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Check out my published books!

From Torment to Triumph, a Story of Hope (2013) Available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble

Meredith’s Triumph (2021) Available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble

What Happened at Soaring High Dance Academy? God Happened. (2021) Available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble

Another New Pet? Yes! (2021) Available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble

Check out my future and current published essays!

“I Don’t Like My Butt! My Eating Disorder Recovery”

 By Theresa Corbley Siller

OCRecovery Diaries (to be published October 11, 2023)

     I didn’t think about body image as a child. Nobody–especially a child–should. I just enjoyed performing in our yearly dance recitals. I sang “Harrigan” at the top of my lungs in my green tutu, tap shoes and top hat, or floated around as an ethereal butterfly, leaping across the stage with joy in my heart. The best parts were the smell of hairspray and buzz of excitement backstage, and being presented with a post-curtain bouquet of pink roses. After the show, we all went to IHOP for a mouth-watering reward; a banana split!

     At fifteen, I was invited to dance at a professional company school in Washington, DC. It took me three buses to get there. I would trudge up those endless steps with my heavy dance bag, catching whiffs of hard-working underarms and feet. Aaah, but I loved the sweat and toil. After all, I got to see beautiful professionals rehearse. I had a dream of becoming one of them.

     In classes, I began looking more closely at myself in those ubiquitous mirrors. Holy crap. I decided that I HATED my butt! (We call it a derriere in the dance world. Everything sounds better in French, n’cest-ce pas?) It just seemed to stick out annoyingly. A friend at that school listened to me bemoaning my back side, and replied, “Then get rid of it.” Oh my! Get rid of it?! What a concept! And so began my strict dieting. No dessert. No French fries (quell dommage!).

My day’s three meals were simple: cereal, sandwich, salad. Fin!

     This calorically inadequate routine did not bode well in high school, where, sadly, it’s all about the boobs. I swear I stunted my…development. No dates for flat-chested, tomboyish figure me.

     One of my favorite teachers got concerned about me in the lunch line. “You’re only getting popcorn? No sandwich?” Ever after, he gave me a new nickname. In the hallways, this English Dept. Head called out to me, “Hey Sandwich!” I got some street cred with this extra attention, because everyone had a crush on this caring, cute teacher. His efforts, though, did not result in my purchasing more appropriate and sustainable lunches.

     When I became a lifeguard that summer, a comely and popular staff member commented to me, “Did you lose weight? It looks good.” If cool her, thought I was cool, then I could be in the “in” crowd. My severe dieting and jogging were producing far-reaching fruit.

     Fast forward to college, where I was pursuing a BFA. We danced six days a week. I was still in the cereal and salad mode, only allowing myself to add fruit and nonfat yogurt as an occasional extra indulgence. “Coffee has virtually no calories,” a fellow dancer remarked, so I allowed myself plenty of that. The only reason my exhausted, half-starved, over-caffeinated body wanted to go to the movies on the weekends, was for the no-butter popcorn. It was so fiber-y, I knew I’d poop it out anyway.

     Unfortunately, our dance department had weekly weigh-ins. I was on their radar. Those professors watched me in the cafeteria –very creepy. Being such a people-pleaser, I would make a spectacle of tucking into a gigantic meal, and eat myself too full and nauseous, just to get them off my back.

     I thought fleetingly of those dancers who purged. I could get rid of that overabundant “dinner performance” so easily. But no, I am terrified of throwing up. I discovered there’s a word for that–emetophobia. So, I lumbered back to my dorm room, with my arms clutching my bloated stomach, and begged my body to digest it all asap.

     One day I remember I only had a lollipop and coffee in the morning. As I trudged up the relentless dorm staircase, I experienced tunnel vision. “Are you okay? You need to stop this.” My wise and kind roommate told me to give myself a good look in the mirror–to hopefully reveal to me what I already probably knew: that I wasn’t healthy.

