Episode One: Tekki Lomnicki and Josh Friedberg

Welcome to Tales Told, a storytelling podcast from Tellin’ Tales Theatre! In our first episode, meet hosts Shui and Rob, and hear powerful true stories by founder Tekki Lomnicki and storyteller Josh Friedberg—exploring body image, disability, vulnerability, and self-acceptance. Real stories, real voices. 

Featured Stories:

Clothing Optional  -  Tekki Lomnicki shares her journey of vulnerability and self-acceptance at a clothing-optional hot springs retreat. Through humor and vivid storytelling, she reveals how shedding clothes becomes symbolic of shedding shame. The story celebrates healing, human connection, and the power of being seen exactly as you are.

He Didn’t Beat Me Up - Josh Friedberg’s story is a powerful journey of self-acceptance as an autistic, gay man facing mental illness, bullying, and body shame. A moment of unexpected kindness from a straight classmate saved his life and helped shift his self-perception. Today, he embraces his identity and knows his body is beautiful

Link to Transcription: 
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1C36CDXh8zR4TNQhI5JM-bnNp-oKrAuOv/edit?usp=sharing&ouid=113209359933137905337&rtpof=true&sd=true

Transcript

Shui
Welcome to our first installment of Tales Told, a production of Tellin’ Tales Theatre. I'm Shui Sherard.

Robert
 And I'm Rob Teverbaugh. And we are Tellin' Tales. Well, we aren't Tellin' Tales.

Tellin' Tales is actually much, much bigger than just the two of us. 

Shui

Of course it is. Let's give a little background because folks might not have heard of Tellin' Tales before they found us here.

Robert
 So you want me to fill everybody in.

Shui
 I'll chime in as I'm able, but you've been in Tellin' Tales way longer than I have.

Robert
Okay. Well, Tellin' Tales is a group of people sharing their stories, building a bridge between the disabled and non-disabled community. We believe that everyone has a story and that by sharing our stories, we enrich each other and we empower ourselves. Our stories become vehicles to promote awareness, understanding, and acceptance.

Shui
 So it's open to everyone?

Robert

 Oh, yeah.

And in fact, we have outreach programs to middle and high schools and retirement communities in the Chicagoland area. And sometimes we just put an invitation for people to submit story ideas.

Shui
 And then we have writing workshops?

Robert
 Mentoring sessions, really.

Shui
 And then we perform?

Robert

 And then we perform.

Shui

 And that's where the stories come from for this podcast.

Robert
 We believe in recycling.

Shui
 Okay. So our first story is by Tekki Lomnickii, Tellin' Tales founder and artistic director.

Robert
 I think it's a good thing to start our series with one of Tekki's stories.

Shui
So Tekki is an actor and she's disabled.

Robert
 She's a little person.

Shui
Right. So she has a visible disability and there's no way really for her to hide it.

Robert
Funny. Honestly, in this story, she isn't really hiding much of anything. It's called clothing optional.

Tekki
 I could tell because you're wearing a swimsuit. Usually the only ones wearing swimsuits are people who just got here and aren't sure they want to, you know.

 No, no, no, but don't feel bad. It's okay. I was uncomfortable with the whole clothing optional part when I first got here, too. I guess I didn't expect so many people, I mean so many ages, just walking around with everything just, you know. Well, at least it's not like in that David Sedaris book, Naked, where you're naked all the time and you have to carry around a towel to sit on.

I’m not sure, I'd want to eat a meal with a bunch of naked people. Would you? Well, here at Harbin, mainly people exercise the clothing optional part up here at the pools. Not that there's anything wrong with those other places. Have you been in the water yet?

You are going to love it. Start out in the warm pool. Yeah, it's that big one over there. That's where most people hang out. And then, you see those couple little steps just beyond it?

Yeah, there. You go up there and into the hot pool, and I'm talking hot. The water bubbles right up from the center of the earth there. I mean, I've heard somebody say that it's the same water dinosaurs swam in. No wonder they're extinct.

