “Mommy, youre beautiful.
You should wear what you want!
No one will care!
It doesnt matter what anyone thinks.
You shouldnt hide your leg and be hot all summer!
It was right then that I woke up.
I was really fucking tired of hiding, and really fucking tired of running in tights in July.
My body, I realized, is beautiful and perfect the way it is.
It has never let me down.
People come in all shapes and sizes, with all sorts of stuff.
Besides, now I think my scar makes me look pretty badass.
Once I decided to stop worrying about my leg, that feeling snowballed in the most liberating way.
The games we play with ourselves.
But now, I can push through those feelings and get on with my life.
I refuse to waste another second believing I’m less worthy because of something that makes me different.
I’m instead going to focus on being strong, being healthy, being radiant.
If people are cruel, its their stuff showing, not mine.
Because I’m Abby Langer.
And I am more than the sum of my parts.
This post originally appeared onAbby Langer Nutrition.
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