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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
  • The Priceless Gift of Mobility

    The Priceless Gift of Mobility
    2025/12/02
    Helping Those in Need December is finally here, and with it comes the beautiful chaos of the holiday season. In my house, it’s full-blown hysteria—parties, travel, gifts, deadlines, and the constant juggling act that December always brings. But this particular week holds special meaning because it’s Giving Tuesday, and today’s episode carries a message that sits deeply in my heart: the power, privilege, and pricelessness of mobility. If you’re listening for the first time, I’m an above-knee amputee. My amputation took place in December of 2018 after a five-year stretch of pain, surgeries, limited mobility, and a profound loss of the life I once lived. Back in 2013, a taekwondo injury started a domino effect of setbacks—ten surgeries with ten different surgeons, countless appointments, and a knee that eventually functioned at only a twenty-degree range of motion. I couldn’t bend my leg normally, and I couldn’t straighten it either. Each step felt like walking on different-length legs, which wrecked my back, my neck, and my spirit. Me, pre-amputation in TaeKwonDo For five and a half years, I listened to doctors tell me to slow down, ice, elevate, rest, repeat—and none of it worked. Some doctors refused to even see me because my case was too complicated. Some barely looked at me during appointments. One told me that if I amputated, I’d never walk again. I was stuck, physically and emotionally, and I spent so many days crying in the shower, wondering how my entire life had been derailed. I missed out on years of skiing with my young boys. I gained sixty pounds. I feared I might never live actively again. Getting back to skiing with my family was life changing! Choosing amputation was my turning point. It was choosing life over fear. And once I connected with my prosthetist team and physical therapists, that hope grew into freedom. They guided me before and after surgery, walked me through what to expect, taught me patience, and helped me understand that amputees go through years of limb changes. In fact, it took me over three years and sixteen sockets before I finally had one that fit consistently. But each step, each adjustment, each hard moment, was worth every ounce of effort. Day 1 Post-amputation My 1st check socket! The first time I stood and walked on my prosthetic, everything changed for me. Mobility wasn’t just movement—it was identity, joy, independence, and belonging. My life wasn’t over. It was just beginning in a different form. And that brings me to why this episode matters so much. I’m on the board of Limbs for Humanity, a nonprofit founded by my two prosthetists who felt called to bring mobility to underserved communities—places with no prosthetic care and people who cannot afford the basic devices required to walk. They partner with the medical clinic in Rocky Point, Mexico, a place without any prosthetic specialists, and every time they go, 40–60 amputees show up—many who have crutched miles just to be seen. This December, they’re returning to Rocky Point with 53 prosthetic legs, ready to restore mobility to 49 individuals, including bilateral amputees and several children. Most of these legs require expensive components: knees, ankles, feet—parts that often cost tens of thousands of dollars. My own prosthetic runs between $60,000 and $75,000. But these men give their time, skills, and hearts to fabricate sockets, assemble devices, fit patients, and teach them to walk again. A special individual getting fitted for their new sockets- Bi-lateral amputee The many parts Limbs For Humanity use and are in need of to service all of their patients That’s a lot of socket casts! These are brought home to create the sockets for each individual Each socket takes 4–5 hours to create, and every leg is custom. And these individuals aren’t seeking mobility for recreation or convenience—they want to walk so they can work, provide for their families, and reclaim their dignity. This is the priceless gift of mobility. And this year, Limbs for Humanity is facing a $50,000 deficit as they prepare for their December trip. They need financial donations, corporate matches, monthly donors, and sponsors willing to give the gift that can change a life forever. But financial support isn’t the only need. They also accept: Donated prosthetic parts (knees, feet, ankles, liners)Volunteer timePhysical therapists willing to join tripsStudents in biomedical or engineering fieldsAnyone who wants to serve hands-on For children especially, the need is ongoing. Kids who lose limbs not only experience limb changes from surgery—they continue to grow. That means new sockets again and again, sometimes every few months. Mobility for these kids is more than convenience—it’s childhood itself. Running, playing, participating, belonging. This Giving Tuesday, I’m asking from the bottom of my heart: please help. Whether it...
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    23 分
  • 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, letting my family go off and make memories without me—is far more painful than any physical friction I deal with. That’s why I said no when my husband offered to get me a wheelchair. Not because I’m stubborn, but because while I can, I will. There may be a day when I truly need one. But that day is not today. Today, I push. Today, I build stamina, strength, grit, and resilience. Today, I invest in the future version of myself who might not have the option anymore. That’s the heart of this whole experience—and the message I want to share this Thanksgiving. Life will never hand us perfect circumstances. Pain, obstacles, loss, grief, inconvenience—these things don’t discriminate. But neither does opportunity. If you want something badly enough, whether it’s dancing in a nightclub, traveling, adventuring, walking that extra mile, or simply showing up to life with your whole heart, then you owe it to yourself to try. You owe it to yourself to dream. And you owe it to yourself...
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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. One of the best things I ever did was join a 175-mile virtual challenge. At the time, I thought, Two miles a day? Easy. Wrong. My first day wasn’t even a quarter mile before I had to stop. But every day, I pushed a little farther—one house, two houses, one street, one block. Eventually, those tiny victories strung together into big victories. And then into medals. And then into confidence. Today, I’ve completed around twenty-five virtual races. And I didn’t start able to do any of it. I started barely able to walk in my own house. That’s what starting does. It reshapes your identity from the inside out. So here’s my challenge to you: begin today. Not a week from now. Not when you “feel ready.” Not when you believe you’re strong enough or smart enough or capable enough. Begin now, with exactly what you have in this moment. Pick one goal—not fifteen. One thing you’ve been afraid to start or have kept putting off. One thing that makes your heartbeat pick up when you ...
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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
  • Take the Drive-Roll Down the Windows