 I mean, I just dipped my toe in there and I thought, what am I, a lobster? Then I got used to it and man, my body became like rubber. No kinks, no aches, no tightness. And then, just beyond that, there's a couple more little stairs. You go up there and dive into the cold pool.

 Ice cold! Well, that'll really wake you up. And then, you ring these chimes as kind of a release. I guess that's so you don't swear. But, you are going to love it.

 I would go in naked if I were you. No, no, it's okay. It's not a sexual thing at all. Nobody comes on to you. But, I get that it's your first day here and really, I had trouble with the whole clothing optional part too.

I mean, not only with revealing my, um, self. But, with looking at other people and not staring. I mean, to tell you the truth, I had no idea that, um, men have so many shapes and sizes. And they're, um, you know. I used to sing that song as a kid.

Do your balls hang low? Do they wobble to and fro? Can you tie them in a knot? Can you tie them in a bow? I know what that song means now. When I first heard Hot Springs, I'm thinking more therapeutic somehow.

 Like nuns lifting you into private baths like in movies. Not somebody's big backyard swimming pool, sans speedos. I guess my friend T told me it was gonna be like this, but I didn't grasp it. I don't think anybody can fully grasp it until they're here, really here, lying on the deck among the bodies. Oh, you'll get used to it.

 And you really should take off that swimsuit. I mean, it's so... freeing. In a real healing kind of way. Really.

 Never in a million years did I think that I... I mean, when I first got here, all that was going through my head is, these people are normal. A little saggy here, a little flabby there. But me? I'm different.

 I first came here five years ago. My friend T invited me. Yeah, T. Just the letter T. Oh, there he is.

 No, no, not him. That guy. Dark hair, just about to get in the pool. T! Yeah, his real name is Tom O'Rourke.

But everybody who actually lives here takes on a different name. Sunheart. Or Tree. Or Ishvara. Or Bodhi Tara.

 Get this. There's even a guy here named Happy. I mean, where do they come up with these people? I mean, so... Woodstock slash hair slash Manson family.

 I mean, I haven't seen this much tie-dye, or had this much B.O. mixed with patchouli.
Or met so many flaky... I mean, enlightened people. Since I don't know when. Ooh, there's Sunheart.

 Yeah, blonde, a little anorexic looking. Yeah. He does this wild, underwater, rebirthing-type massage where you're both naked. Called watsu. If I were you, I'd march right down to that office and sign up for one right now.

 No, I know it sounds, but your going to love it! . So this one day, Sunheart comes up to me, and he says, Why did you choose that body to come into? Nobody ever asked me that in Chicago.

So how long you going to be here? Great. You won't unconditional dance. And when they say unconditional, they mean unconditional. You can dance naked, you can dance in leather, you can dance alone, or you can dance together, but you can't help but dance. 

My first time, I felt the ground pulsating a block away from the conference center. This guy, Hawk is the DJ. I don't know where he gets the music he plays. It's so trippy. I step into the room and get sucked into the crowd. Psychedelic lights, red, blue, yellow, green, Watusi around the big concrete walls alternating with strobe lights. 

Oh, my God, strokes. I hope I don't have a stroke. Some guy is blowing bubbles. What am I in a crack version of the Lawrence whelp show, a naked man? Who looks alarmingly like Jesus walks me out to the dance floor. 

He yells, what college do you go to? Harvard? I figure I’m going to Hell Anyway, not admitting I'm really forty- two.  We dance for, I swear,  half an hour. My crutches slipping in the pools of  sweat around our bodies. I can;t feel my legs. Yet they keep moving. How do you tell Jesus you have to sit down, after all he went through for us. 

Finally, Some naked chick with a big Budda tattoo on her belly cuts in. Thank You  I stagger to the bank of burlap feed bags that line the walls.  

Bodies, bodies  everywhere, men, women, kids, babies, flopped on them the like some kind of a loving gone bad, an Earth Mother type in a blue sarong, catches me and pulls me next to her. She unties the sarong and wipes the sweat from my face. She cups her hand to my ear. I hope you don't mind me saying this.  Shit. What is she going to say?

