Reclaiming My Body Is Not A Group Decision
I walked into a pool hall wearing sneakers and immediately learned something important: people are real comfortable giving advice about recoveries they’ve never lived. Here’s the thing: reclaiming my body, my life, and my autonomy is not a fucking group decision.
Awakening the Words
As my body heals, something else is coming back online — my words. Surgery restored movement to my left hand, and suddenly I’m typing again, writing like a woman starved for expression. It feels like healing and creativity are feeding each other in a loop. For the first time since the accident, my mind is awake, my fingers are working, and I finally feel like myself again — at least a little.
It Goes Where I Go
People love to ask questions. Some are born of curiosity, some from awe — and some from pure, unfiltered stupidity. Like asking if I “rode in today” when I’m standing there in chaps, leather, and helmet hair. For me, riding isn’t a hobby; it’s oxygen. It’s the pulse under my skin. It’s what makes the world go silent and my soul come alive.
We Are Not The Same
One ride. One crash. One picture that lit a fire.
I don’t want to be your ally. I don’t want to be your therapist. I already came out, did the work, and live it every day. Don’t text me a photo of you playing pretend and expect applause. We are not the same.
Fire and Grit: My New Origin Story
After dying three times, I came back with one burning question: Did my life even matter?