What Not to Say to Someone With an Amputation or Visible Injuries

I felt the need to write this because I've realized that a lot of people have good intentions. They're trying to relate. They're trying to connect. They're trying to help.

But sometimes the things they say leave me hurt, angry, sad, or just completely dumbfounded.

People need to understand that you can't just say the first thing that pops into your head. When you're talking to someone who's been through catastrophic trauma, your words matter. Think before you speak. Don't just word vomit all over someone because you're uncomfortable or trying to relate.

Some of the things people have said to me over the past eleven months have been incredibly hurtful. They didn't make me feel seen. They made me feel dismissed. And in some cases, they did more harm than good.

I'm writing this because I hope it makes people stop and think before they say the same things to someone else.

It's only been eleven months since my accident. My trauma is still fresh. My body is still in pain. I'm still dealing with medical setbacks, doctor's appointments, surgeries, and recovery. Everything is still raw.

You can't assume I'm going to receive your words the same way someone who hasn't lived through this would. I may look strong. I may even sound okay some days. But my body and my life have been through total devastation.

That's why I'm asking one simple thing:

Please think before you speak.

Because the minute people see a missing leg, a wheelchair, crutches, scars, or braces, they immediately think they know my story.

They don't.They see one piece of me, and then they fill in the rest with their own assumptions.

The other day I was in the grocery store, struggling to get around, when a man walked up to me and said, “I know exactly how you feel. I hurt my knee.”

No... you don't.

You don't know what I've been through. You don't know that I almost died. You don't know that I was in a coma. You don't know that I had heart failure and kidney failure. You don't know that I have metal in my spine, my ribs, my left knee, and my ankle.

The only thing that man could see was that I was missing my right leg. That's all he knew. And based on that one thing, he decided he understood my entire experience.

You don't know the months I spent in the hospital, the surgeries, the pain, the fear, the setbacks, or everything it took just to make it to where I am today.

So please don't tell me you know how I feel because you hurt your knee once. It's not the same.

I'm not saying his pain wasn't real.

I'm saying our stories are not the same, so don't tell me you know how I feel.

And here's what I wish people understood:

Stop comparing.

Please.

I don't need to hear that your cousin had it worse. I don't need to hear that your friend has been in a wheelchair for thirty years. I don't need to hear that someone else went through something similar.

What frustrates me the most is that people don't even know my story.

They don't ask.

They don't listen.

Most of the time, I haven't even said a word.

I'm just trying to get through my day, and suddenly someone feels the need to tell me about their knee surgery, their cousin, their neighbor, or their friend.

Why?

Why do people feel the need to project someone else's story onto mine?

You don't know what happened to me. You don't know what I've survived. You don't know what I've lost.

Instead of asking, "How are you doing?" or simply saying, "I'm sorry you went through that," people immediately start talking about themselves or someone they know.

I'm not asking for comparisons.

I'm not asking to hear someone else's trauma story. Trust me, I'm still dealing with plenty of my own.

And I'm not asking to be matched with another survivor just because someone thinks we share the same experience or thinks we can trauma bond. That is not healing for me.

Nor does it feel safe talking about my trauma or listening to someone else's when my own body hasn't even healed yet.

I simply don't have the energy or the mental capacity to carry someone else's trauma while I'm still trying to process my own.

Especially when I'm told they're feeling down.

How is that supposed to help me?

Did I mention I'm in constant pain?

Most of the time, I'm just trying to get through my day without stress activating my nerves on my or triggering phantom pain in my amputated leg. What people don't understand is that their words affect my body.

I can't tell you how many times people have tried to compare my trauma to somebody else's, and every single time it feels like my own experience gets smaller or the grief of losing a leg, and the constant pain I'm dealing with, gets dismissed.

Whether that's your intention or not, that's the impact.

I've even had people completely rewrite my story.

Someone from church told another person I was a diabetic amputee simply because there was a new member who was diabetic and had lost her leg due to diabetes. Somehow, her story became mine.

Two different people, both of whom knew my story, said this. One of them had even visited me in the hospital. They knew what happened to me. They knew my accident. They knew I almost died.

But somehow, my story was replaced with someone else's.

That is incredibly hurtful because it dismisses what I actually went through.

I didn't see my accident coming. I didn't have a warning. The doctors didn't warn me I was going to lose my leg. I woke up from a coma and had to face a reality that changed my life forever.

No... I'm not a diabetic amputee.

I didn't lose my leg because of diabetes.

I lost my leg because of a catastrophic head-on collision.

I need people to stop assuming they know me because they can see one visible injury.

Please don't fill in the blanks with things you don't know.

If you don't know my story, ask.

Or don't.

But don't make one up.

Then there's the unsolicited help.

This one really gets me.

People assume that because I have an amputation, I must want to talk to every other amputee on the planet.

I don't.

