Lately, it has been hot, so I decided to do something that would make life a little easier. I cooked a bunch of different meals in the crock pot, put them into containers, and froze them. That way, when the weather is hot, I wouldn't have to do much cooking. Then a flyer came in from the local Mexican market. They had pineapples, plantains, mangoes, watermelon, cucumbers—fresh fruits and vegetables at really good prices. They also had beef shanks. So after the gym, I had my caretaker take me to the store. I already had plenty of food at home. I had meals in the freezer, food in the refrigerator, and everything I needed. I wasn't going to the store because I was running out of food. But when I got there, something happened. I felt happy. The store was colorful and full of fresh food. I could choose one of this, two of that, three of something else. I wasn't limited to whatever quantity happened to come in a package. I could actually look at what I wanted and decide what I wa...
One of the hardest parts of sharing my recovery online isn't the physical therapy, the setbacks, or even learning to walk again.
It's the people who think they know my story after watching three seconds of a video.
I recently shared my 10-month recovery update as a new below-knee amputee. The video wasn't asking for gait critiques, medical advice, or strangers to analyze my every step. It was documenting where I am in my journey and celebrating a milestone that took months of pain, determination, surgeries, setbacks, and rehabilitation to reach.
I was sharing progress.
I was sharing hope.
I was sharing what it looks like to start rebuilding a life after a catastrophic accident.
But instead of people simply celebrating that milestone, some immediately jumped into telling me what I should be doing differently.
"Ditch the crutches."
"Take gait lessons."
"You're going to fall."
Here's the problem.
They didn't know my story.
They didn't know that I had spent four months in the hospital.
They didn't know I had multiple traumatic injuries beyond losing my leg.
They didn't know I had just started physical therapy again and was working with professionals who actually know my injuries, my limitations, and my progress.
They didn't know what they were looking at.
They saw one frame.
One moment.
One snapshot.
And they decided they understood everything.
If they had actually watched the entire video, they would have heard the narration explaining where I was in my recovery. If they had paid attention to the details instead of reacting to the first thing they saw, they would have understood the context.
They would have seen that I was using the handrail.
They would have seen that my crutches were tucked under my arm while I held onto the rail.
They would have seen that the stairs were narrow outdoor stairs where a walker wasn't even a practical option.
But instead of watching, listening, and understanding, they jumped straight into giving advice.
This isn't just about amputees.
It's about how quickly people project their own experiences onto someone else's life.
A few seconds of video doesn't tell you what injuries someone has survived.
It doesn't tell you what surgeries they've endured.
It doesn't tell you what their medical team has recommended.
It doesn't tell you how hard they fought just to reach that moment.
And most importantly, it doesn't give you the right to assume you know their journey.
When someone shares a vulnerable part of their recovery, encouragement is often more valuable than unsolicited advice.
Sometimes the most supportive thing you can say is not, "You need to do this differently."
Sometimes it's simply:
"I'm proud of you."
"Congratulations."
"Keep going."
Because sometimes people aren't asking to be fixed.
Sometimes they're asking to be seen.
And unfortunately, this isn't the only time I've experienced people making assumptions without understanding the full story.
I also posted on Facebook about the accident and my recovery, I received a comment from someone who responded:
"I'm glad she's okay. What happened to the other driver?"
I had to read that twice.
Because the entire point of the post was that I am not simply "okay."
The press release explained that I sustained catastrophic, life-altering injuries, including the loss of my right leg below the knee, severe damage to my remaining leg requiring extensive hardware, multiple spinal injuries, rib fractures, a shattered pelvis, wrist injuries, facial trauma, multiple surgeries, ongoing complications, chronic pain, and permanent physical limitations.
It included my words:
"I survived—but survival is not the same as living."
Yet somehow, the takeaway was that I was "okay."
That response showed the same problem: people often confuse survival with recovery.
They think if someone is alive, they are fine.
But there is a massive difference between being alive and being okay.
I survived.
But survival came with grief.
It came with losing a part of my body.
It came with losing independence.
It came with learning how to do basic things differently.
It came with pain, limitations, and a completely different reality than the one I had before.
That is why context matters.
A headline doesn't tell the whole story.
A photograph doesn't tell the whole story.
A short video clip doesn't tell the whole story.
A person sharing one moment of their life online doesn't mean you understand everything they have endured to get there.
Before you give advice, criticism, or opinions about someone else's journey, ask yourself:
Did I actually watch the entire video?
Did I listen to what they were saying?
Did I read the entire story?
Do I understand their circumstances?
Or am I making assumptions based on a single moment?
My rehabilitation is guided by medical professionals who know my injuries, my limitations, and my progress. They see the whole picture.
Social media doesn't.
And neither do strangers who only see a fraction of someone's reality.
So before you comment on someone's recovery, someone's grief, someone's health, or someone's life, take the time to listen.
Watch.
Read.
Understand.
Because the greatest gift you can give another person isn't always your advice.
Sometimes it's your willingness to truly see them.
Please help me continue my recovery journey. Donations to my GoFundMe provide critical support as I rebuild my life after this devastating accident.
amputee recovery, trauma survivor, car accident survivor, below knee amputation, disability awareness, recovery journey, resilience story, chronic pain, overcoming adversity, survivor mindset
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