Please, don't say it then. What I  yelled.. I hope you don't mind me saying this, but you have the perfect nose for a nose ring, and suddenly, T pulled me up and we danced through the crowd and out the door.

 I couldn't walk for two days. You're gonna love it. My unconditional dance every Tuesday. Don't forget, you never know who you might dance with.

 Well, I first came here five years ago. T had already been living here for two years. I mean, we all thought he was crazy. One minute, he's a VP at an ad agency in Chicago, and the next he sells his two flat packs up and moves to a one room cabin without a bathroom at some clothing optional hot springs commune in Northern California. I mean, Walden Pond is one thing.

 But the minute I got here, I knew why he did it. It's so quiet here. I mean, I had trouble sleeping at first, no sirens, no car alarms, no TV, no ringing phones. Cell phones don't even work up here in the mountains. Oh, don't worry. If you really need to make a call, there's a pay phone down at the office. But in a few days, you'll forget about everything at work. What work?

 When I first came here five years ago, I was burnt out on advertising like T was. I never wanted to write about another pair of polyester pants with an easy wearing band roll waist machine wash and pour down, and to top it off, my boyfriend and I had just broken up. 

I felt lost, worthless, ugly, even. And then T called from that office pay phone. When we first drove through the mountains. I'm sick as a dog from all those hairpin turns, and then I start thinking, what if I murdered up here, it's so remote, they'd never find my body. Or worse, what if it's a cult and I end up joining. And drinking Kool Aid or wearing Nikes, but the minute we walked through the Dragon Gate, I knew I was in the right place.

 Well, T took me up here to the pools for the first time at night, I guess, figuring I wouldn't see so many naked people all at once. Well, first we went to the dressing room to drop off our stuff and pee. You know what's weird about that place? It's so bright in there. It's like dressing in the Seven Eleven.  You would think a place like that would have diffused lighting, or candles maybe so you didn't feel like you were getting naked in the canned food aisle.

 Well, I brought this robe, and I'm dressed under it like an eighth grader in gym class. And then this guy walks in, totally nude, his you know, totally at my eye level, and totally matter of factly, says, Hi.

And then this woman walks in, really old, I mean, shrivly, down, and her, um, well, she's wearing these feathery white angel wings, like those Victoria's Secret ads. Well, she bows and I back. I took yoga. I know the drill. 

So then there is T just who casually undressing over there. I mean, he had already been living here two years. I mean, it was no big deal for him. I wondered that too. He said it was really difficult at first to control. It had a mind of its own. He had carry around a hat with him at all times, just in case. I mean all those naked people. I feel sorry for guys in that way, but he said that, then he got used to it, and you know now he never gets. Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever seen anybody get you know, everybody here is just so laid back. 

So I walk out to the warm pool in this robe, go over to the edge, over there by the steps, whip off my robe and slither in as inconspicuously that possible, bath water, warm like bath water with the moon in it and the shadow of leaves on my arms and shoulders and this energy, this somehow healing force. But for me, it was like being home, really home, like in the womb, and I die. 

Why sick people throughout time make pilgrimages to hot springs. Came to this hot springs braving the mountains and horse drawn carriages and later Model T's and VW busses. And then I see these really attractive young guys get into the pool. I don't want them to see me naked. It's okay for me to see them naked, but me, I'm so. I don't know different. I have more to hide. 

Then I see these three women on the other side of the pool. Two of them are younger, and the one in the middle is older. Their mother, maybe, and they are supporting her as she descends into the water. She has only one breast, and I see the scar where the other one was, and I get that this is monumental for her to be seen naked, to reveal her scar, her pain, to submit to the water, to the healing.

And the next day, the day after that, and the one after that, I came up here in the daylight, just another body lying on the deck, no clothes to define me or make me better than anybody else, or hide my imperfections.

 I finally got that part in the Bible about my body being a temple, a temple for my soul, and how clothes were just another way for me not to share my soul with other human beings. 

