『Be-YOU-tiful Adaptive Warrior』のカバーアート

Be-YOU-tiful Adaptive Warrior

Be-YOU-tiful Adaptive Warrior

著者： Angie Heuser
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 Breaking through mental and physical barriers to becoming your best self, living your best life.©2021 Be-YOU-tiful Adaptive Warrior Podcasting 衛生・健康的な生活
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  • Pain, Perseverance & Possibility

    Pain, Perseverance & Possibility
    2025/11/26
    A Thanksgiving Message For Anyone Struggling Thanksgiving week always makes me pause, breathe, and step back into gratitude, but this year, that feeling hit me in a much deeper way. Maybe it was the timing, maybe it was the experience itself, or maybe it was because of everything that led me here—but this past week in Vegas reminded me exactly why I chose this life, and why I continue to push myself to live amplified, even when it hurts. Our family goes to the Formula One races every year—this was our third—and while we love the energy, the cars, and the whole spectacle of it, it is absolutely not an easy environment for someone with mobility challenges. As an above-knee amputee, I’ve learned that accessibility can be a coin toss on a good day. Vegas during F1 weekend takes that to a whole different level. Elevators that don’t work. Escalators that suddenly shut down. Crowds compressed shoulder to shoulder. Long detours around track barriers. Rain. Stairs. More stairs. But this year came with a twist. Not only did we pack in a full day of walking, navigating the Strip, dodging people, climbing stairs, and exploring all the fanfare, but that night, after all of that, I finally checked off something that had been sitting on my bucket list for years: going to a Vegas nightclub. And I didn’t just go. I went all in—heels, dancing, crowds, the whole thing. What made the night more meaningful was the backdrop of everything my body was going through. My newest socket, trimmed higher because I’d lost some femur during surgery, still hasn’t fully broken in. The rubbing along my groin becomes a four-inch strip of fire by the end of the day, the kind of raw, stinging pain that makes even a shower burn. Think blister-on-your-heel level pain, except in a place you can never bandage. Add rain, cold weather, slick sidewalks, and 36,000 steps—the most I’ve ever walked in a single day even when I had two legs—and you can imagine how I felt by the time we walked into the club. But then the music hit. And the energy shifted. Surrounded by my husband and my kids—my favorite people—and swallowed up in the beat and the lights, I felt alive. Not amputee alive. Not “making the best of it” alive. Just fully, completely alive. In that moment, I didn’t care that no one around me knew I was an amputee. I didn’t care that all my weight was sinking into my good foot, making my toes tingle with pressure. I didn’t care that I had a raw mark on my inner thigh or that I was balancing on heels after a marathon day of movement. I was simply living the moment I had dreamed of for years. And when I finally got home, when I finally took my leg off and felt that flood of relief wash over my whole body, I laid in bed and thought, “This… this is why I chose amputation.” I didn’t take my leg off to watch life happen from the sidelines. I didn’t choose this path to let pain, friction, or inconvenience dictate my happiness. I chose it to reclaim my life. And nights like that one remind me why I fought so hard to get here. But here’s the part I don’t ever want people to misunderstand: none of this is easy. I’ve had people say I make it look effortless, or that they shouldn’t complain about their injuries because I “went through so much worse.” But I don’t see it that way. I don’t compare. I don’t downplay anyone’s struggle. And I definitely don’t wake up immune to the hard parts of this life. What I do wake up with is a mindset that says: I chose this path, so I’m going to show up for it. That mindset is the difference between living fully and shrinking back from life. It doesn’t mean there aren’t setbacks. There absolutely are. I have blisters. I have raw skin. I have days where I struggle to put my leg on. I have moments where the socket fit isn’t perfect. I have times where the thought of stairs makes my stomach drop. But the alternative—the idea of sitting in a hotel room,
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    26 分
  • Just Get Started

