The Hard Part Out Loud | By Oksana Masters

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THE HARD PART OUT LOUD

By Oksana Masters

I am Oksana

I was born in Ukraine in 1989, with birth defects caused by radiation poisoning. I had six toes on each foot (which I thought was the coolest thing on earth, by the way — extra toes! I felt so lucky). I had webbed fingers on each hand, and no thumbs. My left leg was six inches shorter than my right, and both were missing weight-bearing bones. After a series of surgeries, eventually my legs had to be amputated above the knee. From all of this, I am covered in scars. At birth, I was put up for adoption, and spent seven and a half years in the orphanage system. A lot of people, they don’t want to believe what goes on in certain orphanages in Ukraine. But they should believe. Horrible things happen. From these things, I am also covered in scars. Very different scars. Sometimes, growing up, I liked to think of it this way: My body was covered in stories. Yes — that sounds nice. The scars.... they’re almost not even scars. They just mark my stories. They’re almost like tattoos, in this way. Almost. Except there’s one important difference, I realized: I didn’t get to choose my scars. A scar is a story that happens to you. You don’t own a scar — you survivea scar. I want to own my story. That’s something I’ve begun to discover, more and more clearly, as I’ve grown older: this desire I have to reclaim my body — to reclaim my life — as a story that only I get to tell. To say the hard part out loud: I was abuse . To define it. Not let it define me.

’ve always been more attracted to the ugly things.

Oksana Masters

U.S. paralympian

PHOTOS:

Taylor Baucom/The Players' Tribune

By Oksana Masters

Presented by

Over the course of my adulthood, that desire has manifested itself in all types of ways. It has manifested itself in a love of tattoos. Tattoos, unlike scars, you get to choose. And each tattoo I have is full of so many of my own choices — each of them represents such an important part of me. When I get a new tattoo, it’s like me saying: I want my story told in this color, and this size, in this location, that looks like this, and reminds me of this, and this, and this. So, where my actual scars might reflect these moments of powerlessness? My new scars, the way I choose to mark my body up with tattoos.... I feel this deep PURPOSE in it. I feel the most amazing sense of self. It has also manifested itself in a career in sports.

The first step was a video that I put out in March. That video, like I said at the time — it was me, still in that place of just.... working through it all. Taking pieces of my story apart, and then putting them back together. It was me piecing a lot of emotions into place — from hurting, to healing, to sometimes hurting again. But it was also me grappling with the cost of being “out there.” Hasn’t your mom been through enough?? Is your boyfriend *really* ready to hear all of these details? What will your sponsors think?? Those are the questions I kept asking myself. I could think of so many reasons why my story didn’t need to be told. But I still kept coming back to the one reason why I knew it did: other women. I wrote: "I kept thinking about the other women out there, and other children, and all that they have been through — and how meaningful my story might be to them. I kept thinking about how important it might be for them to see me, not just unbroken, but alive and wel. Not as some object of pity, but as an example of strength. As a woman who has gained power on the other side of her trauma, and who deserves to be known, not as the sum of her experiences, but as the sum of her actions." And now I’m here.

It’s been over nine months since that video was released, and the time since then has only confirmed for me what I always felt in my heart — that sharing my story was the right thing to do. But the passage of time has also told me something else: It’s told me that we’re never really done reckoning with our past.... and that’s fine. It’s fine to keep processing, to keep remembering and sharing. Survival is not something where you “win” and then magically it’s over. There is no one path to take, no one recipe to follow. I think that, with survival, it’s more like — I guess it’s more like a state of bein . You don’t “achieve” it. You just.... survive.

By Anthony Joshua

What does the future hold for me.... I don’t know. I have dreams, for sure. I’ve been dreaming about my evolution as an athlete, and the heights that I can reach if I put my mind to it. I’ve been dreaming about continuing to tell — to reclaim — my story. I hope it keeps reaching people, especially all of the other women and children out there who might have been through things like I’ve been through. I hope what I am doing with my life is meaningful to them.