     One day, the Director called me into her office. I was so excited, expecting compliments for a successful recent solo I had in the show. Instead, she sat me down, her eyes wide, her mouth a thin line. “If you do not gain at least five pounds this weekend, I am kicking you out of the company.” I left there so dejected. I had a boyfriend then–no one cared about boobs after high school, thank God–and he took me out for good meals all weekend long. With a shrunken stomach, these dates were not nearly as fun as they could’ve been. Well, somehow I met the goal, and was allowed to remain in the performing troupe.

     One weekend, I visited my cousin at a nearby college. The colorful fall leaves looked so beautiful on the campus. We went to Burger King for ham and cheese croissants. Well, bread was a no-no in my austere program, so I just nibbled two bites of the ham and cheese, then wrapped up the rest and threw it out. She was gobsmacked at my emaciated frame, and told her mother, who told my mother. Aaah, the power of the grapevine. I was now on their radar, too.

     After dinner in the college cafeteria every night, following hours of ballet classes, I made myself do 60 laps in the pool, and then a half hour in the weight room. The pool lifeguard gave me many concerned looks, as she watched my bones protrude more and more. She mentioned this to the College Dean. Ugh.

     The whole thing was so embarrassing. Couldn’t I just quietly starve myself? Why did all these other people have to get involved?

     It’s astonishing, the negative power of a few words. Karen Carpenter, singer/songwriter, who with her brother, Richard, formed half of the sibling duo the Carpenters, once read a sensationally thoughtless review of their tour. It opened with, “Richard and his chubby sister…” This power-of-the-pen catapulted her into major anorexia, which killed her in the end. To this day, I remember hearing that horrific news on the radio in my dorm room, as my roomie and I sobbed. What if that critic had just stuck to Karen’s unique singing prowess? I also wonder how my own experience would’ve been, had my friend back in Washington, DC, said to me instead, “You have a great figure. What are you talking about–a big tush?”

     Words can smack us upside the head in a good way, too. A student who always stood next to me at the ballet barre, after witnessing me shrink, whispered to me, “You know, being thinner doesn’t make you a better dancer.” Hmmm.

     My whole life I have been inordinately susceptible to others’ words. I am under their spell, subjugating myself as if their utterances were gospel. The kind compliments I don’t believe, and the unkind ones I wrap up with a gigantic red bow and file them in my brain, to be taken out periodically and reviewed with self-flagellation.

      I got a nasty bout of tendonitis and was admonished that I would need rest and really good nutrition to expedite healing. Well, sitting around and watching ballet with an elevated foot is way less fun than the joy of doing it. I became tired of being injured, hungry and light-headed. I knew on some level that my Creator wanted me to be healthier…

     I began to realize that the ballet world is very insular. One has to be self-absorbed in order to be dedicated to the athleticism and technique required to succeed in this very competitive art form. I became tired of my stringent rules about what food I deserved and didn’t deserve. The masochism got old. I decided to broaden my life, fill my mind with something else completely different.

     I transferred colleges and enrolled in Nursing School. No one there cared one iota about weight or superficial looks. My new training was all about helping others. I dared to eat some Doritos and an ice cream sundae. The sky did not fall. Outings with friends were much more fulfilling, since I could enjoy all types of foods again, and concentrate more on the conversation around the table, rather than what food I was, or was not eating. I felt freedom from the cage I had locked myself in, never knowing I had the key to get out!

     I continued dancing at my new University, as an elective, and lo’ and behold, I had fun taking class and performing occasionally, totally ignoring my “junk in the trunk”. It no longer was about my body itself, but about what my body was doing to entertain the audience. After all, they paid their hard-earned money for tickets to come see me; shouldn’t they be allowed to behold my undistracted, explosive celebration out there?

     I was very, very grateful for the awareness that helped me heal from anorexia. I accept my formerly unsettling gluteus Maximus, and my now-thriving body that goes with it. God conveyed those necessary messages to me when I needed them most.

     For everyone out there who struggles with body-loathing, I feel you. I hope someday you can come to comfortable terms with your physique, as the spectacular design it is.

