Tag: Disability Empowerment

A Year of Movement, Momentum and Fearless Expansion

A Year of Movement, Momentum and Fearless Expansion

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The Year of The Fire Horse Part 1

 

 

As I sat down to share this episode, we are in that weird blur between the holidays and the start of the new year—January 21st to be exact. Somehow we’re saying goodbye to January already and I’m still not sure how time is moving this fast. To be honest, I am a little under the weather today. A trip back home to Chicago gifted me more than nostalgia—sniffles and congestion that love to linger. But if there’s anything amputee life has taught me, it’s how to show up anyway. Healing isn’t always linear, progress isn’t always pretty, and sometimes the real strength is simply being here.

If you’ve been with me for a while, you already know how excited I am about 2026. This is the Year of the Horse, and I have unapologetically embraced it. Horses are my heart—right alongside my pups—and spending time with them is healing in motion. I was out loving on them earlier that morning, enjoying Arizona sunshine that feels a little too warm for January. (I’m still waiting for winter to show up so I can actually appreciate the desert heat again.) But weather aside, the symbolism of the horse couldn’t align more powerfully with the season I’m in—and the season many of you are in.

What makes this year even more rare is that it isn’t just the Year of the Horse. It is the Year of the Fire Horse, a cycle that doesn’t come around often in the Chinese calendar. Fire brings imagery of energy, power, movement, and drive—big, explosive energy that demands expansion. When I learned that, I immediately knew I wanted to infuse that symbolism into our lives this year, especially within the amputee community.

Now, if you’re not an amputee, don’t tune out. The beauty of this journey is that the lessons apply to anyone navigating hardship—whether your challenges are physical, medical, emotional, relational, or even professional. Struggle doesn’t discriminate. But neither does growth.

I’ve never been a fan of New Year’s resolutions. January feels messy—physically, mentally, and emotionally. We’re recovering from holidays, reorganizing homes, resetting routines, trying to remember what vegetables look like, and wrestling with motivation that hasn’t thawed out yet. I spent those early weeks decluttering my body from holiday eating and drinking, refreshing my home, and re-establishing rhythms that support who I want to be—not just who I’ve been. For me, that looks like eating cleaner, scheduling movement, and taking care of my mind, my leg, my family, and my horses. I’m not a rigid scheduler by nature, but with so many things I love doing, I can’t always choose—and then nothing gets done. So sometimes structure serves us.

While reading about the Year of the Fire Horse, five symbolic themes showed up. I decided I’m going to break them down over several episodes and explore how they can shape our growth. Unless something major happens in my own life (because I always speak from personal experience first), we’re riding that theme for a bit.

The first Fire Horse theme? Movement, Momentum, and Fearless Expansion.

Three words. Three mountains. Three invitations.

Let’s start with movement.

If you’re an amputee and you’re unhappy with where you’re at—maybe you’re watching others do things you wish you could do—the number one thing I’ll tell you is this: do not compare yourself to anyone else. Amputee life is not one size fits all. Body types, limb levels, insurance coverage, prosthetic technology, pain tolerance, terrain, weather, confidence—all of it changes the picture. Someone in snowy Minnesota isn’t out hiking in January. Someone in Arizona isn’t out walking at 115°F. Our seasons look different literally and figuratively. And that’s okay.

But movement matters. In fact, movement is everything.

Movement is how we reclaim our bodies.

Movement is how we rebuild trust.

Movement is how we protect our mental health.

Movement is how we remind ourselves we’re alive.

Prosthetics don’t move us—we move us. Insurance coverage doesn’t give us grit—we give us grit. And movement isn’t pain-free, effortless, or pretty in the beginning. It’s awkward. It’s exhausting. It’s uncomfortable. And some days it just feels unfair. But movement is life, and life demands movement. Even if you’re not on a prosthetic yet, wheelchairs, crutches, walkers—pushing yourself counts. Motion burns energy, heals the mind, and keeps you connected to your body and your environment.

