More Than a Diagnosis: Reclaiming Motherhood and Self After Mobility Loss
When the World Feels Cold
Living with a loss of mobility was a terrifying, humbling season. During those few months, on the rare occasions I left the house, the world felt like a series of obstacles I wasn't meant to cross. I remember dragging my leg through Walmart, my left arm hanging uselessly by my side, my hand curled inward.
I’ll never forget the "side-eye" from strangers, those quick, uncomfortable glances that looked away the moment I noticed. I’ll never forget the people who stared without blinking, or the woman who sighed with heavy impatience as I struggled to open a door while clutching my medical papers. Disability stigma often manifests as social avoidance or stereotyping, where others assume helplessness or even intellectual disability based on physical appearance. In those moments, I felt more like a "case study" than a person. My heart broke for the people who have to navigate these cruel, dehumanizing interactions every single day of their lives.
Motherhood Interrupted
Inside my home, the struggle was quieter but even heavier. With my daughter being only 8 months old, I felt a deep sense of maternal guilt, the crushing belief that I was failing her because I couldn't physically care for her. My mom moved in for months while my husband traveled, and every time she bathed my baby or changed a diaper I couldn't reach, a piece of my identity felt like it was slipping away.
My left arm wouldn’t move, and my right hand had tremors. I couldn’t even drive to the store for formula. I was a therapist who was supposed to have the tools to help others, yet I was isolating and numb. I was grieving the "old me"—the one who was strong, independent, and capable. Reclaiming identityin the face of chronic illness requires mourning the person you were before you can embrace who you are becoming.
The View from the Back Porch
I vividly remember sitting on my back porch with my father, staring out across the pond. It was the lowest I have ever felt. I looked at the water and wondered, if my daughter wasn't here, would I still be?
I was a new wife, a new mother, and a therapist who was supposed to be the "strong one" for others. Yet there I was numb, scared, and completely alone in my own head. How was I going to be a mother? How was I going to be a wife? How was I going to support my clients when I couldn't even support my own weight?
I had zero answers. All I knew was that I didn’t have a choice. This wasn't about me anymore; it was about the baby girl we had prayed so hard for. I didn't know how, but I knew we would figure it out.
Why I Do This Now: Turning Pain into Purpose
That season taught me that your worth is not tied to your mobility or your productivity. It is tied to your presence. I didn't just learn how to survive; I navigated how to be a mother with one hand, a wife with a chronic illness, and a therapist with a much deeper well of empathy.
Today, I use my personal journey and professional training to help others navigate the medical trauma and identity loss that comes with chronic illness. I understand the "living hell" because I have lived it.
You Don't Have to Figure It Out Alone
If you are staring out at your own "pond" today, feeling numb or alone, please know, you don't have to navigate this season by yourself. Whether you are dealing with the sting of public judgment or the private weight of "not being enough," I am here to help you find your way back to a version of yourself that feels whole.
Chronic Illness and Autoimmune Therapy
