It is another summer evening in the Frost household, and I snuggle closer to my mother as she flips through the pages of a well-used children’s Bible. She need not inquire to what devotion I would like to read: the answer will be an echo of the precedent nights. 

Yet, I beg with upcasted eyes, “Mom, can we read Esther again tonight?”

Mother sighs, but the tender smile upturning her lips suggests her acquiesce to my inevitable question. 

The fine pages wither with their vibrant illustrations as years pass. Its existence has slipped my 12-year-old mind as I clutch onto my mother’s hand; awaiting the news of an x-ray taken the days following Christmas. When her phone buzzes in her back pocket, she exchanges my anxious grasp for the phone call that would revise my teenhood into an unscripted stumble of doctor appointments, miles of monotonous traveling, and continuous, dismaying news. 

My x-ray showed an abnormal curvature of the spine–scoliosis, they call it. If caught early enough in adolescence, this s-shaped malformation can be corrected by vigorous back bracing or physical therapy. Alas, my case had been caught at the tailend of my pubescent years. The only chance of correction I had was an aggressive treatment; a combination of the two previously mentioned. 

In two years, I saw nine doctors who could seldom promise their method of treatment could correct my curve by even ten degrees. Encased in a cinched brace of plastic that expanded from my shoulders to my pelvis, each step I took would be trailed by curious stares and ignorant whispers. I would pull tighter on the Velcro straps, yet every iota of effort seemed to be in vain. In late June of 2022, I underwent a fully corrective surgery called spinal fusion. Beneath the expanse of a now-white scar lies the corrected struggle of a 15-year-old girl, now left to cope with a myriad of self-esteem issues, and the mental wounds of each uncontrollable inadequacy perpetually reminded by each appointment. 

An opportunity soon arose in an early fall afternoon. Across my social media came an advertisement for an all-girls scoliosis support group. The Curvy Girls Scoliosis Foundation, with chapters led all over the world by diagnosed teenagers alike, was the opportunity I needed: a way to provide support and kindness to girls who may be as lost as I was when first diagnosed. 

After a few weeks of paperwork and emails between the founder of the organization, Leah Scholtz, I officially began the Southern and Central Illinois chapters of Curvy Girls. Covering such rural areas with such niche intentions, I did not expect many to join. However, as of October of 2023, we have had several girls who have joined to not only seek kindred spirits, but share their stories. Aside from communicating via email, we meet monthly over Zoom to discuss various topics involving scoliosis: from bracing tips to mental health chats. 

“For such a time as this,” Esther 4:14 states; a verse that has become increasingly relevant in my life. If there is anything I hope to accomplish with my group of girls, it is to establish a flourishing community and sisterhood of what otherwise would be considered the ‘outcasts.’