Another thing I’ve been dreaming about is the next tattoo I’m going to get. I haven’t totally figured it out yet.... but I think it’s going to be this sort of map that goes down my spine. On one end, I want it to have the coordinates of where I was born in Ukraine. And then on the other end, I want it to have the coordinates of my first home with my mom in Buffalo. That was such a long journey.... and I think it would mean a lot to have a tattoo about the idea of coming full circle. About where I’ve been, and how that’s led me to where I am. And where I’m going. Like I said, it isn’t finished.... and who even knows how it will end up. But it’s something, right?? It’s getting there. It’s a start.

The Hard Part Out Loud

There are still parts of my story that I can remember like they were yesterday. Parts of my story that, for better or worse, will always fit to my memory like a glove. There will always be the orphanages. I remember how they had these long hallways — you could swear they were designedto be as scary as possible. I remember how it was so cold that seeing your own breath was normal. I remember how they were never lit, always so dark. I remember the night. Most of the worst stuff, it would happen late at night. Sometimes, instead of being graphic — I just need to tell people a list of the things I can’t stand anymore: knives; lit cigarettes; metallic chains. Still, to this day, I can’t get a massage and not freak out. That probably gives you some of the picture. There will always be coming to America. It was such a huge adjustment. So much of it was so good — so much of it was heaven. I was cared for, I was cared about, I was well fed, I was well parented, I was love. But then there were some adjustments that were extremely hard. Not because things weren’t better now, but because they’d just been so bad before.... I think it killed my perspective on what “better” could even mean. An example of this is sleeping. In the orphanage, you associated sleep with abuse — really it was that simple. It was impossible not to. So when I got to my new home, and this comfortable bed.... it was as if none of that newness, none of that comfort mattered. I hated sleep.

by Oksana Masters

Being an athlete has changed my life forever, and I’ll always be grateful: I’ve won two gold medals and nine world championships in Paralympic events.... and feel like I’m just getting started. But I didn’t get into sports to win, exactly. I got into them because of what they’ve helped me to understand about myself. Sports have made me see how the body — my body — has a power that should never be underestimated. And then, most recently, it’s manifested itself in the act of storytelling. The truth is, surviving my past was one challenge. But reckoning with it.... that’s been another challenge entirely. For me, it was like: I know what happened to me. But how do I even begin to SAY what happened to me? And if I could, would I even want to?

Over the course of my adulthood, that desire has manifested itself in all types of ways. It has manifested itself in a love of tattoos. Tattoos, unlike scars, you get to choose. And each tattoo I have is full of so many of my own choices — each of them represents such an important part of me. When I get a new tattoo, it’s like me saying: I want my story told in this color, and this size, in this location, that looks like this, and reminds me of this, and this, and this. So, where my actual scars might reflect these moments of powerlessness? My new scars, the way I choose to mark my body up with tattoos….. I feel this deep PURPOSE in it. I feel the most amazing sense of self. It has also manifested itself in a career in sports.

The Hard Part Out Loud

It’s hard to explain, but I think that’s just how I’ve always been. My favorite plants are dandelions — the weeds that everyone’s trying to get rid of. There’s something special to me about an old, gnarly tree. I even love dying roses. I’m one of those people, you know? It’s the scars of these things that move me. It’s the way that they carry their histories with them. To be attracted to the imperfections of the world, I think, is to understand what it’s been through. That’s beauty, to me. That’s life.

I also know that, in the end, I was lucky: because what happened to me then is what led me to the life I have now. But I still have a lot of questions, you know?? I’d still like to meet them. I’d still like to fill in that piece of the puzzle. I’ve been dreaming about taking care of my mom. I love the idea of being able to take her somewhere, on an amazing vacation one of these days, just me and her. I love the idea of one day being able to do so many different great things for my mom, to begin to square us up for all that she has done for me. I know that I’ll never actually be able to fully repay her.... I mean, how can you repay the person who saved your life?? But I still dream about all of the ways I can try. I’ve been dreaming about one day having my own family. I think I’d be a pretty good mom. I’d want to teach my kids to be strong and independent — and to fight for their voice. I’d want to be the mom for them that my mom was for me.

those

even

you

survive

I was abused

this

choose

I know what happened to me. But how do I even begin to SAY what happened to me? And if I could, would I even want to?