    Just Get Started
    2025/11/19
    Momentum Begins with One Step As the holidays creep up—and let’s be honest, sprint toward us—I always feel that yearly tug in a million different directions. I tell myself, This is the year I’ll slow down. This is the year I’ll savor the moments. And every year, without fail, I’m suddenly overscheduled, overtired, and fully submerged in the holiday hustle. Maybe you feel that too: the pull to do everything, be everything, and somehow stay balanced through it all. So today, I want to dig into something that feels especially timely: getting started. Not after the holidays, not when life slows down—because we both know it won’t—not when it feels convenient or perfect, but now. Because “someday” is the biggest dream-killer we let linger in our lives. If you’ve followed me through the last five and a half years of this podcast, you already know I’m not a New Year’s resolutions girl. I don’t believe in them. The moment we attach the idea of January 1st to our goals, we create an escape hatch where quitting feels expected. And most people do quit. Not because their goals weren’t worthy, but because the whole concept of a resolution is built around hype, not habit. So let’s shift the mindset. Let’s reclaim the idea that today is always the right day to begin. It took a lot of practice in safe areas before I could navigate rugged, mountain terrain. There’s a quote I love by Zig Ziglar: “You don’t have to be great to start, but you have to start to be great.” And it hits me hard every time because I’ve lived that truth. I think of my husband explaining his work to our boys. Half the time I’m listening like he’s speaking another language. I’m not dumb—I’m just not educated in his world. And he’d be just as lost if I handed him a halter and asked him to read a horse’s body language. Greatness, skill, confidence—they aren’t innate. They’re built through countless clumsy, uncertain beginnings. And yet, I’ll be honest with you: I’ve held myself back from starting things I deeply want to do, simply because I wanted to be great before daring to begin. I didn’t want to stumble. I didn’t want to look foolish. I didn’t want to muddle through the awkward first steps. Sound familiar? But the truth is this: we must begin before we’re ready. We must risk the messy beginnings. We must accept that expertise is the reward of showing up, not the prerequisite. And nowhere has this been more true for me than in my life as an amputee. Arthur Ashe said, “Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.” If that doesn’t describe the amputee journey, I don’t know what does. Where you are right now might be a hospital bed. It might be a physical therapy room. It might be your living room floor trying to figure out how to put on your first liner. You might be in the trust stage with your prosthesis—or the frustration stage. Maybe both. But wherever you are, you have something you can begin with. Even in the hospital bed I was journaling, goal setting and reading about ways to attack my goals and letting go of the "Hurry". When I was recovering from surgery this summer, stuck in a hospital bed, I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t train. I couldn’t be in my prosthesis. But I could start lining up appointments. I could coordinate with insurance. I could talk to my prosthetist and prepare for the moment my surgeon cleared me. I wasn’t waiting for life to happen to me—I was setting the stage. And when that first prosthesis went on, and it felt like a ten-pound concrete block strapped to my body, all that preparation mattered. My muscles were weak. My endurance was gone. And I had absolutely NO idea how exhausting simply walking to the end of my block would be. But that’s where starting came in. I didn’t begin by walking miles. I began by walking houses. I didn’t build strength through ease. I built it through effort.
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    20 分
  • Fittings and Sockets and Legs, Oh My!

    Fittings and Sockets and Legs, Oh My!
    2025/11/12
    Traveling The Yellow Brick Road of Amputee Life In this episode, I want to talk about one of the biggest learning curves after limb loss — getting fitted for a prosthesis. Nobody really tells you how challenging this part can be. You think, “Okay, I’ll get my prosthetic leg or arm, strap it on, and get back to life.” But if only it were that simple, right? The truth is, it’s a process — one that takes time, patience, and a whole lot of communication with your prosthetist. When I first started, I honestly thought it was going to be pretty straightforward. They’d take some measurements, make the socket, I’d try it on, and off I’d go. But wow, did I learn quickly that’s not how it works. Every limb is unique. Every body changes — sometimes from morning to night. So that “perfect fit” we all hope for doesn’t just happen once and stay that way. It’s something that evolves. And that means working with your prosthetist becomes this back-and-forth relationship. There’s a lot of give and take involved. They’re the experts in design and fit, but you are the expert in how it feels — and that matters just as much. Now, I’ll admit — in the beginning, I had my fair share of frustration. When the socket rubbed wrong or my limb was sore, I’d get upset and think, “Why isn’t this working?” It was easy to blame the prosthesis or think the prosthetist did something wrong. But with time, I started realizing there was a little user error in there too. Sometimes I wasn’t putting it on right. Sometimes I didn’t pay attention to small aches that turned into bigger problems. And sometimes… I just didn’t know what I didn’t know. That’s a big part of this journey — learning to take accountability where it’s due. Not in a shameful way, but in an empowering way. Once we start owning our part in the process, things really start improving. We ask more questions. We write down what we are feeling. We pay attention to pressure spots and skin changes. And most importantly, we communicate all of that clearly with our prosthetist. Change happens! Teamwork and communication are key! Because here’s the thing — they can’t feel what you feel. They can’t fix what they don’t know about. So, if something doesn’t feel right, say it. Speak up. Be honest, even if it feels awkward. That’s how you get the best outcome. If you’re new to being an amputee, remember this: it’s okay to not have it all figured out. You’re learning. This whole process — from fitting to comfort to walking confidently again — it’s a marathon, not a sprint. You’ll get there. Just keep showing up, keep asking questions, and keep working with your prosthetist as a team. Because at the end of the day, this isn’t just about a prosthesis fitting right — it’s about you finding your rhythm again, your confidence, your life. You are a warrior! It’s time to unleash that warrior and gain back your independence. Have a beautiful week ahead, and as always, Be Healthy, Be Happy, Be YOU!!! Much love,
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    28 分
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