Six years ago today, I fell and my life was forever changed. It's hard for me to open up about, but I have been writing, slowly and surely...
(Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4)
If I could sit down and talk with the almost-fourteen-year-old me from six years ago, I would tell her...
You are strong. Stronger than you know. You can do this, and you will do this. You will walk again. It will be hard; you will cry, you will question everything, you will feel inadequate...You have permission to be angry at the world for a little while; you can cry about the unfairness of it all and punch the life out of some pillows, but never give up. You will come out of this experience as a stronger person.
Don't listen to the person who doesn't understand. He will shout in your face that you are lazy, a failure...he will tell you that you should be "running a marathon right now" instead of struggling to walk with crutches, and these words will break your soul, knock the wind out of your chest. Understand that he says these things because he cares about you but he doesn't realize that he's tearing you down...he doesn't feel the sharp pain that rips through your leg when you try to take a single step, doesn't realize that a trip across the kitchen feels like a marathon in itself. Wipe your tears and know that you are far from a failure, and when you are collapsing to your knees from exhaustion, remember that you are the antonym of lazy.
Don't let his words break you.
And that doctor on the other end of the spectrum, who says that you'll probably never get rid of your crutches and will need a wheelchair for long distances? You. Will. Prove. Him. Wrong. One day you will stroll into his office all on your own, without crutches or anything at all. He will stare at you with shocked eyes, drop his pen, and he will assume that he got the wrong patient.
He will watch you defy his expectations before his eyes.
Is that really the girl with CP who broke her femur? he will murmur to his secretary as you rise from the chair in the waiting room.
He will shake his head in disbelief as you stroll down the hallway.
He will be lost for words.
And you will smile because you always knew you could do it. You always knew that you would walk again.
So, fourteen-year-old me, wipe your tears, keep your chin up, and believe in yourself.
Don't let their words break you.
You got this.