Hasn’t your mom been through

didn't

alive and well

state of being

designed

nights

heaven

about

loved

stop

too

Or, rather, I couldn’t stop hating sleep. As strange as it may sound, a bed was too comfortable for me at first. I had to sleep on a hard floor. It was almost like I had to re-process the trauma, in a way, before I could learn to let it go. And of course there will always be my mom. My mom, who fought for two years — for two years!! — to get me out of Ukraine. My mom, who adopted me and then raised me, by herself, as a single parent. My mom, who pestered me and didn’t let up until I agreed to give this adaptive rowing program a try. My mom, who’s taught me how to become a rememberer and a forgetter. My mom, who

two

and

Why would someone do this to me? Why abandon me and leave me all alone? What did I do wrong?

so many

enough?? Is your boyfriend *really* ready to hear all of these details? What will your sponsors think??

has opened up so many of life’s doors for me — so that I could walk through them and fall in love with the world. My mom, who is the reason I’m here.

years!!

PHOTOS:

Taylor Baucom/The Players' Tribune

hen I lost my heavyweight world title to Andy Ruiz Jr. last June, I was completely prepared for it. Maybe

that sounds like a weird thing to say about my first defeat as a professional boxer. The referee had stopped the fight in the seventh round. But it was clear that I was going to get a second chance. I said well done to Andy, dusted myself off and went back to the drawing board. I knew exactly what to do next. Some of you might find it strange that I’m starting this story with my only defeat. But I think you should share your struggles more than your successes. A lot of people only see me as a boxer — all they want me to do is knock someone out. What they don’t realise is that without personal growth, without the stuff that hardly anyone sees, I wouldn’t have achieved anything in the ring. You see, before you understand the highs and lows of sports, you have to understand the highs and the lows of life. And if you can understand the highs and the lows of life, trust me, you can deal with anything.

I was born in Ukraine in 1989, with birth defects caused by radiation poisoning. I had six toes on each foot (which I thought was the coolest thing on earth, by the way — extra toes! I felt so lucky). I had webbed fingers on each hand, and no thumbs. My left leg was six inches shorter than my right, and both were missing weight-bearing bones. After a series of surgeries, eventually my legs had to be amputated above the knee. From all of this, I am covered in scars. At birth, I was put up for adoption, and spent seven and a half years in the orphanage system. A lot of people, they don’t want to believe what goes on in certain orphanages in Ukraine. But they should believe. Horrible things happen. From these things, I am also covered in scars. Very different scars. Sometimes, growing up, I liked to think of it this way: My body was covered in stories. Yes — that sounds nice. The scars.... they’re almost not even scars. They just mark my stories. They’re almost like tattoos, in this way. Almost. Except there’s one important difference, I realized: I didn’t get to choose my scars. A scar is a story that happens to you. You don’t own a scar — you survive a scar. I want to own my story. That’s something I’ve begun to discover, more and more clearly, as I’ve grown older: this desire I have to reclaim my body — to reclaim my life — as a story that only I get to tell. To say the hard part out loud: I was abused. To define it. Not let it define me.

Being an athlete has changed my life forever, and I’ll always be grateful: I’ve won two gold medals and nine world championships in Paralympic events.... and feel like I’m just getting started. But I didn’t get into sports to win, exactly. I got into them because of what they’ve helped me to understand about myself. Sports have made me see how the body — my body — has a power that should never be underestimated. And then, most recently, it’s manifested itself in the act of storytelling itself. The truth is, surviving my past was one challenge. But reckoning with it.... that’s been another challenge entirely. For me, it was like: I know what happened to me. But how do I even begin to SAY what happened to me? And if I could, would I even want to?

