Recovery

In the journey of life, every soul seeks to enrich its existence, weaving a tapestry of experiences, knowledge, and connections. My name resonates with the desire for growth and enlightenment. I am Jen, an ardent seeker of wisdom and empowerment. Through the labyrinth of existence, I embrace every tool and insight, cherishing the moments of sharing, learning, and evolving.
Life unfurls its mysteries through victories and losses, offering us glimpses of purpose and community. Each encounter, each lesson, whether gained or lost, contributes to the symphony of our existence. In the depths of our struggles, we often feel alone, grappling with battles we believe are uniquely ours. Yet, within the human experience, lies a paradox; while our paths are individual, our emotions, our quests, are shared.
It is amidst this shared human tapestry that platforms like this emerge as beacons of light. They offer sanctuary for the curious, the seekers, and the wanderers. Here, we find solace in the realization that our struggles, our triumphs, are threads woven into the fabric of a larger narrative—a narrative of community, empathy, and understanding.
As I stumbled upon this platform, my curiosity ignited like a flame in the dark. It beckoned me, promising a sanctuary where minds converge, ideas intertwine, and understanding blossoms. For in this digital agora, we transcend boundaries of time and space, forging connections that transcend the limitations of our mortal coils.
So, let us journey together, fellow seekers, as we navigate the labyrinth of existence. Let us share our stories, our wisdom, and our vulnerabilities, for it is in this communion of souls that we find the true essence of what it means to be human.

#MightyTogether #Recovery #ADHD #PTSD #onelove #MentalHealth #Survivor

I'm tired of being everyone's counselor.

I'm tired of being everyone's lover.

I'm tired of being everyone's confidant.

Who is my counselor? Lover? Confidant?

Who is the person who drops everything when I need them to listen?

to love me?

to know all my secrets?

Where is my pure happiness?

Where is my future security?

Maybe... it is only me.

#MightyPoets #Recovery #selfcare

To my high school:

I haven’t been in a wheelchair very long. I need it because I had a major surgery called a femoral derotational osteotomy. (Yes, I am the girl who probably left scuff marks in the classroom doorways and probably ran over your legs or feet once or twice. Sorry.) A wheelchair is useful for my safety, but I would not choose to use one otherwise. It might look easy to not walk around school and sit in a wheelchair instead, but it’s not easy. I am in pain every day, even when I do sit in the wheelchair. I am much shorter sitting in it and I feel like less of a person. That being said, there are a few things that would help me greatly. Here are a few do’s and don’t’s for interacting with me (and other people) in a wheelchair.

DON’T’S:

1. Please do not stand directly in front of me (for example, at an assembly). In the wheelchair, I am much shorter than I am while standing. I can’t see if someone stands directly in front of me. It makes me feel like I don’t matter.
2. Do not shut the door on me when you see me coming. Honestly, I feel like it should be common courtesy to hold the door if you see anyone approaching the door, but I can’t reach the door to hold it for myself in the wheelchair. Many people have shut the door on me, and I have just had to wait for someone else to come along, which is really embarrassing. It only takes a few seconds to hold the door for someone, and I promise that those extra seconds make a big difference to me.
3. Don’t cut right in front of me when I’m trying to go somewhere. I understand that I move slowly, but no matter if I do or not, it’s still really rude to cut in front of me. I will move to the side of the hallway if I see that you’re in a hurry; I do feel bad for holding people up. But if you cut in front of me, you run the risk of getting run over. I don’t mean to, but it’s harder to stop the wheelchair while it’s rolling than you’d think. (See my note about getting run over by the wheelchair below.)
4. Please do not block the doorway or hallway. I get it. I love talking to my friends between classes when I can, too. But I don’t have the luxury of time. Whether I’m walking behind the wheelchair and pushing it or propelling it with my arms, it takes a long time for me to get to class. It takes even longer when I have to wait for people to notice me and move out of the way. Please be mindful if you are blocking the doorway or hallway. We all have places we need to be. If you have the time to just stand there talking to your friends, I can’t accommodate you. I don’t want to be rude by yelling “excuse me” if you don’t hear me the first time or trying to roll past you, but I’d really rather not be late to class because other people are in the way.
5. Don’t make a big deal if you trip on the wheelchair or if I accidentally run over you. I promise, I do not mean to run over people. But when people move directly in my way or cut in front of me, sometimes it happens. I’m always looking where I’m going, and I need the same consideration in return. If you do trip over my wheelchair, I know it hurts. But please don’t give me a dirty look because it’s not my fault you tripped. My wheelchair is not there to inconvenience anyone; however, sometimes it does. I have to get by in a world that is sometimes not equipped for me, and if you trip over my wheelchair because you’re not paying attention to where you’re going, there’s really nothing I can do about it.
6. Please, please DO NOT push me without asking. I can propel myself, and it is really degrading when people come up behind me and start pushing. Just because I’m in a wheelchair does not mean that I can’t make my own decisions or do things for myself. When people push me without asking, it takes away the ability I do have. I can still do things on my own even though I’m in a wheelchair. If you push me without asking, I’m sure people usually mean well, but it means I don’t have a choice. I don’t have any control over the situation if people push me without asking, and I already don’t have enough control.

DO’S:
1. If you see me struggling (or if you think I’m having trouble), please do offer to help. There have been several times that I have struggled to open a door and people have stood behind me and just watched. There is a big difference between offering to help and swooping in and doing something for me. I would really appreciate an offer to help if I do look like I need it.
2. Please do watch where you’re going. It can pose a danger to us both if you don’t. I know it hurts when you collide with the wheelchair, and it also hurts me. When people ram into my wheelchair, it jolts my legs (including the one I just had surgery on, which really hurts). I will watch where I am going; all I ask is that you please watch where you’re going, too.

