Before my accident, I kept saying the same thing to myself: I want to be in the best shape of my life when I turn 60. I meant it. I was hiking, walking, going to the gym. I was building strength in my body and imagining a future where I kept getting stronger, not weaker. Then the accident happened. I was still 59. I turned 60 in a hospital bed. I lost a leg. I fractured my other leg in multiple places. I broke ribs. I had vertebrae injuries. My body went into heart and kidney failure. Pain became constant, not occasional. Everything I thought I was building… was suddenly gone. And for a long time, I couldn’t understand something: If I was focusing on health, strength, and vitality… how did I end up here? I used to think maybe I did something wrong. Maybe I thought wrong. Maybe I “manifested” the wrong thing. But I’m starting to see something different now. Life isn’t a formula where good thoughts guarantee safe outcomes. Bodies exist in a world where accidents happen, s...
My journey as a stroke survivor has been marked by a silent struggle. While I may appear healthy on the outside, a constant battle rages within. Neuro fatigue, body aches, and forced rest days are realities I manage, learning to listen to my body's limits to avoid setbacks.
Despite these challenges, the future looks bright. Turning 60 feels surreal, not strange – a reminder of how much I've overcome. Unlike many my age, I haven't given up. The stroke forced me to work harder, regaining coordination and learning to manage dizziness and vertigo. Each hurdle has made me stronger and more resilient.
I'm excited for what the future holds. This journey has been a scary one, but a valuable one. Sharing my story allows me to connect with others who may be facing similar invisible struggles, inspiring them to face their challenges with courage and hope.
The Invisible Scars
The true depth of my suffering, both physical and emotional, may never be fully understood. The fear, anguish, and mental challenges were invisible to the outside world. People saw a seemingly normal person, unaware of the internal suffering I endured.
Many disabilities are hidden, leaving others confused when you express your struggles. They simply can't grasp the unseen battles you've fought and the inner strength you've summoned. The scars I bear are invisible, yet they mark a profound journey – a testament to the silent battles I fought and victories I won, all by myself and alone. Only God and my Lucky dog were there.
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