The first step was a video that I put out in March. That video, like I said at the time — it was me, still in that place of just.... working through it all. Taking pieces of my story apart, and then putting them back together. It was me piecing a lot of emotions into place — from hurting, to healing, to sometimes hurting again. But it was also me grappling with the cost of being “out there.” Hasn’t your mom been through enough?? Is your boyfriend *really* ready to hear all of these details? What will your sponsors think?? Those are the questions I kept asking myself. I could think of so many reasons why my story didn’t need to be told. But I still kept coming back to the one reason why I knew it did: other women. I kept thinking about the other women out there, and other children, and all that they have been through — and how meaningful my story might be to them. I kept thinking about how important it might be for them to see me, not just unbroken, but alive and well. Not as some object of pity, but as an example of strength. As a woman who has gained power on the other side of her trauma, and who deserves to be known, not as the sum of her experiences, but as the sum of her actions. And now I’m here.

It’s been over nine months since that video was released, and the time since then has only confirmed for me what I always felt in my heart — that sharing my story was the right thing to do. But the passage of time has also told me something else: It’s told me that we’re never really done reckoning with our past.... and that’s fine. It’s fine to keep processing, to keep remembering and sharing. Survival is not something where you “win” and then magically it’s over. There is no one path to take, no one recipe to follow. I think that, with survival, it’s more like — I guess it’s more like a state of being. You don’t “achieve” it. You just.... survive.

There will always be coming to America. It was such a huge adjustment. So much of it was so good — so much of it was heave I was cared for, I was cared about,I was well fed, I was well parented, I was lovedBut then there were some adjustments that were extremely hard. Not because things weren’t better now, but because they’d just been so bad before.... I think it killed my perspective on what “better” could even mean. An example of this is sleeping. In the orphanage, you associated sleep with abuse — really it was that simple. It was impossible not to. So when I got to my new home, and this comfortable bed.... it was as if none of that newness, none of that comfort mattered. I hated sleep. Or, rather, I couldn’t stophating sleep. As strange as it may sound, a bed was toocomfortable for me at first. I had to sleep on a hard floor. It was almost like I had to re-process the trauma, in a way, before I could learn to let it go. And of course there will always be my mom. My mom, who fought for two years — for two years!!— to get me out of Ukraine. My mom, who adopted me and then raised me, by herself, as a single parent. My mom, who pestered me and didn’t let up until I agreed to give this adaptive rowing program a try. My mom, who’s taught me how to become a rememberer and a forgetter. My mom, who has opened up so many of life’s doors for me — so that I could walk through them and fall in love with the world. My mom, who is the reason I’m here.

I’ve been dreaming about the day I’ll meet my birth family. In my head, I used to hate them so much. I used to spend so much time wondering, like — Why would someone do this to me? Why abandon me and leave me all alone? What did I d But now that I’m older, I know that it’s so much more complicated. There is so much to their side of the story that I don’t know. I know that they didn’t have many resources. I know that they were just trying to survive, in their own way. I also know that, in the end, I was lucky: because what happened to me then is what led me to the life I have now. But I still have a lot of questions, you know?? I’d still like to meet them. I’d still like to fill in that piece of the puzzle. I’ve been dreaming about taking care of my mom. I love the idea of being able to take her somewhere, on an amazing vacation one of these days, just me and her. I love the idea of one day being able to do so manydifferent great things for my mom, to begin to square us up for all that she has done for me. I know that I’ll never actually be able to fully repay her.... I mean, how can you repay the person who saved your life?? But I still dream about all of the ways I can try. I’ve been dreaming about one day having my own family. I think I’d be a pretty good mom. I’d want to teach my kids to be strong and independent — and to fight for their voice. I’d want to be the mom for them that my mom was for me.

this

this,

Hasn’t your mom been through

begin to SAY what happened to me? And if I could,

Hasn’t your mom been through

enough?? Is your boyfriend *really* ready to hear

nights.

heaven.

about,

loved.

stop

two

and

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