 

“From Torment to Triumph”

by Theresa Corbley Siller

Gulfcoast Writers Association Storm Stories (to be published September 9, 2023)

      I wondered if Jesus could hear me over the deafening roar of the almost Category-5,

pounding wind gusts. I was praying frantically while Hurricane Ian removed half of our mobile

home, like an angry toddler hurling a lego wall across the room. My husband and I watched the

action from the window, front row seats to Dorothy’s tornado in Wizard of Oz: “There goes our

carport, screen porch and patio!” “Isn’t that the Bakers’ bay window rolling across our yard?”

“Whoa, Lordy. I think that’s the Patterson’s roof on our driveway. Poor Mr. Patterson. Did it

smash the car?”

      I implored, “Dear Jesus, can you please allow us to keep our metal office roof, so our home won’t flood?” (The office inside-ceiling was sodden and now collapsed on the floor). Bang, bang, bang, shudder, convulse, quake. I even phone-video-ed my plea, concluding with a shot of  Jesus’ cross, miraculously still hanging on the wall. We felt like we were in a kid’s playhouse, and bullies were tipping it over from the outside.

      How apropos yet challenging, Psalm 16:8 was to this moment. “I keep my eyes always on the Lord. With Him at my right hand, I will not be shaken.”  I grabbed God’s hand and held on tight.

      I know, I know, my husband and I are crazy Floridians to try and hunker down in a mobile home during a hurricane! We’d been through two of them already; how hard could this one be? The secure clubhouse building a half block away in our park, was available for anyone who chose not to evacuate. We figured we’d see how it went-we could always wear our bike helmets and sprint over there. Definitely an ill-advised decision…At a half hour in, it was too dangerous to go anywhere.

      We ended up in our narrow hallway, with couch pillows on our heads, petrified looks on our faces, and clinging together for comfort.

      As we listened to our battery-operated radio/flashlight, we learned quickly that this severe storm was a slow-moving, deadly monster.

      As Ian’s cruel performance wore on, we heard the newscasters report that both Sanibel and Pine Island’s only bridges were broken. Whoever had stayed on those islands was stranded. That mean storm also took the Caloosahatchee River, in downtown Ft. Myers, and thrust it right into building lobbies. I had worked at one of those ruined venues, FL Repertory Theatre, and five feet of water tsunami-ed inside, leaving mud and mold in its wake. Later we heard that one of our favorite ushers, who stayed on Fort Myers Beach, hung on to a high palm tree for four hours, until he could be rescued.

      So. Much. Damage. So. Much. Loss. So. Much. Sadness.

      Cell phone service was mostly deplorable. But for some odd reason, an old student of mine, who lived in Pittsburgh, 1400 miles away, was the only person getting through to me. I had her mother notify our daughters that we were alive and okay. She got right on it, “Hi I’m Beth. You don’t know me; I am the mother of your mother’s former student, and your parents wanted me to let you know that they are doing alright.” Isn’t God cute? Handing us random, perfect solutions in the midst of Armageddon?

      What a mess- a heaping pile of saturated upturned outdoor furniture covered with pink fiberglass from multiple, jettisoned roofs, lay strewn about the yard. At one point during this debacle I joked that a giant had attended a nearby carnival, eaten too much cotton candy, and puked all over Southwest Florida. That stuff was EVERYWHERE. Our bikes were buried in that. Tangled vegetation wrapped around all this to form a yucky, slimy mountain. We were astonished that our Blessed Mary stature remained stoically standing, like she was giving a speech onstage, in front of her disheveled audience.

      This wasn’t a fake nightmare. It was a real day-mare. I’m used to watching disasters on T.V., thinking, how horrific! Let’s send money to help, but PHEW not us! This time it was us.

      We heard the American Red Cross Truck pull into our neighborhood, making their bullhorn announcement, “Hot meals! Come and get them!” Elixir straight out of Heaven, a mere 20 feet away. Delicious food-delectable chili and biscuits, comforted our careworn souls.