And with movement comes momentum.

Momentum isn’t about speed—it’s about direction. It’s about choosing to walk to the end of the driveway today, past the neighbor’s house tomorrow, and maybe around the block next week. Those baby steps are not insignificant. They are data. They are discipline. They are the quiet stacking of strength.

I still remember thinking I could walk a mile as soon as I got cleared for my prosthetic. I didn’t make it past three houses. I was disappointed at first, but then I realized something important: I had found my baseline. You cannot grow if you don’t know where you’re starting from. Momentum begins with honesty.

Momentum is also how you build trust with your prosthesis—trust up a curb, down a hill, over uneven terrain, and through the hundred tiny adjustments your body makes to learn this new dance. Prosthesis + confidence is earned, not given. And it starts one step at a time.

Then comes the third theme: fearless expansion.

 

 

Let me be very clear—fearless does not mean the absence of fear. It means facing fear. Every amputee I’ve ever met battles fear. Fear of falling. Fear of looking foolish. Fear of pain. Fear of malfunction. Fear of being judged. Fear of being stared at. Fear of being misunderstood. Fear of being trapped in this new reality forever.

Fearless expansion is courage in motion. It’s putting on your leg even when you don’t feel like it. It’s going out in public before your gait feels steady. It’s learning how to trust a piece of machinery that now represents a part of your body. It’s standing back up every time you fall—literally or metaphorically.

And here’s the truth: what you do now determines what your future looks like. I’m not worried about being 80 yet—but I know how I move my body today will directly affect that version of me.

 

 

I’m wired for action. Consuming content without integration doesn’t create change. So here’s your call to action:

If you’re not moving, start.

Not a marathon. Not a hike. Not a PR. Just movement.

Ask yourself:

What do I want my future to look like?

Where do I want expansion?

What scares me—and am I willing to face it?

Maybe your goal is more steps.

Maybe it’s longer prosthetic wear time.

Maybe it’s a grocery run.

Maybe it’s cooking a meal standing up.

Maybe it’s just putting the leg on today.

Compete only with yesterday’s version of you. If you get stronger, braver, and more resilient by even 1%—you’re winning.

And if you need accountability, reach out. DM me. Join me. I’m launching a virtual challenge soon—Year of the Horse themed, of course—and I want you on my team. Because momentum is easier when you’re not doing it alone.

So get moving. Build momentum. Expand fearlessly. Face the fire horse energy and ride it into the life you deserve.

Get moving, Warriors!

 

And as always—

be Healthy,

Be Happy,

Be YOU!!!

 

Much Love,

 

 

Pain, Perseverance & Possibility

Pain, Perseverance & Possibility

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Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 25:31 — 27.9MB)

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A Thanksgiving Message For Anyone Struggling

 

Thanksgiving week always makes me pause, breathe, and step back into gratitude, but this year, that feeling hit me in a much deeper way. Maybe it was the timing, maybe it was the experience itself, or maybe it was because of everything that led me here—but this past week in Vegas reminded me exactly why I chose this life, and why I continue to push myself to live amplified, even when it hurts.

Our family goes to the Formula One races every year—this was our third—and while we love the energy, the cars, and the whole spectacle of it, it is absolutely not an easy environment for someone with mobility challenges. As an above-knee amputee, I’ve learned that accessibility can be a coin toss on a good day. Vegas during F1 weekend takes that to a whole different level. Elevators that don’t work. Escalators that suddenly shut down. Crowds compressed shoulder to shoulder. Long detours around track barriers. Rain. Stairs. More stairs.

 

 

But this year came with a twist. Not only did we pack in a full day of walking, navigating the Strip, dodging people, climbing stairs, and exploring all the fanfare, but that night, after all of that, I finally checked off something that had been sitting on my bucket list for years: going to a Vegas nightclub.

And I didn’t just go. I went all in—heels, dancing, crowds, the whole thing.

