『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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  • The Year of the Horse and Your Journey

    The Year of the Horse and Your Journey
    2025/12/31
    Be A Warrior: Closing Season Five, Trusting What Comes Next As I sit down to record this episode, it honestly feels surreal. This is the final episode of 2025 and the close of Season Five of Be-YOU-tiful Adaptive Warrior. Five years. 210 episodes in all! When I say that out loud, it stops me in my tracks a little. What started as a quiet nudge on my heart has grown into something that now feels woven into my life, my healing, and my purpose. My 2025 year in review If you’ve been with me on this journey for a while, thank you. Truly. You are part of this family. And if you’re new here, welcome. I hope you’ll stick around—because Season Six starts next week, and I can hardly believe I get to say that. When I launched this podcast, I didn’t have a master plan. I wasn’t chasing perfection, production polish, or algorithms. I was chasing meaning. My prayer from the very beginning was simple: If this reaches one person—if it brings hope, peace, or strength to someone in the middle of chaos—then it’s worth it. This podcast exists because of my faith, my lived experience, and the road that brought me here—one that forever changed on December 19th, 2018. That was the day I chose an elective above-knee amputation after five years of failed surgeries following a taekwondo accident. Five years of fighting my own body. Five years of pain, loss, and unanswered questions. My TaeKwonDo time, pre-amputation If you’ve never heard my full amputation story, I shared it back in Season One. And honestly, as I step into Season Six, I may revisit it again—because time gives perspective, and perspective gives depth. My first full year as an amputee was 2019, and I set goals like my life depended on it. And in many ways, it did. I hit every single one. I skied again. I surfed. I water skied. I hiked. I rode horses. I proved to myself, my doctors, my family—and maybe the world—that I wasn’t disabled. I was differently abled. But once I checked every box, something unexpected happened. I felt empty. That emptiness wasn’t failure—it was calling. I realized I wasn’t meant to keep all of that hard-earned wisdom to myself. I wasn’t meant to just do life again. I was meant to share it. That’s where this podcast was born. I’ll be honest—I don’t love listening to myself talk. I don’t script these episodes. I don’t cut out the pauses or clean up the edges. There’s an intro, there’s an outro, and everything in between is real. I show up as a mom, a wife, an amputee, a human still figuring it out. This podcast is raw on purpose—because life is raw. As this year closes, we’re also shifting seasons symbolically. If you follow the Chinese calendar, we’re leaving the Year of the Snake and entering the Year of the Horse. And if you know me at all, you know how much that resonates. Horses have become central to my healing and my heart. As a little girl growing up in the suburbs of Chicago, I dreamed of horses, but access and finances made it unrealistic. Life had other plans. It wasn’t until after I lost my leg that horses came back into my life in a powerful way. I reached out to a friend who worked with rescue horses, and something clicked—deeply and instantly. That connection led me to become certified in horse training, advanced training, and most recently equine therapy. Horses taught me regulation, presence, trust, and stillness in ways nothing else ever had—especially after trauma. Now, I work with people who are searching for grounding, healing, and reconnection to their bodies, especially after limb loss. The Year of the Horse represents freedom, movement, soul searching, and wellness. And honestly, I can’t think of a better theme for what’s ahead. I don’t know exactly what this year will bring—but I know I’m ready to meet it. If you’ve followed me for any length of time, you know I don’t believe in New Year’s resolutions. I think the phrase itself sets us up to fail. Words carry power. When we label something as temporary or flimsy, our minds treat it that way. By February, resolutions fade, gyms empty out, and people convince themselves they’ll “start again later.” So instead, I believe in fresh starts. Turning a page. New perspective. And one of my favorite end-of-year rituals is choosing a word—or a short phrase—to guide the year ahead. Not a checklist. A compass. Last year, my words were ‘Be Present’. And those words carried me through one of the most challenging years of my life. In May, I traveled to Boston to see if I qualified for an experimental procedure and revision surgery. In June, I had surgery. July through September were filled with healing, setbacks, crutches, fittings, and learning my body all over again. Through it all, I stayed present. I documented the journey. I let myself feel it. And when the holidays arrived—busy, beautiful, chaotic—I stayed present there too. I soaked up baking, ...