Yeah, sure, I'd love to live here someday, but for now, it's my little Shangri La, the place I can come when I need to feel home again. Oh, get this. During my meditations back in Chicago, I come here, and in those meditations, everybody's here, Sun Heart, T, Happy, and now you Great. The sun's out. Oh, come on, take off that swimsuit, If I can do it, you can. (Applause, music fades in)

Shui

I love that story. 

Robert

Oh, my god, me too. I just, I love how she just, like brings you into it.  Like you're there with her.

Shui

My favorite part is how the clothing that's supposed to hide our shame really just enhances it, like nudity is the most natural thing in the world, and yet we're scared and vulnerable and ashamed just to exist in our own bodies.

Robert 

And this just takes the whole thing away. I love how I love how people have other names that they put on when their clothes come off. Sun Heart, 

Shui

Happy

Robert 

Woodstock with  Hot Springs. 

Shui

Oh, that sounds wonderful. I don't know if it's for me, though. 

Robert

Yeah, I think that's a point. Nobody knows if it's for them, like, you know, until they're there;

Shui

Or after.

Robert

 Yeah.

Shui

All right. So we've had a story from someone who has a visible disability. How about an invisible one?

Robert

How's Autism 

Shui

Fun? 

Robert

Yeah, not really. So this next story is from Josh. He's autistic, and his story is about how he saw himself and how other people saw him, and how that came to change what he thought about himself. 

Shui

That's complicated. 

Robert

Yeah, it is. But yeah, let's just hear the story. It's really good. 

(Music)

Josh  25:43  

I think I have lots of good reasons to feel ugly. I'm autistic. I have ADHD, bipolar disorder, OCD, depression and anxiety. Thank you very much. And growing up, my weight fluctuated constantly because of meds. By eighth grade, I had mysteriously developed man boobs when I was thin, right? 

And because my disability severely affected my coordination, I couldn't do pretty much anything athletic, including properly gripping a baseball bat. And in addition to all that, it wasn't until I was 15 and got braces that I was able to start smiling naturally, may or may not have looked natural, and all these sources of insecurity and more could make for one confused gay man. 

When I got to college on a small liberal arts campus with a pretty much non-existent gay male community, I felt alone, especially because I was abstaining from drugs and alcohol because of meds while in the middle of rural Indiana all the cornfields. 

But I also worked my ass off to make friends far more successfully than I ever had, and I worked hard to treat people differently than I had been treated. And I worked to get involved on campus. It almost felt like my physical issues didn't matter, except that I wasn't getting laid most of the time on campus, the far majority of the time, and yet, in the fall of 2010 I was terrified to tell this really cute, athletic, straight student named Patrick that I liked him.

 Many people guessed that Patrick was gay, and he would joke about it by going up to guys and making fake moaning noises, which I'm not gonna lie, I thought was hilarious, as much as as much as I could never do anything like that, because I get my ass kicked. I just frankly thought he was adorable.

 I didn't ever want to relive the experiences I had growing up of coming out and getting bullied after telling different guys, including at one point the most popular guy in my high school, that I liked them.

 I was trembling, but I wrote this very cautious letter. I said to Patrick that he was beautiful and that when I saw him, I felt ugly. I was trembling, but I slid this note under his door, his dorm room door, and promptly ran away. And something inside me told me that he wouldn't be upset. And sure enough, when I saw him maybe a week or two later, I said, Thanks for not beating me up after I wrote you and he just laughed. 

He and I got to have one extended conversation before I was about to finish my classes for my last semester, that semester on campus, and that conversation was about how scared I was and afraid I was to go back home and relive years and years of memories of bullying and abuse from school and elsewhere.  And sure enough, when I came back for a graduation weekend a few months after that, back to the campus, I couldn't get rid of feeling ugly and worthless.

 On May 5, 2011 I was planning to mix pills and alcohol because I thought there was no hope left. I didn't know how to open the bottle of alcohol, because I never touched alcohol with my meds. So instead, with a boot on my foot from an injury, I ran into traffic, somehow, surviving physically unscathed.  I can't believe I'm still here some days.

