Tag: amputee motivation

Unleash the Warrior Within You

Unleash the Warrior Within You

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The Year of the Fire Horse and the Power of Becoming

 

Welcome to Season Six of the Be-YOU-tiful Adaptive Warrior (BA Warrior) Podcast—a milestone that still takes my breath away. If you had told me years ago that I would be hosting a podcast, let alone entering its sixth season, I would have laughed. It was never a dream I set out to chase. And yet, here we are. Proof that life doesn’t always unfold according to our plans—but often according to something far greater.

If you’re new here, I want to personally welcome you. And if you’ve been walking this road with me for years, please know how deeply grateful I am. Your messages, your comments, your shared stories, and your willingness to show up week after week are the reason this podcast exists. Be a Warrior is not something I do alone—it’s something we build together.

This podcast is rooted in amputee life. I am an above-knee amputee and have been for seven years. Everything I share comes from lived experience—the victories, the mistakes, the frustrations, the growth, and the moments that test every ounce of resilience. My hope has always been that by sharing my journey honestly, someone else might feel less alone in theirs.

 

A New Season, A New Energy

 

Season Six begins with a theme that feels deeply personal to me: the Year of the Horse—specifically, the Fire Horse. This year carries amplified energy, movement, instinct, and transformation. It also aligns beautifully with where I am in life right now.

I recently completed my equine therapy certification, which allows me to bring the healing power of horses to others in a deeper, more intentional way. Horses have long been part of my life, but this year marks a turning point—where passion, purpose, and service come together. My goal for 2026 is to help expand access to equine therapy for overall well-being, especially for people navigating trauma, change, or physical loss.

But before we talk about where we’re going, let me tell you how this year actually started—because it wasn’t graceful.

 

 

A Rough Start and an Important Lesson

 

My husband and I took a short getaway to Sedona, Arizona—a place that feels like a deep breath for the soul. We live in the desert, but a quick drive north brings cooler air, pine trees, red rocks, and a sense of escape. It was meant to be a simple, restorative weekend.

In typical fashion, I packed last minute. I grabbed my makeup, hair products, clothes—and we were out the door.

What I didn’t grab?

Two things no above-knee amputee should ever forget:

 

  1. My prosthetic charging cord
  2. The bag I use to pull my leg into my socket

My bag to put my socket on….that I forgot.

 

I realized the charging cord was missing first. Panic set in—until I checked my prosthetic’s battery level. Eighty-two percent. I could manage one day.

Then came the second realization.

No bag.

For those unfamiliar, I am a skin-fit amputee, meaning I don’t use liners or traditional suction. My leg requires a specific bag to pull the skin properly into the socket. Without it, my prosthesis does not go on. No shortcuts. No substitutes—at least, not easily.

I didn’t sleep that night. I ran through every possible outcome: crutching around town, canceling plans, going home early. I was frustrated—not just because I forgot something critical, but because I knew better.

Ironically, the reason I forgot was also a sign of progress. I had become so comfortable in my body, so confident in my mobility, that I wasn’t thinking about “what ifs” anymore. My prosthesis had become as normal to me as legs are to two-legged people.

Comfort is a gift—but complacency can be costly.

 

Adaptation Is a Warrior Skill

 

The next morning, I went into full problem-solving mode. I asked myself: What do I have? What can I use?

Garbage bags wouldn’t work—they’d tear. A standard pillowcase was too thick. Then I spotted a silk pillowcase. Thin. Slippery. Flexible.

It wasn’t perfect—but it worked.

I was able to walk around town that day. I didn’t hike, knowing my limits. When I got home later, I had blisters and raw skin—but I was mobile. I adapted.

And that’s what amputee life often requires: creativity, patience, resilience, and the willingness to meet challenges head-on.

 

The Unpredictability of Phantom Pain

 

Just days later, I was reminded again how unpredictable this journey can be.

Despite having minimal phantom pain since my nerve revision surgery, I was suddenly hit with intense, stabbing sensations in a foot that no longer exists. The pain came in waves—sharp, jolting, and relentless. It lasted for hours and woke me from sleep.

There was no obvious trigger. No overexertion. No trauma.

Through experience, I’ve learned that phantom pain doesn’t need permission. It arrives when it wants—and leaves when it’s ready.

What got me through wasn’t panic. It was instinct.

I ran through my mental checklist:

 

  • Socket fit? Fine.
  • Injury? No.
  • Stress? Manageable.
  • Weather? Stable.
  • Hydration? Questionable.

 

I drank water—lots of it. And the pain faded.

Whether coincidence or correlation, I logged it as wisdom for the future.

 

Always adapting!

 

The Fire Horse Mentality

 

The horse symbolizes freedom, movement, instinct, truth, nervous system wisdom, and connection over control—all things that resonate deeply with amputee life.

Freedom didn’t come to me through saving my leg. It came when I let it go.