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    27 分
  • Self-Preservation

    Self-Preservation
    2025/12/17
    Knowing Your Limits: When to Hold and When to Push Onward I’m recording this episode from a place that looks very different than my usual setup. We’re away on a family getaway that was supposed to be a snowy ski vacation, but when I look outside, all I see are brown mountains and sunshine. Not exactly the winter wonderland we imagined. Still, we’re here, together, enjoying the time, and as the year winds down and the holidays rush in, I felt like this was the perfect moment to pause and share something that’s been sitting heavy—and meaningful—on my heart. As you know, I tend to share lessons I’m actively learning myself, and this week’s lesson came straight from the ski slopes. I ski as an amputee. I ski on one leg, using outriggers, and while it looks empowering and inspiring in photos and videos, the truth is that it is anything but easy. Every single time I clip in, no matter how long I’ve been doing this, I still get butterflies. I still hope my body will hold up. I still pray for the best outcome and for enough strength to get me down the mountain safely. I’ve always been someone who pushes hard. When I lost my leg in December of 2018, I got my first prosthetic in late March and barely had time to adjust before we were headed on a family ski trip in April. I had planned to sit on the sidelines, but I told my husband early on that I wanted to try skiing as an amputee. That trip was my first time learning to ski as a three-tracker—one ski on my sound leg and two outriggers with tiny skis on the ends. It was intense. It demanded everything from my good leg, my core, my upper body, and my mental focus. Fast forward to now, and while I have more experience, I also have more wisdom. Yesterday, I went out for my first run of this trip, and it was a long one. I chose a blue run instead of the easier option, and I pushed myself hard. I made it down without falling, and I was proud of that—but my body was absolutely fried. My quad, calf, foot arch, hands, and shoulders were screaming. My grip on the outriggers was barely there, and I knew that if I went again, fatigue could turn into injury. The old version of me—five or six years ago—would have pushed through anyway. I would have ignored the warning signs and kept going. But yesterday, something different happened. I looked at my husband and said, “I’m done. I want to end on a high note.” And that was enough. Self-preservation won, and for the first time in a long time, I listened to my body without guilt. That decision mattered more than I realized in the moment. Because what I’m learning—and what I want you to hear—is that your best in this moment doesn’t have to be your best ever. Your best is enough when it honors where you are right now. Strength isn’t always pushing harder. Sometimes strength is knowing when to stop. As amputees, our bodies are constantly negotiating limits. When you rely on one good leg, you have to be mindful of how far you push before fatigue compromises safety. Yesterday, my head wanted more, but my body was very clear: this was enough. And instead of feeling defeated, I chose to feel proud. What you don’t see in highlight videos is the pain, the fear, the intense focus it takes to stay upright and in control. You don’t see the internal battle between wanting to prove yourself and needing to protect yourself. And that’s something I think so many of us struggle with—especially when we compare ourselves to others or even to past versions of ourselves. This year, I’m not the same person I was last spring when I was in great shape, hitting the gym, and doing one-legged squats. I had revision surgery this summer. I’ve been learning a new socket, adapting to a new prosthetic, and giving my body time to heal. That meant less time training and more time resting. And while rest came at the cost of muscle mass and endurance, it also gave me other gifts—healing, reflection, time at home, time with my animals, and space to process everything my body has been through. We are not static beings. Even with the same injury, we are different depending on the season of life we’re in. And during the holidays especially, it’s easy to beat yourself up for not doing “enough.” But the truth is, everyone’s circumstances are different. Some of you can’t get to the gym. Some of you are waiting on a fitting, a surgery, or relief from pain. Some days, just breathing is the win—and that is okay. I know amputees who avoid connecting with others because they feel like they’re falling short. My message to you is this: do what you can with what you have, where you are. Comparison steals joy and progress. The valley you’re in right now does not dictate the rest of your life. If you’re disappointed in yourself because you know you can do more and you’re choosing not to, then have that honest conversation with yourself and start shifting your mindset. Change the ...