 Two nights later, I was walking down the main strip of party houses and college housing on campus, and I saw Patrick just sitting on the front steps of a college house, just drinking and partying with people. He stopped and said he wanted to talk to me, and I doubt he knew what I had done. I was very kind of standoffish, trying to act like nothing was wrong, but I'll never forget what happened next. 

We walked down that street for a little while, and he put his arm around me and told. Me how loved I was and how I had deserved a standing ovation from my class a year earlier, I was in shock. I couldn't believe I was hearing these words from especially a straight guy who knew that I liked him, and I'll never forget me saying to him just crying. I said, you don't think I'm ugly. And he just said, No, you're beautiful, and I love you lots and lots. 

When we were done with that conversation, I bent over and kissed Patrick on the shoulder of his shirt. I don't think he knew what he had done, but I realized a long time after that that he saved my life that night. It took three years before I was finally able to talk, including to myself, and admit what I had done, including to other people on social media.

 But that admission about what I had done and what Patrick had done for me was one of the better things to come out of a different kind of low point, a severe manic episode that lasted 15 months and in years since I worked hard to go against my patterns of self pity and to work on self acceptance, including in different forms of recovery, that feeling of self pity may be where I was for a very long time, and sometimes can still be but I know now that I don't have to be there all the time, and no matter what, whatever I feel, I know that I am never alone. 

And in September of 2023 I deleted my last remaining dating app on my phone, not because I found a relationship, but because I wasn't finding any authentic connection on any of those swiping machines. 

I've dealt with ableism, fat phobia, anti semitism, all kinds of good stuff on dating apps and in dating in general. But I refuse to beat myself up for other people's bigotry and prejudice. 

And in recent years, there's been a very curious phenomenon in such apps where I see fans of the TV show Schitt’s Creek saying, quote, unquote, on their profiles, looking for my Patrick, or looking for the Patrick to my David, referring to the gay couple on the show. And needless to say, I've been there, albeit in an entirely different way. Most of the time.

My friend and at the time, crush Patrick, saved my life. And for years, I was looking for just a way to experience and relive and replicate that moment over and over again with other people. But today, I'm not looking for my Patrick. I may still fall for the wrong people on a fairly regular basis, but I refuse. I work to have compassion for myself and crushes don't monopolize my thoughts the way that they once did, or as much as I let them do for a long time, I suppose/

 In 2020 I went back to the college where most of the story happened to give a TEDx talk on autism and creativity, and I finished that talk by saying, And I wouldn't change my autism if I could. Yes, it took a long ass time to get there. But today, I don't think I would change my very non linear and imperfect journey of healing, or whatever you want to call it, either. 

And these days, when I think of Patrick. I think of one of my favorite story songs of all time. And I think paraphrasing the lyrics, I hope I'm at least half the friend that he didn't have to be. And I think of another song that says, ain't it kind of funny at the dark end of the road that someone lights the way with just a single ray of hope. Because for one night, I didn't care what I looked like. I wasn't self conscious at all because the last person I ever expected called me beautiful metaphorically, and I'm not always good with metaphors. Being autistic, I was on top of the world all of a sudden. And as for me, I worked very imperfectly today on self care. But I know that no matter what, my autistic, gay body is beautiful. I fucking made it this far, and I'm not going back. Thank you. You.

(Applause and Music)

Robert 

Wow.  That was really powerful.

Shui

That guy saved his life and didn’t even know it.  I wonder if he ever found out.

Robert

It depends on whether he heard this podcast.

Shui

Well, I hope that he did.

Robert

I hope he  will.

Shui

Time is so complicated nowadays.

Robert

Well, that brings us to scheduling.  We are going to be dropping a podcast once a month or so.  Maybe a little more.  Maybe a little less.  But, they will always be stories written and performed by a Tellin’ Tales storyteller.  The topics will vary.  Some will be funny, some will be touching, some will make you think.  Actually hopefully they all do. 

Shui

So, come join us again next month, and we’ll have two new stories.

Robert

And us.

Shui

Yeah, us for sure.  We’ll see you next time on…

Robert and Shui

Tellin Tales Theatre’s . . .  Tale Told!