I know that I am not entitled to these things above, but it would be very helpful and make my day more tolerable. It is really hard for me to accept being in a wheelchair because I need a lot more help. Many people are very inconsiderate when they interact with me, but the only thing about me that has changed since last year is my mobility. I would so appreciate a little more consideration. The world isn’t always built for people who have differences, which is frustrating, but the way I see it, we can all learn from each other. We just have to have empathy. The fact is, both people with and without disabilities exist in this world, and it is my goal to make the world safe for both.

#MightyTogether #CerebralPalsy #Disability #Recovery

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him and He shall make straight your paths.”—Proverbs 3:5-6

Over the years, I will admit that I have been frustrated with God. All the times when I have struggled with people being mean based on my disability, feeling imperfect, and these last six years of chronic pain, I have prayed.

My family and I tried almost every method to treat my chronic pain. I went to doctor after doctor, who all offered possible solutions. Some solutions worked partially, but I was still in a severe amount of pain. I began to ask God what I had done wrong.

When my grandfather died in the midst of my pain, I wondered why God decided to take away the one person who I felt understood my pain. Gradually through my femoral osteotomy recovery, I realized that I hadn’t necessarily done anything wrong; God’s timing and mine were probably different.

It turned out that having surgery was probably the best solution anyway. The femoral osteotomy surgery would rotate my femur so that my left foot would either be straight or turned outward slightly. None of the medication or other possibilities for relief would have corrected the way I walked. Now because I had surgery, I have a chance to be in less pain and to fall down less.

There were so many times when I cried to God, wondering why I had to handle so much pain. I didn’t feel like I was old enough to deal with it. I worried that I disappointed God somehow or was unfaithful to Him. I didn’t know what else to do.

I was unsure if I was following the path that God intended for me. Was I being a bad advocate for other people with disabilities? Did I deserve this pain?

I still don’t understand the reason for my chronic pain, but that’s okay. I am only human. I am not God. God knows what is best for each of us, and humans are not supposed to understand His plan.

Throughout those rather tough years of chronic pain, I hoped that eventually something would help my legs. I didn’t understand why I had to wait so long. I didn’t understand why nothing worked fully to stop my pain.

Now I have so much more appreciation for God’s plan. Those six years of pain made me stronger. And surgery was not just a solution for my pain; the surgery did not cure my CP, but I didn’t want it to. The surgery will allow me to have a better quality of life.

God had a plan that would fully help me. I just didn’t know it yet.

The surgery turned my left foot so that my hip won’t slowly slip out of socket. My legs don’t touch anymore when I walk, so hopefully I won’t fall. God used the surgery to help me. Sure enough, God had a plan.

If I hadn’t gone through the pain, I never would have relearned how to walk in a way that is better for my body. I have faith in God in a much deeper way now than I did before. Now I know that God has a plan for me, no matter what.

The Lord truly does work in mysterious ways. I don’t have to understand those ways; I just have to have faith.

#CerebralPalsy #ChronicPain #Recovery #Christianity

I don’t remember when I got my first scar. I was a day old and my stomach had to be stitched because my bowel was perforated. There were some complications when I was born. The bowel perforation most likely led to my having cerebral palsy. I grew up with that first scar and never really questioned it. The area was numb sometimes, but I didn’t really know any different.
I wasn’t really vain, but I was careful not to wear anything that showed my stomach even though the scar wasn’t noticeable. My second scar came on the inside of my arm. I had an implant put in that regulated my hormones, as the CP may have tampered with that area of my brain. However, the implant was exchanged six times, so I grew very familiar with that scar.

Over time, I’ve had eight or nine surgeries, and this most recent surgery was the most major, with the exception of my first one. The femoral osteotomy gave me eight scars—one for each year I’ve had chronic pain with two to spare. Not all of the bandages have come off yet, but when I saw the first scar from the surgery I was taken aback. It was rather large, and knowing that I had been cut open and stitched back together unnerved me. As I looked at the scar, I had the thought that I needed the scars because my legs were so flawed.

I looked at the rest of my scars in frustration and wondered how my body had gone so wrong. But as I have healed, I realized that my scars aren’t about my flaws—my scars are the way that I have gotten better.

These scars on my legs make me sad because I hate that surgery was the only option to “fix” me. But my scars have made me stronger.

The scars hurt. I think that they are ugly. But after all this time, and all this pain, the scars will take that pain away. The scars are a symbol of hope. My scars do not show my suffering; my scars show the overcoming of that suffering.

This surgery is a new beginning for me. The scars on my legs show that I was brave enough to take a chance—even though I don’t know where that chance will lead. I will have a better quality of life because of this surgery, and if that means I will have scars, so be it.

The scars are hard for me to look at and touch. But what they mean is worth so much more than how they look. The scars mean I am not stuck in pain with no other choice. Though my legs are frustrating, I think they are beautiful—just not on the outside. My legs have held me up for my entire life even though my bone was rotated. And through the pain throughout those years, I have walked. I have lived my life with legs that needed a little help. And through these scars, my legs got the help they needed—and so did I.

My scars are ugly. I’m not going to say that my scars are beautiful. Rather, what my scars represent is beautiful. I had to be cut open and stitched back together. Those stitches left scars. But those scars mean hope. And with hope and faith, I will walk—no matter how my legs look. My legs are better now, inside and out, not despite the scars but even because of them.

My scars mean that life gave me an obstacle meant to bring me down—and I didn’t let it.

#CerebralPalsy #Recovery