What made the night more meaningful was the backdrop of everything my body was going through. My newest socket, trimmed higher because I’d lost some femur during surgery, still hasn’t fully broken in. The rubbing along my groin becomes a four-inch strip of fire by the end of the day, the kind of raw, stinging pain that makes even a shower burn. Think blister-on-your-heel level pain, except in a place you can never bandage. Add rain, cold weather, slick sidewalks, and 36,000 steps—the most I’ve ever walked in a single day even when I had two legs—and you can imagine how I felt by the time we walked into the club.

But then the music hit. And the energy shifted. Surrounded by my husband and my kids—my favorite people—and swallowed up in the beat and the lights, I felt alive. Not amputee alive. Not “making the best of it” alive. Just fully, completely alive.

In that moment, I didn’t care that no one around me knew I was an amputee. I didn’t care that all my weight was sinking into my good foot, making my toes tingle with pressure. I didn’t care that I had a raw mark on my inner thigh or that I was balancing on heels after a marathon day of movement. I was simply living the moment I had dreamed of for years.

And when I finally got home, when I finally took my leg off and felt that flood of relief wash over my whole body, I laid in bed and thought, “This… this is why I chose amputation.” I didn’t take my leg off to watch life happen from the sidelines. I didn’t choose this path to let pain, friction, or inconvenience dictate my happiness. I chose it to reclaim my life. And nights like that one remind me why I fought so hard to get here.

But here’s the part I don’t ever want people to misunderstand: none of this is easy. I’ve had people say I make it look effortless, or that they shouldn’t complain about their injuries because I “went through so much worse.” But I don’t see it that way. I don’t compare. I don’t downplay anyone’s struggle. And I definitely don’t wake up immune to the hard parts of this life. What I do wake up with is a mindset that says:

I chose this path, so I’m going to show up for it.

That mindset is the difference between living fully and shrinking back from life. It doesn’t mean there aren’t setbacks. There absolutely are. I have blisters. I have raw skin. I have days where I struggle to put my leg on. I have moments where the socket fit isn’t perfect. I have times where the thought of stairs makes my stomach drop. But the alternative—the idea of sitting in a hotel room, letting my family go off and make memories without me—is far more painful than any physical friction I deal with.

That’s why I said no when my husband offered to get me a wheelchair. Not because I’m stubborn, but because while I can, I will. There may be a day when I truly need one. But that day is not today. Today, I push. Today, I build stamina, strength, grit, and resilience. Today, I invest in the future version of myself who might not have the option anymore.

That’s the heart of this whole experience—and the message I want to share this Thanksgiving.

Life will never hand us perfect circumstances. Pain, obstacles, loss, grief, inconvenience—these things don’t discriminate. But neither does opportunity. If you want something badly enough, whether it’s dancing in a nightclub, traveling, adventuring, walking that extra mile, or simply showing up to life with your whole heart, then you owe it to yourself to try. You owe it to yourself to dream. And you owe it to yourself to change the mindset that tells you “I can’t.”

Because “I can’t” is almost always a lie.

“I can’t right now” is more accurate—and far more temporary.

 

 

So this week, I invite you to sit with two things:

First, gratitude.

Not just the obvious stuff—family, home, health—but the deeper gratitude for the strength you didn’t know you had and the moments you didn’t think you’d get to experience.

Second, possibility.

What do you dream of doing? What do you secretly hope you’re brave enough to try? What have you convinced yourself is off-limits?

Write it down.

Name it.

Claim it.

Then take one step—just one—toward it.

Because if a tired, rain-soaked, blistered amputee can take 36,000 steps in a day, climb broken escalators, dance in heels until almost 2 a.m., and fall asleep smiling…

Then you can take one step toward the life you want, too.

 

 

 

Here’s to you and a beautiful Thanksgiving with loved ones.

May you find joy in the moment and gratitude in the little things!

Until next time,

Be Healthy,

Be Happy,

Be YOU!!

Much love,

 

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