Anna was born with congenital limb difference. She has lived her entire life without her arms. As a child, she felt self-conscious about her appearance and doing everything with her feet. Now, as an adult, she has a message for her younger self.
I was born in Vietnam missing both my arms. My mom is an incredible woman. As a single mother living in the U.S., she fostered dozens of kids and adopted six with a diverse range of physical and cognitive disabilities. I was one of them.
No one is entirely sure what caused my limb difference. A family doctor once hypothesized that it could’ve been correlated with Agent Orange. It made little difference to my mom. As soon as the adoption agency told her about a baby girl born without arms, she said yes.
It wasn’t a straightforward process. Because the U.S. didn’t have diplomatic relations with Vietnam at the time, I was first flown to Thailand along with a small group of other children being adopted, then flown to Seattle where my mom met me for the first time.
Growing up, I was aware my family life was not normal. We appeared very unconventional and things were chaotic. Although I’ve grown up to understand the truly special nature of my unique family, it was not always something I was as comfortable with as I am now. When I was younger, I was dealing with my own insecurities of growing up different and wanted so badly to seem “normal” that anything outside of that felt like it magnified my differences and further impacted my ability to be accepted by society.
My mom never coddled me—in fact, she sometimes rejected my requests for help doing certain things in order to instill a sense of independence in me. That was truly the greatest gift. She also made sure my siblings and I had enriching lives, as she regularly took us on outings such as exploring our nearby city, taking us to the library, and other fun activities. I had a great home life growing up. Three of my siblings were born with differences so profound, they have since passed away.
Looking back now, I’d tell my younger self how special and unique my family is. That the people that matter most won’t judge me for my family, but rather appreciate and love my family for who we are. I’d tell myself that my mom is truly a special one of a kind person who gave me the greatest gifts of my life—independence and a second chance. She deserves an abundance of respect, appreciation, and love for that.
Growing up, my biggest difficulty was this fear of what others thought of me. I so desperately wanted to fit in. I remember always begging my mom for material things my peers had as an attempt to feel normal—the latest Barbie or even an electric guitar for Christmas one year. I don’t think I ever played that guitar much. It seems silly now, but at the time it felt so important to try to be like other kids. If I were to talk to that young girl now, I would try to make her understand just how beautiful it is to be different, and how much better and lighter life feels when you can be your authentic self.
I knew from a very young age that I was different but I was fortunate to attend a small, private Montessori school from pre-school to 8th grade, where things felt familiar and safe, and the majority of students knew me and it wasn’t made into a big deal. I still carried a lot of the hard stuff—the shame, the insecurity, the wanting to disappear. The struggle was quieter, but it was still very much present.
I always tried to draw attention away from my disability. I refused to bring my dressing hook to school, which would’ve allowed me to use the bathroom there without help. Instead, I would go without drinking water or have a close friend help me if I needed it.
Entering high school, things started to shift. I attended a private all girls Catholic school my first two years of high school, and afterwards went part time at my local public high school while attending community college. This was the start of quietly stepping away from the pressure to fit in and turning toward the things that actually felt like mine. I still often felt lost, but underneath that I always had hope I would come into my own and feel comfortable in my own skin.
While in high school I participated in two local beauty pageants. For someone who spent most of their childhood avoiding being seen, pageants were about as far outside my comfort zone as you could get. A part of me knew I could benefit from showing the world who I am and being seen.
Even then, going into college, I was still pretty reserved and self-conscious. But going to a big college helped me realize most people aren’t concerned about me and are primarily focused on themselves. I was using my feet in place of my arms every day, without even thinking about it and no one around me was thinking about it either.
Growing up I never wanted to put myself at the forefront of attention. When my mom made me go to things like art camp, vacation bible school or summer learning programs, I never really approached anyone and always felt anxious. If I had it my way, I would’ve stayed at home in my comfort zone.
I said no to a lot growing up, but it was less about activities and more about exposure. I had hobbies like figure skating and kung fu that didn’t require me to be seen in the way that social situations did. I also always had a few friends growing up, but making new friendships or making friends outside of that was really hard for me.
I think underneath the shyness was a fear of rejection. The possibility that someone might not want to be my friend was enough to stop me from trying at all. It was easier to just be comfortable with what came to me or what I already had. The same goes for dating as I got to be the age where my peers were starting to explore that. I never pursued anyone I was romantically interested in and shied away from dating because I was so afraid of rejection. I never even dated until after college.
Looking back, I would tell my scared younger self that life is short. I would give myself permission to fail. Permission to be rejected. Permission to feel uncomfortable. Because all of those things I was so afraid of are a part of being human.
I would tell myself to hone in on the things in life that make me happy, and to focus on the people in my life that accepted and respected me; there will always be people thinking negatively about me and there is no way to change that. Life is short, and I want as little of mine as possible spent worrying about what others think of me.
I have the power to create a beautiful, positive, and enriching life for myself when I focus my energy on what matters.