Life After Amputation – Be-YOU-tiful Adaptive Warrior

Energy-Fast, Bold, and Passionate

By bawarrior | January 28, 2026

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Using Your Momentum to Accomplish Great Things (part 2)

Today I invite you into a deeper conversation about movement, momentum, and what I believe is a powerful energetic shift ahead of us: the Year of the Fire Horse. As an above-knee amputee, a lifelong horse girl, and someone who has learned to rebuild life step by step, this theme resonates with me on every level. The Fire Horse represents bold energy, passion, speed, and expansion—but only if we’re willing to meet it with intention and preparation.

Last week, I challenged you to focus on movement. Not perfection. Not comparison. Just movement—forward motion, wherever you are in your journey. Because movement creates momentum, and momentum opens the door to growth. That growth is what I call fearless expansion. And let me be very clear: fearless expansion doesn’t mean the absence of fear. Fear is always present, especially as an amputee. Every literal step forward requires trust—trust in my prosthesis, trust in my body, and trust in myself. Early on, I couldn’t even imagine carrying laundry with my vision blocked, let alone trusting my leg to land where it needed to. That confidence didn’t come overnight. It came from doing the thing scared, over and over again, until fear loosened its grip.

This ⇑ leads to this ⇓ And that’s why setting goals and staying focused on them matters.

I want to remind you that this journey is never linear. Prosthetic life is full of pauses, setbacks, socket changes, surgeries, and seasons of limbo. There are times when pushing harder simply isn’t possible—and that doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It means you’re human. I’ve taken years off from pushing my pace, not because I was lazy, but because my body wasn’t ready. And that’s okay. We are not competing with anyone else—especially not the curated versions of people we see online. The only comparison that matters is who you were yesterday.

This brings me to the next layer of the Fire Horse energy: boldness, speed, and passion. This is the kind of energy that’s impossible to ignore. It can fuel incredible growth—or become overwhelming if we aren’t grounded. That’s why preparation matters. Before my amputation, I did something that changed everything: I set goals before surgery. Month by month. Not because I knew how things would turn out, but because I didn’t want fear to be my focus. I wanted my eyes on the horizon.

These virtual races kept me focused and helped me get stronger. These medals tell my story, one I am proud of.

Those goals didn’t start big. My first win was simply getting out of the house alone. That one decision led me to adaptive sports, sled hockey, skiing, virtual races, surfing, and eventually completing a 10K with a running blade. None of it happened by accident. Every step required intention, planning, and a willingness to try—even when I wasn’t sure I’d succeed.

Virtual races, in particular, saved me. They gave me accountability and something to work toward when motivation was low. I wouldn’t even open the medals until I earned them. On good socket days, I pushed myself. On bad days, I rested. But I kept showing up. And every time I finished something I once thought was impossible, I felt alive again. Capable. Limitless.

That’s the power of momentum. It builds confidence. And confidence changes everything.

As we approach the Year of the Fire Horse, I want you to pause and ask yourself: What do I truly want to accomplish in the next twelve months? Not what feels “realistic.” Not what others expect of you. What lives in your heart? What lights you up? This energy can either propel you forward or spiral into negativity if you’re unprepared. The difference is mindset and planning.

This week’s call to action builds on last week’s. Keep moving—but now, zoom out. Create a one-year vision. Look at your calendar. Are there trips coming up? Experiences you’ve avoided because of fear, injury, or amputation? Hiking, traveling, trying a new sport, or simply walking confidently in your neighborhood—none of these happen overnight. They require preparation, strength building, and patience. And that preparation starts now.

I’ve never jumped blindly into anything. When I returned to skiing, I sought adaptive instruction. I practiced balance, core strength, and walking long before I hit the slopes. Every year, I have to rebuild again. That’s life. The work never truly ends—but neither does the growth.

Amputation is not the end of life. It’s a beginning. A reinvention. And the truth is, anything goes. If you try something and it doesn’t work, so what? You tried. You learn. You pivot. You try again. I never surfed before my amputation—and now it’s something I love. You don’t know what’s waiting for you on the other side of fear.

This year carries powerful energy. If you open yourself up to it with intention, incredible things can happen. Dream big. Make a plan. Start today—not Monday, not when it feels right. It will never feel perfect. But action creates clarity, and clarity creates momentum.

The warrior within you is ready. This is the year to let them out. Use the fire. Harness the momentum. And gallop forward into the life you want—one brave step at a time.

Have a beautifully, blessed week and as always,

Be Healthy,

Be Happy,

Be YOU!!

Much love,

Pain, Perseverance & Possibility

By bawarrior | November 26, 2025

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,