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    17 分
  • The Gift of Being Present

    The Gift of Being Present
    2025/12/10
    Finding Purpose and Joy In This Season We’re deep into December, and the Christmas spirit is everywhere—homes decorated with lights, the smell of cookies, gatherings, endless lists of to-dos. This time of year is magical, but it’s also overwhelming. We often rush from task to task, trying to make everything perfect, and before we know it, Christmas comes and goes in a blur. Every year, I remind myself: Be present. Really be in the moment. And yet, like so many of us, I still catch myself speeding through the season, missing the beauty right in front of me. Last week, I shared about Limbs for Humanity, an incredible organization heading to Rocky Point Medical Clinic with 53 prosthetics—most of them above-knee—for 49 people, including a few bilateral amputees. They work tirelessly and always need help, whether through donations, volunteering, or supplying prosthetic parts. I encourage anyone listening to learn more, especially during this season of giving, because providing someone the gift of mobility is life-changing—not just for them, but for everyone around them. Some recepients of the generosity of Limbs For Humanity But today’s episode shifts from giving in a material way to giving with your presence. And this message hit me hard after hosting my annual Christmas cookie exchange. Every year I throw two big gatherings—one for Halloween, which I love, and one for the holidays with my cookie exchange. This year my home was filled with gorgeous faces, familiar laughter, new friends I hadn’t seen in years, women who traveled across town because they wanted to be part of something meaningful and joyful. I spent days creating handmade crafts—because I love creating in bulk and making unique gifts for people—but what filled my soul wasn’t the crafts, or the cookies, or the decorations. It was the simple act of seeing people show up. Friends and the Power of Connections Making gifts brings me joy and keeps me active and positive on harder days There’s something incredibly powerful about people choosing to be present, especially during one of the busiest months of the year. And that’s when it clicked for me: as much as we talk about being present during the holidays, it’s the very thing we often lose our grip on the fastest. Being present doesn’t erase the pain, struggles, or discomfort—especially for amputees. As amputees, we know there’s rarely a day when something in our body isn’t weird, uncomfortable, painful, or frustrating. Phantom pain hits out of nowhere. The socket might feel too tight, too loose, too heavy, too something. Sometimes sitting on the couch at night feels uncomfortable. Sometimes the good leg takes a beating and we’re reminded of how much pressure it carries. Pain is real, and it can take center stage quickly. But being present doesn’t mean focusing on the pain of the moment—it means choosing what part of the moment gets your attention. Yes, we can distract ourselves. I do it all the time: I hit the gym, work on crafts, visit my horses, pour myself into hobbies, or push through discomfort because I refuse to let it control me. But there’s a difference between distraction and presence. Distraction removes us from the moment; presence anchors us in it. Presence says: Yes, I hurt—but I’m still here. Yes, this is hard—but there is beauty in this moment too. And this is where so many amputees get stuck. We become hyper-aware of how we feel… constantly. How does this feel now? What about now? Is this getting worse? Is this going to ruin the day? We begin measuring moments by levels of pain rather than levels of joy. And that traps us in waiting mode—waiting for a better moment instead of living the one we’re in. But the present is a gift—that’s why it’s called the present. We are not guaranteed tomorrow. We are not even guaranteed the next hour. What we do have is right now. And as long as we have breath in our lungs, we have purpose. Standing in my son’s house reminded me of that purpose. I could have been home completing my own tasks or sticking to my routine. Instead, I was called to be here, helping my son and daughter-in-law get their home set up, making their day easier, giving them peace of mind. That, in itself, was a gift—to them, and honestly, to me. Being present for the people we love is one of the simplest and most profound ways to live with meaning. And presence doesn’t only apply to amputee life—it applies to every human being. Some of us are grieving this holiday season. Some of us have lost loved ones. Some are struggling emotionally, financially, physically, or spiritually. Pain doesn’t discriminate. But presence invites us to look up from our pain, anxiety, and fear and notice the good that still surrounds us. Because even if your situation feels grim, you cannot tell me there is nothing good in your life worth living for. There is always something: someone who...
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    25 分
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