Grieving The Life I Had Before I Became Ill: How I'm Working Through It

Hands up if you can just move your body without planning.

Hands up if you can go on a shopping trip and gleefully try on whatever shoes you want.

Hands up if you don’t have to think about which leg you should lead with when you get into and out of a car.

You will notice that my hand is down.

This is the reality of chronic pain from an injury that never healed correctly. While I was on active duty, I twisted my ankle very badly. Due to several factors, it never recovered. And I made this unpleasant discovery in an ER after training for a 5K and winding up with pain so intense I thought I had given myself a stress fracture. That was four years ago.

So now what?

I’ve had to accept that there are some things I will probably never be able to do. Medical science may advance such that I do regain full functioning someday, but for now, I’ve had to come to terms with the following five things:

1. I will probably never run a marathon

This was a bucket list goal for me. I didn’t have a target time or a particular marathon I wanted to run in; I just wanted to run one. Because to me, this means you’re an athlete. This means you have discipline. This means that you did something few people will ever do.

I did end up running that 5K at a decent time, and I might be able to do so again. But a marathon is probably not happening. I would simply be in too much pain regardless of how supportive my shoes are, how much I’ve prepared, and how many breaks I take. Therefore, I’ve had to come up with another way to show that I look after my body. Something I can point to and say, “This took work and I’m proud of it.”

Surprise: it’s not one goal. It’s several small, changing goals. Do this move wearing shoes. Then holding a light weight. Then a heavier weight. Then try a yoga pose on one foot for this long. Then that long. Tiny, movable goals that gradually build my confidence in my right foot back up. That is now how I track my progress, and it’s much more sustainable.

2. I will probably never wear high heels

It’s such a small complaint in the grand scheme of things, and I can hear the eyerolls from here, but walk into any store that sells shoes and look at the women’s section. So many heels. And I have no faith that I’d be able to walk confidently in heels. Yes, I know it’s a skill that can be learned. But I know that at best, I would always be leaning to one side to compensate, and at worst, I would be absolutely terrified of stepping wrong and re-injuring my ankle. Built-in heels, such as tiny wedges in sneakers and sandals, I can usually do. But everything else is usually a no.

Compared to something like running a marathon, this is a small loss for me. However, it has still resulted in me needing to rethink how I can participate in fashion and self-expression.

3. I will probably never be able to run through the woods again without fear

This is the biggest tragedy on my list. I grew up taking hikes with my dad, going to the lake with my family, and spending time outdoors just because. I was the kid who jumped in puddles, dug in rock piles, and yapped about a cool leaf I found. I used to take so much pride in running down trails, quickly finding the footholds, and dodging tree branches in my wake.

Now I must walk. Not because I want to, but because I am constantly checking the ground for stones, dips, twigs, and other things that I could potentially step on and roll my ankle. Fear has replaced freedom. Maybe one day, science will advance such that I’ll be able to use a brace or supportive tool that takes this fear away. Right now, though? I’m stuck walking.

This loss is difficult to understand if you’ve never felt joy while surrounded by trees and nature. If you cannot imagine such joy or have no experience with it, I simply ask for your belief in its reality for me.

4. I will probably always have to consciously plan bodily transitions

Little things that you probably do every day without thinking, I must plan. Navigating stairs. Getting into and out of vehicles. Stepping on and off curbs. Because if I lead with my bad ankle, how confident am I that it won’t roll? Am I willing to risk potential re-injury and all the pain and additional mobility issues that would come with it?

This is where I usually encounter a lot of comments about how I’m comparatively young and “shouldn’t” have such challenges. I ask for patience because I have a bad foot, and a lot of times, people’s impressions about me suddenly change. Never mind that the injury happened while serving my country.

I will probably need a mobility aid before I’m 35. That’s the hard truth of it. And what has honestly been the most helpful is seeing other “young” people using mobility aids and sharing their own experiences. It’s also added to my knowledge of how people navigate the world differently in general.

5. If I must move quickly, I will absolutely pay for it later

Sometimes you must move immediately. Emergencies and disasters happen. For years, I worked in a field where client elopement (running away) was a frequent concern. I am able to run when need be, and I will always do so if it helps with a crisis. But once the crisis is over, I need to sit down as soon as possible. I need to assess the level of pain I’m in, especially if I need to run around corners or make sharp adjustments, and determine if I need to do any sort of first aid. Yes, even with supportive shoes and stretching and all the other preventative self-care I do. Because chronic pain does not care how well I’m trying to take care of myself.

It has been a multi-year journey of being able to identify these five things as challenges. Being able to accept them is an ongoing process. Over the past couple of years, I have gotten a lot better at sitting down when I need to and putting on a brace preemptively if it’s a bad pain day. But I still have a lot of moments of stubbornness. A lot of moments where I repeat the narrative that I “shouldn’t” need to slow down or wear special shoes. I am not sure those moments will ever go away. However, I’m much more comfortable with myself now than I was even six months ago, and I consider that a win.

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I’m a neurodivergent woman (AuDHD) and military veteran. I have decades of lived experience navigating a world that isn’t built for how your brain works, including trying to access neuro-affirming healthcare and therapeutic services. I’ve been through a lot personally and have taught myself a significant amount about the effects of trauma on the body and mind. Professionally, I have lived many lives, with the majority of my experience being in social services, working with children like me who are neurodivergent. I spent a year as a warehouse manager during the height of the pandemic, and I was also a special education teacher in a private school. I would like to share my story to continue educating the public on neurodiversity and to be a resource for others like me.