“I’ve Got This”

This is me at four years old. Practicing to be a part of the next team USA. I knew I could be and do anything.

What you can’t see in this picture is my inhaler that wasn’t too far away. At four years old, asthma was already shaping my world. With asthma attacks that made breathing feel next to impossible. Medications. Breathing treatments. Hospital stays. Being careful at every turn.

I learned early that air is not something you take for granted. The girl in the photo learned that difficulty doesn’t get the final say. By middle school, my inhaler wasn’t the only thing that was always in my school bag. I was packing my sports clothes too. The girl that once took daily breathing treatments was now going to daily basketball practice. Sports became my freedom. Movement became my identity. I refused to let asthma write my story.

But just when I thought I had outrun the difficulty of asthma, I had to have my first major spinal surgery during my junior year of high school. A spinal surgery that would change everything. They found congenital spinal stenosis. The reason why I was having leg, back and foot pain since I can remember. I had lost my identity. I could no longer participate in sports. This setback felt like the end of me. Until I read a quote that said, “a setback isn’t a go back.” I had to remember where I had been. And, the grit and strength it took to get there.

After recovering (I use that term loosely), I returned to movement in a different way, I built a career around it. I became a personal trainer and physical therapy aide. I helped others find strength in their bodies. Movement wasn’t just something I did. It was who I was. I spent years working with clients from all walks of life, ages, and abilities to find the best of themselves, for themselves.

Then there came a time that I needed to have a spinal fusion. I had relied on treatments, surgeries, procedures and other healing modalities for years, but now it was time for something bigger.

The surgery that was supposed to stabilize my spine, turned my world upside down. It wasn’t successful. I lost my career. Once again, I was no longer in the same body. This body was weaker. It carried new pain conditions, new diagnoses and pain that was constant. I thought my body had betrayed me. What I didn’t know was what was on the other side of this new difficulty.

I hit rock bottom. I couldn’t take the pain one day and I wanted to end my life. I didn’t know where to turn. My pain was unrelenting. By grace that day, I found an online pain community. They saw me. I started to surround myself with people with lived experience. A community that understood, validated and acknowledged what it’s like living with chronic pain. I learned new tools and strategies to navigate a whole new world.

Today, I don’t train bodies anymore. I sit with people in pain and I listen. I help them remember who they are underneath their pain and symptoms. I remind them that strength doesn’t always look strong. And as the four year old who learned how to fight for air, I now get to help others believe that they can breathe again too.

I keep becoming. The little barefoot girl in the photo had grit. She knew she could be anything. When I was an athlete, I learned discipline. As a trainer, I led with empathy. Living with chronic pain gave me purpose. And now, I get to walk with others as they find theirs.