Movement returned not through endless surgeries, but through acceptance, adaptation, and the right prosthetic support.

Instinct tells me when to rest, when to push, and when to trust that pain will pass.

Truth asks me to acknowledge that this life is hard—but still meaningful.

Horses understand nervous system regulation instinctively. As amputees, learning to regulate our own nervous systems is critical—not just for physical comfort, but emotional health.

And perhaps most importantly: connection over control.

Trying to control everything—our bodies, our recovery, our outcomes—often creates more suffering. Connection, whether to our prosthetist, our body, our community, or our faith, is what carries us forward.

 

 

Stop Comparing. Start Living.

 

One of the most destructive habits amputees fall into is comparison.

Just because someone else is doing something you aren’t doesn’t mean you’re failing. Different bodies. Different trauma. Different prosthetics. Different lives.

You are not behind.

You are not weak.

You are not less than.

Compare yourself only to who you were yesterday.

 

 

A Call to Rise

 

Season Six is about listening, connecting, trusting, and becoming.

It’s about letting go of the reins just enough to allow life—and faith—to lead.

You are a warrior.

Not because of what you’ve lost—but because of how you keep showing up.

This year is a fresh page. A new chapter.

Write it with courage. Live it with intention.

And remember—you don’t have to do it alone.

Welcome to Season Six.

Let’s ride forward together.

And as always,

Be Healthy,

Be Happy,

Be YOU!!

Much love,

Rise up, Warriors!!!

 

Pain, Perseverance & Possibility

Pain, Perseverance & Possibility

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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,

 

Just Get Started

Just Get Started

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Momentum Begins with One Step

 

 

As the holidays creep up—and let’s be honest, sprint toward us—I always feel that yearly tug in a million different directions. I tell myself, This is the year I’ll slow down. This is the year I’ll savor the moments. And every year, without fail, I’m suddenly overscheduled, overtired, and fully submerged in the holiday hustle. Maybe you feel that too: the pull to do everything, be everything, and somehow stay balanced through it all.

So today, I want to dig into something that feels especially timely: getting started. Not after the holidays, not when life slows down—because we both know it won’t—not when it feels convenient or perfect, but now. Because “someday” is the biggest dream-killer we let linger in our lives.

If you’ve followed me through the last five and a half years of this podcast, you already know I’m not a New Year’s resolutions girl. I don’t believe in them. The moment we attach the idea of January 1st to our goals, we create an escape hatch where quitting feels expected. And most people do quit. Not because their goals weren’t worthy, but because the whole concept of a resolution is built around hype, not habit.

So let’s shift the mindset. Let’s reclaim the idea that today is always the right day to begin.

 

It took a lot of practice in safe areas before I could navigate rugged, mountain terrain.

 

There’s a quote I love by Zig Ziglar: “You don’t have to be great to start, but you have to start to be great.” And it hits me hard every time because I’ve lived that truth. I think of my husband explaining his work to our boys. Half the time I’m listening like he’s speaking another language. I’m not dumb—I’m just not educated in his world. And he’d be just as lost if I handed him a halter and asked him to read a horse’s body language.

Greatness, skill, confidence—they aren’t innate. They’re built through countless clumsy, uncertain beginnings.

 

And yet, I’ll be honest with you: I’ve held myself back from starting things I deeply want to do, simply because I wanted to be great before daring to begin. I didn’t want to stumble. I didn’t want to look foolish. I didn’t want to muddle through the awkward first steps.

Sound familiar?

But the truth is this: we must begin before we’re ready. We must risk the messy beginnings. We must accept that expertise is the reward of showing up, not the prerequisite.

 

 

And nowhere has this been more true for me than in my life as an amputee.

Arthur Ashe said, “Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.” If that doesn’t describe the amputee journey, I don’t know what does.

Where you are right now might be a hospital bed. It might be a physical therapy room. It might be your living room floor trying to figure out how to put on your first liner. You might be in the trust stage with your prosthesis—or the frustration stage. Maybe both.

But wherever you are, you have something you can begin with.

 

Even in the hospital bed I was journaling, goal setting and reading about ways to attack my goals and letting go of the “Hurry”.

When I was recovering from surgery this summer, stuck in a hospital bed, I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t train. I couldn’t be in my prosthesis. But I could start lining up appointments. I could coordinate with insurance. I could talk to my prosthetist and prepare for the moment my surgeon cleared me. I wasn’t waiting for life to happen to me—I was setting the stage.

And when that first prosthesis went on, and it felt like a ten-pound concrete block strapped to my body, all that preparation mattered. My muscles were weak. My endurance was gone. And I had absolutely NO idea how exhausting simply walking to the end of my block would be. But that’s where starting came in.

I didn’t begin by walking miles. I began by walking houses.

I didn’t build strength through ease. I built it through effort.

One of the best things I ever did was join a 175-mile virtual challenge. At the time, I thought, Two miles a day? Easy. