Chapter 3: Crossroads of Confidence

The lobby provided little solace as I bid farewell to Alda and Maria with hugs and kisses. Maria showed me a text on her phone that stated, “Cheer canceled for tonight’s game in support of, Almena’s absence and recovery.”

Approaching the hospital doors revealed another surprise—a young mother with a baby passed us, her mouth wide open in shock, holding her child closer as if I were contagious. On the sidewalk, awaiting Dad’s arrival, nervousness crept in, fearing someone might capture my vulnerable state in a photo.

Another vehicle pulled up, and Mom interrupted my thoughts, saying, “Know this going to be hard.”I looked at her and expressed that the last thing I am is confident out here on the sidewalk of the very hospital where I was born. I thought about pulling my legs up to conceal my chest despite the burning sensation for some modesty. I stopped after realizing that it would just bring my vulva into view while covering my chest.

Then, an elderly woman walked by, simply stating, “You are a brave woman to be out here with nothing but your smile.” That comment stirred emotions, prompting a genuine smile and a heartfelt “Thank you, ma’am” before finally spotting our vehicle and realizing that the hospital nightmare was over.

I believed that my world was officially over as Mom opened the back door and saw the seats covered in some rubbery material. Mom guided me to the seat with the coolness on my skin. I had expected Mom to get in the front seat next to Dad but was pleasantly surprised when she climbed into the backseat and sat next to me. A tangible barrier between my raw skin and the world outside, it made me wonder if what I was sitting on could be used as a liner for modesty.

In some way, I could regain my clothing again and was in deep thought as Dad pulled out of the hospital parking lot onto the road. I sat as close as possible to the edge to conceal the nipples from passing vehicles. The shock of horror swept over me as Dad steered into a fast food lot and parked near the trash area. I was dumbfounded when Dad looked back at us and casually stated, “Alm, you want number three with a Pepsi, and you want a number one with a diet?”

As we confirmed the orders, I said, “Mom, why did you stand by and allow that many to see my naked body? It was mortifying.” When Mom cut me off, she said, “Look, you are a cheerleader who had no issues skinny dipping at the nearby lake over the summer with your friends.” I kicked the front seat with my foot when Mom blurted out, “Careful,” Momentarily pulling back my anger.

That reminded me of that event and I leaned back in my seat on what I think is rubber. I said, “Whatever this material is I am sitting on it is not as uncomfortable as the wheelchair.

When I got that look, I knew it wasn’t good, with my stomach in knots, waiting for the answer. I turned my attention to my hunger and wondered how I went from standing before the school in that uniform to now.

Mom shrugged her shoulders when Dad said, “Sweetie, you are at a crossroads, the first of many in navigating your new life. We are asking if you want to fight for your right to attend school naked or recline in the comfort of your home. If you decide to take the homeschool option, you will not be able to continue being a cheerleader. Your mom pleaded with the school to allow you to continue cheering while virtual and they told us no.”

“NAKED! Attend school naked, impossible!” Without thinking I leaned over the front seat and grabbed the bag with Dad’s wrappers in it. I didn’t realize what I was doing until I felt the pavement under my feet, a wave of panic washed over me as I stepped closer to the dumpster a few feet from the car. I didn’t see anyone from school, although a lady saw me and dropped her drink in shock at seeing me naked.

Dad turned in his seat to look at me, “Sweetie, there is a lot of information to cover about your road to recovery. Your mom and I have spoken to a lawyer who specializes in medical and is working to make certain you are protected under the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) so that you can attend school in person.”

Mom said, “We didn’t think you would want to be homeschooled.” I imagined myself in a prison, being confined to the four walls of our house, I would go insane. Yet I remember leaving the hospital room without using my arms to cover anything.

Just respond, “Are you comfortable seeing the psychologist this afternoon in person or via video chat? she continued, her gaze unwavering. “It’s up to you, Almena. If you’re ready, we’re here to support you.”

I nodded, the weight of the upcoming appointment began to sink in. Healing wasn’t just about tending to physical wounds; it was about confronting the inferno of emotions that had overwhelmed me. I couldn’t believe they didn’t cancel that appointment.

Dad said, “Before you so brazenly got out to toss the trash, thank you by the way, we were about to head home and conduct the meeting over the phone rather than in person. We will support you if you want to step back or reclaim that confident cheerleader.”

The image of that cheerleader uniform ablaze flashed before my eyes. The crinkle of the fast-food bag became a symphony of conflicting emotions. The thoughts shifted to the psychologist’s appointment. My mom’s words hung in the air. “It could be in person, but that means walking exposed to the third-floor clinic. Alternatively, we could go for a chat over the phone with the doctor. What feels more comfortable?”

The idea of stepping out to the prying eyes was daunting. Yet, facing my reflection through a screen felt like a different challenge. The crossroads beckoned, each path paved with its own set of fears and triumphs. She offered a reassuring smile, her eyes conveying a silent understanding of the impromptu challenge I had just faced. The car became a cocoon, shielding me momentarily from the outside world and its judgments.