      My husband works for Salvation Army. Every year he would take the canteen truck to disaster sites around the country and feed thousands of hot meals to beleaguered victims. He was staggered that this time he was the one being fed.

      It took us 3 ½ weeks to clean up our trailer park. Piles of debris lined all roadways. The piles that did not get removed in a timely manner invited rats to nest in them. The gross factor was high after this debacle. A musty stench lingered in the air. We went through a whole bottle of hydrogen peroxide. The beaches’ water was bacteria-laden. People who braved them too soon got nasty skin rashes.

      On our street, our push brooms were no match for the blanket of nails and screws lying in wait. On my drive home after hunting for water, there was a five inch bolt waiting for me, its silvery face a bright circle in my tire. I could imagine it saying, “Gotcha! Nanny nanny boo boo!”  And, seriously, Cha-Ching! Ugh. Tires are a fortune these days. Yet more money we’d have to shell out for this cruel storm. As I sat in the car line of the Army Corps of Engineers’ free water/food/tarp station (God bless them), I chuckled at the circle of cars sporting spare donut tires. I was definitely not alone in the epidemic of nail injections!

      Thank God my husband had purchased a 2-burner propane camp stove a while ago. We dusted that thing off, and it saved us. We had also previously ordered a dry food supply. We pulled that bin out from under the bed and lived on it for eleven days of no electricity. (Shameless plug alert: I highly recommend Patriot Supply! The Chicken a la King is my favorite).

      My family and dear friends Jim, Ashleigh, Tom, Colleen, the Ortegas and Lynne sent us water, mixed nuts, and money as soon as delivery was up and running again. We will never, ever forget their TLC for us during this chaotic experience.

     This hurricane was all about tips and tricks, word of mouth and living by your wits.

     On one risky drive, I just happened to hear on the radio that if you could somehow get in touch with your child or a good friend up north, you could have them start your insurance claim. With millions of hurricane victims needing insurance claims, it was wise to try to get in the queue ASAP. Our daughter did this for us, and it made all the difference. Another daughter helped start our FEMA claim. The third daughter Venmo’ed us money. (She could not send us a check; our mailbox blew down). We are so blessed by these young women-they are gifts!

      When we got our street and home under control, my husband did go with the canteen truck to dish up meals to Fort Myers Beach people, whose destruction was arresting. As he headed over the entry bridge, he had tears in his eyes. It was shattering the level of destruction. Charter boats were lifted up out of the water to land on top of cars. Private vessels askew among the Mangrove trees. Shrimp boats piled up like an overcrowded child’s toy bin, no rhyme or reason. My husband was struck that this shrimp- boat- landfill represented generations of a hard-earned livelihood. There were holes where iconic beach landmarks-hotels, bars and restaurants used to be. Truly the end of an era.

      “We are hard-pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed but not in despair; struck down but not destroyed.” 2 Cor. 4:8-9

      Our homeowners insurance company seriously lowballed us for the cost of repairs. Our roof was trashed. Our walls were wet. Our kitchen had a hole in it. So we stared at each other across the kitchen table, exhausted, my husband’s face a map of discouragement. He gazed around at all our damage and despaired, “I just don’t know what we’re going to do.”

      I skeptically replied, “It would take a God-miracle for us to be able to sell this place, and afford a house somewhere.” We wanted another area of Florida that wasn’t Hurricane Alley.

      God worked swiftly on this one… A week later our middle daughter , Caroline, called. “Mumbo and Daddio, I couldn’t wait to tell you! I just got approved for a mortgage, and I’d love to buy an investment home you guys can live in, wherever you want. Where would you like to move? Let me know, and we’ll start looking.”

      WHAAAAAT??? I scratched my ears, making sure they weren’t full of wax, and I was hearing correctly. Apparently we had stumbled upon a gigantic, otherworldly blessing.

      So different houses were ruled out and the winner was chosen. And the blessings continued to rain down. Our daughter called us again, “Oh and by the way, I’m having the sellers put on a brand new roof.”