I was assigned a peer mentor through the Amputee Coalition. I've been introduced to other amputees by well-meaning friends.

What usually happened?

I spent an hour or more listening to someone tell me their entire life story while I was fresh out of the hospital, exhausted, medicated, in excruciating pain, and just trying to survive another day.

I didn't have the energy for it.

I barely had enough energy for myself.

That doesn't make those people bad.

It just means I didn't have the capacity.

There's a huge difference.

Support should never be forced on someone.

If I ask for help, I'm grateful.

If I don't ask for it, please don't assume I need it.

And please don't make me feel guilty or retaliate against me because I politely said no. Try to understand instead of assuming what I need or making decisions for me.

This is the first time in my life that I have had to truly put myself first.

Instead of understanding that, I am met with anger.

Setting boundaries does not mean I don't care. It means I am finally recognizing that my own health, my own healing, and my own capacity matter too.

The other thing people do is immediately start telling me what I should do.

Call this person.

Go there.

Try this.

You need to...

I've been navigating hospitals, doctors, physical therapists, insurance companies, and rehabilitation for years.

I'm also a stroke survivor.

I'm not new to this.

Please don't assume that because I'm injured, I'm incapable of making decisions for myself.

The greatest gift you can give someone who's been through trauma isn't advice. It isn't comparison. It isn't another survivor's phone number.

It's compassion.

Just say, "I'm so sorry you went through that."

That's enough.

You don't have to fix me. You don't have to compare me to someone else. You don't have to tell me about your neighbor, your cousin, your friend, or your coworker. You don't have to convince me someone else had it worse.

Because suffering isn't a competition.

Every time you compare one person's pain to another person's pain, you've just dismissed the person standing right in front of you.

Be more compassionate.

Be more empathetic.

Compassion sounds like this:

"I'm sorry."

"I'm here."

"I can't imagine what you've been through."

That's it.

Sometimes the kindest thing you can do is stop trying to relate, stop trying to fix, stop trying to compare... and just let someone's story belong to them.

This blog isn't about attacking people.

It's about creating awareness.

Whether someone is living with an amputation, a disability, a chronic illness, post-traumatic stress, cancer, or any other life-changing condition, please understand that your words matter.

Most people mean well.

But good intentions don't always have a good impact.

When you compare someone's pain to your own, tell them about someone who "had it worse," make assumptions about their story, offer unsolicited advice, or try to connect them with someone they never asked to meet, you may think you're helping.

Sometimes you're not.

You're probably adding another emotional burden to someone who's already carrying more than you can see, especially when you tell them, directly or indirectly, that their suffering wasn't enough because you know someone who had it worse.

And you just might be making them feel unseen instead of understood.

Support isn't about fixing someone.

It isn't about having the perfect story or the perfect advice.

And it isn't about assuming you know what someone needs.

Real support starts with listening, respecting boundaries, and letting people tell you what would actually be helpful.

Before you speak, ask yourself one simple question:

"Is what I'm about to say going to make this person's load a little lighter... or a little heavier?"

Because you may only see one visible injury, but you'll never know the full weight of what they're carrying.

You're seeing one chapter, not the whole book.

So before you compare, advise, assume, or try to fix someone, choose compassion instead.

The truth is, if someone really wants to support me right now, the best way to help me is not by trying to fix me emotionally or mentally.

I’m still carrying a huge emotional and financial burden. I’m dealing with medical setbacks, recovery, rebuilding my life, and trying to figure out what my future looks like after everything that happened.

If you truly want to help me, you can support me through my GoFundMe.

That kind of practical support would actually help me more than having to explain my trauma again or take on the emotional weight of another conversation when I’m already carrying so much.

A personal note: This blog is based strictly on my own experience and my own perspective. I am not speaking for everyone who has an amputation, a disability, or has gone through trauma.

Everyone is different. Some people appreciate advice. Some people want to connect with others who have been through similar experiences. Some people like having someone help guide them through difficult situations.

That’s not me.

I don’t need people to fix me. I don’t need people to figure out my life for me. And when I share something I’m going through, I don’t need someone to immediately jump in with a list of everything I should try, everything I should do, or everything they think I haven’t considered.

I have been on this journey for the past 11 months. I have spent countless hours with doctors, therapists, specialists, and my healthcare team learning my options and figuring out what comes next.

I didn’t just wake up yesterday and have my leg amputated.

I am learning. I am adapting. I am making decisions about my own life.

This is simply who I am and what I need.

Maybe you’re different. Maybe you appreciate advice, suggestions, or being connected with other people. That’s completely okay.

But if you’re like me and some of this resonates with you, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Leave a comment or send me a message and share your experience.

amputation awareness, disability advocacy, trauma recovery, survivor story, amputee life, chronic illness support, PTSD awareness, disability compassion, emotional boundaries, trauma healing