Mom said, “Dear, I know that was unexpected, but it’s okay. We’re navigating through uncharted territory, and moments are bound to happen.” I nodded, appreciating her words, a lifeline amid the uncertainty. Mom continued, “You’re finding your way, and that’s commendable. It’s about learning to live in a world not always understood, but we’ll face it together.”

The passing scenery mirrors the shifting landscape of my emotions, a mix of challenges and moments of unexpected triumph. We drove on, the car carrying us toward the next chapter of this evolving narrative. With each passing mile, I grappled with the dichotomy of reclaiming normalcy and embracing the newfound strength that adversity had uncovered.

The words escaped my lips impulsively, “I’m a cheerleader who doesn’t hide behind walls.” A declaration that resonated with my newfound sense of self. In that spontaneous moment, I felt a surge of empowerment, as if I had cast aside the remnants of the past and embraced the strength within. The revelation lingered in the air, a mantra that echoed against the walls of uncertainty.

Those words and the first challenge of getting from the passenger seat to the psychologist clinic loomed on the third floor. My mind, however, was a whirlwind of thoughts. The words I had spoken earlier, the declaration of embracing my identity as a cheerleader unbound by textiles, echoed within me.

Dad parked the car, and for a moment, I hesitated, my hand resting on the door handle as Mom opened the door for me. I took a deep breath and stepped onto the pavement, feeling the ground beneath my feet, being careful about not stepping on any rocks. As we approached the entrance, a blend of nerves and determination coursed through me. I glanced at my parent’s expressions of support and understanding.

As we made our way to the elevator, ascending to the third floor where the psychologist’s office awaited, I found solace in the silence. Sometimes, words were unnecessary, and the shared understanding within our little family unit spoke volumes.

The door to the psychologist’s office swung open just as I approached the reception desk, trying to muster all the confidence I had. Ignoring the stunned expressions and comments directed my way, I stood beside my mother as she spoke to the receptionist, Ann. It was daunting to feel the gaze of everyone in the room fixed on me as I turned around. Taking a deep breath, I carefully sat down on the hard, cold plastic chair, feeling the weight of all the eyes now glancing in my direction.

Amidst the uncomfortable silence that enveloped the waiting area, I made eye contact with another high schooler, who, unlike me, was layered in clothing that seemed suffocatingly uncomfortable. I couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to shed some of those layers, to shield myself from the prying stares that lingered. At that moment, it struck me how the various attires in the room, from the excessive layers to my own minimalistic approach, seemed to reflect the individuals within as if our clothing choices were a mirror to our inner selves.

The weight of the gazes felt like a tangible force, and a ripple of self-consciousness washed over me. I shifted slightly as one of the staff handed my mother some wipes for the seat. Getting up watching my father wipe the chair, attempting to find some comfort in the clinical surroundings. The contrast between the vulnerability of my exposed skin heightened the discomfort.

In that vulnerable moment, the glances persisted, some turning into unabashed stares. The atmosphere in the room became charged with an awkward tension. Just as I started to feel a rising unease, a few mothers in the room took notice.

One mother, in particular, addressed her child a bit rudely and more forcefully than she needed to. “It’s none of your business,” I heard. Her words carried a sharpness that sliced through the awkward quiet, prompting other onlookers to avert their gaze.

Deep in thought, I barely registered the call of my name. As I looked up, a middle-aged woman met my gaze, her eyes methodically scanning every inch of my exposed skin. The weight of her scrutiny felt like a spotlight, amplifying my awareness of every fiber of my being for the world to see.

Gathering my thoughts, I rose from the hard plastic chair. The room seemed to momentarily blur as I became acutely conscious of the eyes upon me. I knew that every step, every exposed inch, was under the watchful gaze of not just the middle-aged woman but also the other individuals in the waiting room. The vulnerability I felt was not just physical but a profound exposure of my emotions, fears, and scars.

As I walked toward the middle-aged woman, the click of her footsteps seemed to resonate louder than ever in the quiet atmosphere. My parents’ eyes followed my every move, adding another layer. It was a silent march through a corridor journey that extended beyond the physical confines of the waiting room.

The door to the psychologist’s office loomed ahead, offering both refuge and the promise of understanding. As I crossed the threshold, I carried with me the awareness that, in that vulnerable walk, I had confronted the eyes of strangers and my apprehensions. The healing process, it seemed, demanded a courage that extended beyond the mere physical, reaching into the depths of self-discovery and acceptance.

The psychologist, a middle-aged woman with a calming demeanor, gestured towards a chair as I entered her office. “Please, have a seat and make yourself comfortable,” she said, her tone warm and welcoming as if I were dressed in my best attire. The discrepancy between her words and my stark nakedness created a moment of internal conflict, but I obliged, taking a deep breath and settling into the chair.

Psychologist: (smiling gently) “It’s good to have you here. My name is Dr. Anderson. Before we delve into anything, I want you to know that this space is judgment-free, and your comfort is a priority. Now, would you like to share why you chose to come to this appointment completely nude?” I hesitated for a moment, grappling with the vulnerability of the question. The psychologist’s compassionate gaze offered reassurance, encouraging me to open up.