      We went from frenetically grabbing buckets when thunderstorms threatened our old roof, to the peaceful pitter patter of raindrops on our new roof.

      God will always give us strength and solutions for any calamity. Our gratitude for our daughter’s transformative blessing is unfathomable.

      “He will do exceedingly abundantly above all you ask or imagine.” Eph. 3:20

                              “3 Things We Can All Learn From Teddy’s Kidney Odyssey“

by Theresa Corbley Siller

Patheos.com

My column: What Would I do without God?

1. Otherworldly Strength, 2. Blind Faith and 3. The Importance of Community are what I have witnessed while watching one special family navigate their unique transplant journey. Teddy endured three. We could all take a leaf out of this family’s book to enhance our spirituality. Buckle your seat belts. What follows is a story of tremendous bravery.

     I loved meeting Kristen and Teddy when I first entered the family, while dating my husband, Rich. He and their dad, Ted, are brothers, and have so much fun together. At age 13, Kristen was already quite an accomplished swimmer, and interesting to talk to. On one wintertime visit, Teddy, 10, had just constructed a spherical snow fort. It had a perfect, portal entrance. He proudly proclaimed, “Aunt Terri, come check out my igloo!” Oh, what total music to my ears that he called me Aunt! What a welcome! Rich and I would marry a year later.

Otherworldly Strength

     As a youngster, Teddy was no stranger to hospitalizations. I marveled at the courage of that young boy. At just six years old, he developed cancer in one of his kidneys. Chemo treatments followed its removal. His mega-talented mom, Kathie, told me once that Teddy took losing his hair in stride. He’d grab a handful, hold it high and announce, “Look what I can do!” He could also swallow thirteen plus pills at a time, saying, “Ta-da!” What a kid! And big sister, Kristen, was always supportive of her brother throughout his health crises. She held a maturity beyond her years.

     Parents Kathie and Ted, both beloved teachers, never let the health issues interfere with Teddy trying all sorts of opportunities in his childhood. He loved participating in all kinds of sports, and he loved to laugh at goofy stuff with Dad and Uncle Rich.

     I remember being in our little apartment with my new husband when he got the phone call from brother Ted. Rich collapsed on our bed, placed a pillow over his face and began to sob. Teddy’s good kidney was in failure.

     On our next visit, we saw Teddy’s at-home dialysis apparatus. I marveled at Ted and Kathie’s meticulous and patient management of it all. I also noticed Teddy’s practical, one-foot-in-front-of-the-other attitude about his nightly plight.

     This family never stays down in the dumps during any misfortune. Just do what needs to be done, still live your best life and stay strong.

Blind Faith

     The next year, Ted gave Teddy one of his kidneys. The family felt bludgeoned when Teddy’s body rejected it. There are no words… We all have high hopes and do the best footwork we can, but we truly never know, without having a crystal ball, what the final outcome will be.

     Few of us will ever experience a faith test of this magnitude. I think of Corrie Ten Boom, WWII survivor’s, words. “Faith is like radar that sees through the fog– the reality of things at a distance that the human eye cannot see.”

     Back to dialysis Teddy and his family trudged. But not with their heads hanging. With their shoulders back and their chins lifted. Their motto is never, “Why me?” It is always, “Okay, what next?” I aspire to hold that exemplary attitude  and confidence in life. These remarkable people embodied this verse: “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” Isaiah 41:10

     Thirteen year-old Teddy got the miracle call that a kidney was available for transplant. [Link to kidney transplant Mayo Clinic] With trepidation after what they’d been through, the family prepared Teddy to undergo the surgery.

My husband and I remember when this amazing tween and his amazing dad were on T.V. telling their compelling story. The voiceover was riveting, as father and son played catch.

     What a relief; the transplant was successful!

     In L.A., this intrepid soul participated in the Transplant Games. Teddy has multiple pictures holding his trophies in the air! Ted shared that these Games opened up a whole new world. He enjoyed the camaraderie of the other parents– who really understood what this journey is like. Some families had attended for years, and Ted and Kathie and Kristen enjoyed hearing about all their experiences.

