Today for the "Women's History Month", we are celebrating this beautiful woman:
“Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all.”
-Emily Dickinson
I was born in the snowy Upper Peninsula of Michigan in a town with only a few traffic lights. I didn’t stay there for long, though, because my dad’s job took our family through several different states before I decided as a young adult to call Maine home. I spent my childhood catching frogs in the cypress swamps of southeastern Virginia, and my teen years attempting to avoid hurricanes, rattlesnakes, and alligators in the Florida panhandle. After graduating as valedictorian of my high school, I earned my teaching degree in 3.5 years and played four seasons of college soccer in the Tampa area. I then spent a few months back home in Tallahassee with my family. It was there that I discovered teaching preschool was one of my least favorite things to do. I dragged myself through the rest of that school year and, as soon as I could, I moved all the way to Maine to take my first “real” teaching job. This time, I tried the complete opposite of preschoolers: fifth and sixth graders. Though it took this southern-raised girl at least a few weeks of shivering on the drive home from work to realize I was supposed to warm up the car for a bit before getting in, I adored my students and found my passion for working with older [slightly stinkier] “tweenagers.”. Seventeen years later, I can still be found teaching third through fifth graders in a special education program where I focus on helping students with behavioral challenges learn to tolerate the evil of books and even more horrible math problems. And, sometimes along the way, they even discover that school isn’t so bad after all. It’s one of my favorite things to see a kid who “hates reading” beg me to keep reading aloud to them when the chapter ends in a cliffhanger. I also love the way that this population of students see the world. They are often very creative, out of the box thinkers. I think we have always needed people like that in the world, but we haven’t always welcomed coloring outside the lines. It’s rewarding to me to see them start to believe they belong at school, too.
I was too scared of my parents to color outside the lines, but for a while, I was also a kid who didn’t believe I belonged at school. Right before I started kindergarten, I was playing with some other kids in an old barn. I lost my balance on the first or second step and fell from a hayloft height onto a concrete floor. I learned later that I had hit my head several times between the ladder and the wall before hitting the concrete. I still remember waking up and not knowing where I was. I also remember being semi-conscious as I was being half dragged, half carried by the other kids as we made our way from the barn to the farmhouse. My vision was so blurred and my head so confused that even as I stared down at my feet, I couldn’t make them walk. It felt like my head was disconnected from my body. I questioned whether the feet I couldn’t seem to coordinate were even mine. Though I realize now that I had suffered a serious concussion, the adults, not having seen the fall, concluded that I was just being overly emotional. I did not receive any medical care. So, I started school believing it was normal to feel like my brain was constantly trying to swim in a pool full of jello. It affected me cognitively, socially, emotionally, and left me with life-long sensory and visual motor challenges.
By second grade, I was getting good marks on my report cards, but those reports didn’t show how incredibly difficult it was for me just to be in the world each day. Lights, sounds, seams on socks, too-stiff blue jeans, drafty, scratchy dresses, and the texture of roast beef all made me want to scream and punch things. I kept it all inside, though, because of shame and stigma. No one else found those things terrifying, so why did I? I continued to struggle for much of my childhood, but the beautiful thing about the brain is that it has plasticity. Despite my challenges, I ended up graduating both high school and college with high honors.
My childhood struggle with the shame surrounding my brain injury paled in comparison, however, to the shame I gathered up while experiencing domestic violence for nearly a decade. I experienced all forms of abuse, but I never realized until I went through it the devastating effect that emotional and psychological abuse can have on a person. I don’t want to minimize any type of abuse, but there were times where I would have rather had bruises on my body than the bruises that were left on my soul where no one could see them. It broke me down to a place where I believed I was truly worthless. I believed everything that was wrong in my life was all my fault. After a particularly hard day in which I was convinced that I was failing as a mom and ruining my children, I made a life changing decision to pursue therapy. It was through the help of my therapist that I finally became aware of the reality of what I was living through. I came to realize that it actually wasn’t all my fault. She helped me to see that I was worth a whole lot more than I could believe. She helped keep me grounded as I took one small step at a time toward finding strength and restoration.
Since leaving the relationship, I’ve kept track of the small acts of “rebellion” that serve as milestones toward healing. The very first one was decorating my room entirely with the color blue. It had always been one of my favorites, but he didn’t like it. I’ll never forget when I signed my first twelve month lease, ready to launch out in faith that I would make it on my own. Even though the kids and I moved three times in as many years, I kept my beloved flock of ducks and our whole menagerie of pets together despite the housing insecurity. He always resented my love of animals. Next, I remember the many days that I have testified in court, using my once silenced voice to expose the darkness of abuse hidden in plain sight. These photos are another milestone for me as I take one more step toward leaving shame behind. He once told his friends that I was like his old truck: “Nice body, but a lot of headaches.” It’s a relief that I’m no longer wasting my life on anyone who thinks I’m nothing more than a body and a lot of headaches. Instead, life is full of the things I love. Without having to apologize for it, I can once again enjoy things like writing, painting, drawing, teaching, faith, reading, the outdoors, and my kids.
If I could give my younger self some advice, I wouldn’t. I’d rather choose to tell her what great work she’s going to do. I’d tell her that she is going to make a difference in the world every single day that she’s here, even on the hardest ones where she couldn’t find her voice. There’s enough unsolicited advice in the world already. I wonder how things would change if instead of “here’s what you should do” we tried a few more “you’re doing great’s”?
Another one of Beka's Favorite quotes:
“So come on my soul,
Oh don’t you get shy on me
Lift up your song,
‘Cause you’ve got a lion
inside of those lungs…”
–Brandon Lake
Thank you, Bekah, for sharing your story and empowering others!
#womenshistorymonth #womansupportingwomen #womanpower #mainephotographer
2 Comments
Mar 31, 2025, 5:00:20 AM
Darlene Woods - So proud of you Bekah. You were always so special. Inside and out. You are proof of God’s love for his children and how He is holding us in his hands and guides and grows us in the valleys we travel throughout our life. God bless you and all you endeavor to accomplish!
Mar 30, 2025, 8:48:49 PM
Terri Linscott - Bekah, you are an amazing woman. I am so happy we crossed paths. Lee will always have happy memories of you, Gimpy and the cats.