    Take the Drive-Roll Down the Windows
    2025/11/05
    Enjoying Your Life RIGHT NOW

    “Want to go for a drive?”

    This simple phrase sends my pups into a frenzy! Their excitement is overflowing and their joy is tangible!

    This energy is what we should be living for each day, but when we are struggling we find ourselves consumed and can only see the problems, to the positives.

    I remember coming back home after losing my mom. I had spent a full month back in Illinois helping my family navigate our loss and returning to my life here in Arizona seemed surreal. My mom and I were best friends, I called her everyday, mostly just for small talk but she was a great listener in times of need. I vividly remember one day, not long after the funeral, driving in my car and thinking, “I need to call monad tell her about….” when my heart dropped and I realized for the first time that she wasn’t ever going to be there again for my call. At that moment I felt the whole world must see the tears streaming down my face and hear my heart ripping in two. At the red light I looked to my left and to my right at the cars on either side of me. I knew they had to be seeing my pain, wondering what could be making me this sad, but instead I saw people in their own world, signing along to music, talking on their phone, laughing with their friends. No one saw my pain! They were living their life, and my life was at a stand still.

    That was the moment that I realized that no matter what I was going thro9ugh, the world kept going, the hours kept passing, the days kept moving forward.

    I have never felt so alone in my sorrow as I did in that split second at a red light.

    What I learned was that no matter what was happening in my life, the world kept turning and I was there and I had purpose.

    I firmly believe that each morning I wake and have breath in my lungs that I am to serve a purpose. That is the day when my thinking changed and for the better. Yes, I need to deal with my pain, but I cannot let it run my life and destroy my and my goals.

    Even when things had hit rock bottom for me, with my mom’s passing, I had a family, healthy sons, a loving husband, my father. I may have had a bum leg, but I also had creativity, energy, drive, and passion.

    My dogs, here, just living in the present. No looking back and no worrying about tomorrow.

    My point: No matter what struggles we face in life, we have even more things to be grateful for. We have people in our lives worth fighting for, and we have PURPOSE!

    So often we forget to find joy in the simple things, especially when we feel frustrated, in pain, or fearful, but they are still their, it’s just that our focus has shifted away from good and positive to negativity and al that is falling apart.

    This week, I want you to find your joy again. I want you to see past your pain and struggles and find the purpose joy my dogs find in an open window on a drive. Find the beauty in the little things and count your blessings!

    This week our battlecry is simple: Seek the positive and blessings in your life.

    Find joy in the small things, don’t allow negativity, pain, and fear to derail you so much that you forget to see all the good around you.

    This is a choice, and one we must profess everyday, lest we forget.

    Be strong, dear warriors, and find your purpose and passion.

    This valley will end, as all cycles do in life, just don’t sit their waiting for the struggle to end to find happiness, you must seek it now, and when you do you will find that your situation won’t feel as bleak and hope will rise up in you.

    So get after it and seek the positive.

    Don’t wait to enjoy the drive.

    Get out there, roll down those windows and let the wind hit your face. I bet you’ll feel more alive than ever and find inspiration in your life once again.

    I pray you find joy in the little things this week and until next time,

    Be Healthy,

    Be Happy,

    Be YOU!!!

    Much love,

    Live courageously! Live in the present!
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