     Ted, a fabulous storyteller, told us about a boy named Stuart, who provided organs to many people competing in these Games. Stuart’s dad, present at the Event, despite his son’s new residence in Heaven, exclaimed to the team, “Go, Stu!” Not a dry eye in the crowd.

     A vital bumper sticker states: “Don’t Take Your Organs to Heaven, ‘Cause Heaven Knows We Need Them Here!” Amen.

     Teddy’s kidney did its job for thirty-one years! In that time he earned his Communications Degree and has worked as an Editor and a Technical Support Engineer for two big-market T.V. stations, for almost a quarter of a century.

     After the glory of the mountaintop, this spring the family found themselves in the frustrating valley once again. Teddy’s monthly bloodwork showed that his kidney had lost its effectiveness. A gut-punch after decades of spot-on productivity. It was hard to hear of the commencement of Teddy’s home dialysis regimen, all night, every night, evocative of the past.

     During a recent get-together I was again struck by the way Ted and Kathie spoke of the bad news to us. They communicated in their signature matter-of-fact way.  Those two never complain! (I would’ve been blubbering all over the place). I’d love God to grant me just one sixteenth of their perennial can-do attitude, no matter what. This pinnacle of unconditional faith is something I may never achieve in this lifetime.

     I am constantly receiving valuable lessons from this family, and they don’t even realize what incredible role models they are to me.

     This fearless young man once again, waited his turn for a kidney to be available, for his third (italicized) transplant operation.

     Sister Kristen decided to get tested to donate, and got approved! Kristen is an accomplished CRNA, DNP and arranged for the Event to take place at her hospital. Friday, June 16^th, 2023. IT’S A GO!

     I had Kristen and Teddy on three Prayer Walls, and notified my friends. Multiple Rosaries went up. Heaven was cheering, dancing on the clouds. As busy as Ted and Kathie were, keeping in touch with their hundreds of friends, they texted us updates during the entire surgical process.

     Most of us take our kidneys for granted. No thought to the magnificent functions they perform for our bodies. We might lament, “Gotta pee– how disruptive –what a hassle!”

Kathie texted us, “Kristen’s kidney is OUT, and producing urine already, on the table!”

     Oh, perspective.

     A TRIUMPHANT SUCCESS! Brother and Sister came through with flying colors. We jumped up and down at the news, doing a happy dance in our living room.

     Teddy enjoyed turning in all his dialysis equipment and supplies; the wall of boxes taking up almost an entire room in his house. Teddy is so grateful for his sister’s precious organ. What a bond for these siblings to share forever.

The Importance of Community –“Community is God with Skin on It”

“Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest…” Matt. 11:28

     Ted emphasized that this was not at all a solo journey. He shared with me how vital and nurturing their community was, steadfast throughout the many ordeals. When 6 -year-old Teddy was in the hospital getting his cancerous kidney removed right before Christmas, the family was traveling back and forth multiple times. One neighbor gathered hospital parking garage cash to present to Ted and Kathie. So incredibly thoughtful and handy –one less worry, when they were bursting with everything.

     Also during these rough weeks, Kristen performed in a Christmas Concert. Kathie started to choke up when they sang, “Silent Night”. She walked into the Church’s Cry Room, and fellow concertgoers, plus the Pastor, came to her and held her hands. Thirty-nine years later, Ted and Kathie’s hearts fill with this memory.

     Not only people from their schools showed up, but also friends and neighbors, who helped in all sorts of ways this family will never forget. Some lifted up copious prayers. Others listened. Social workers helped with navigating all facets of hospital paperwork.

     When Ted taught an Acting Class days before that Christmas, his students chipped in together to present a wonderful, cuddly Teddy Bear for Teddy. That precious stuffed animal followed Teddy to college. To this day, at age forty-five, Teddy has that awesome gift in a place of honor on his shelf.

     My favorite family are all SUPERHEROES. I will always look up to them. I love their happy ending.

     “You have turned my mourning into dancing.” Psalm 30:11