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...
People see me walking with a prosthetic and assume I’m getting better.
What they don’t see is everything that is still happening behind the scenes.
Recovery isn’t just physical.
It’s emotional.
It’s mental.
It’s financial.
And sometimes, the people who are supposed to help you end up making your recovery even harder.
I’ve learned that the hard way.
After surviving a near-fatal accident, spending four months in the hospital, losing my right leg below the knee, breaking my pelvis, ribs, wrist, vertebrae, and crushing my left leg, I thought the hardest part would be learning to walk again.
I was wrong.
The hardest part has been carrying everyone else’s mistakes, choices, and stress while trying to heal my own body.
I’ve had caregivers who couldn’t follow simple instructions, showed up late for months, argued instead of taking responsibility, and somehow made everything my fault.
I found myself repeating the same directions over and over again.
“Get the black hanger.”
They would come back with a clear one.
It wasn’t about the hanger.
It was about the mental exhaustion of having to think for another adult when my own brain was already overwhelmed trying to recover from trauma.
It was about having to explain, repeat, remind, and manage when what I needed was support.
Then I found myself in another situation where I was spending more energy managing the help than receiving the help.
And that’s when I realized something:
A caregiver’s job is not just to do tasks.
A caregiver’s job is to reduce the burden.
Because when the person helping you creates more stress, more confusion, and more things for you to manage, your body feels that weight too.
Yesterday was a perfect example.
The plan was simple.
Rake the backyard.
Wash the car.
Take me to the store.
If I were physically able to do it myself, I would have raked the backyard in about 30 minutes, washed the car in another 30 minutes, then gone to the store and back in about an hour and a half.
Three hours.
The whole day would have been done in about three hours.
Instead, it took six and a half hours.
Six and a half hours.
The entire time, my brain never got a break.
What is she doing?
Why is it taking so long?
Why are we still on this?
Why is she doing something I didn’t ask her to do?
Why are we still here?
I have things I need to do.
I have work I want to focus on.
I have a life I’m trying to rebuild.
Instead of moving forward with my day, my energy was spent monitoring, redirecting, and trying to figure out what was happening.
People don’t realize that’s exhausting.
It’s not just the extra hours.
It’s that my brain never gets to shut off.
I’m constantly trying to figure out what’s happening, whether I need to explain something again, whether the priorities are being followed, or whether I should just let it go because I don’t have the energy for another conversation.
When you’re recovering from trauma, every ounce of mental energy matters.
Every decision matters.
Every interruption matters.
Every unnecessary stressor matters.
Then there are the things people don’t see.
The fear of losing my home.
The stress of trying to figure out how I was going to pay rent.
The frustration of waiting months for legal help while my situation became more urgent.
The emotional exhaustion of having to ask for help.
Creating a GoFundMe.
Reaching out to friends and neighbors.
Admitting that I couldn’t do this alone.
That isn’t easy.
People don’t realize how exhausting it is to constantly live in uncertainty.
Every unanswered phone call.
Every delay.
Every promise of “I’m working on it.”
Every time you have to fight for something you desperately need.
That stress doesn’t just stay in your mind.
It lives in your body.
Lately, I’ve been waking up exhausted before my day even starts.
My amputated leg is swollen.
My surgically repaired ankle is swollen.
My body hurts.
Some days I don’t even have the energy to get out of bed.
My body physically cannot take someone else’s chaos anymore.
I can’t keep carrying someone else’s energy while I’m trying to heal my own.
I’ve gotten to the point where I write everything down because it feels like everything I say gets questioned, challenged, forgotten, or turned into a debate.
That is exhausting.
Every conversation takes energy.
Every correction takes energy.
Every misunderstanding takes energy.
Every time I have to repeat myself takes more out of me.
I’m tired.
Not just physically.
Mentally.
Emotionally.
Spiritually.
At first, I wondered what was wrong with me.
Why wasn’t I as motivated?
Why didn’t I want to push harder?
Why didn’t I want to do the things I normally love?
Then I realized something:
I wasn’t failing.
I was overloaded.
I wasn’t losing my drive.
I was carrying too much.
I was trying to cram physical therapy and the gym into two intense days while also dealing with the mental stress of managing everything around me.
My body wasn’t giving up on me.
My body was telling me something needed to change.
So I changed the plan.
Instead of pushing everything into two days, I’m spreading movement throughout the week.
A little every day.
Less intensity.
More consistency.
More recovery.
More time for me.
Because healing isn’t about proving how much pain you can tolerate.
Healing is about learning how to listen to your body.
I’ve spent months pushing through pain because that’s what survivors do.
We keep going.
We adapt.
We figure it out.
But eventually there comes a point where your body says:
“I don’t have anything left to give today.”
I’ve learned something through this experience.
When someone is recovering from major trauma, your words matter.
Your actions matter.
Your attitude matters.
Being late matters.
Not listening matters.
Creating more stress matters.
Because every unnecessary burden you place on someone who is healing is something their body has to carry.
Healing isn’t just about surgeries, medications, and physical therapy.
Healing also requires peace.
It requires safety.
It requires people around you who help carry the weight instead of adding to it.
After everything I’ve survived, I’m learning that protecting my energy is part of my recovery.
I need less chaos.
Less explaining.
Less managing.
Less carrying what isn’t mine.
I need more peace.
More healing.
More space to rebuild.
More me.
And maybe that isn’t selfish.
Maybe that’s exactly what healing looks like.
I’m still rebuilding my life after a devastating accident that left me with a below-knee amputation and a long road of recovery.
If you’d like to help, please click my GoFundMe link and support my journey. Every donation and share helps me continue moving forward. ❤️
trauma recovery, car accident survivor, amputation recovery, prosthetic journey, resilience after trauma, life after amputation, caregiver stress, rebuilding after tragedy, overcoming adversity, survivor story
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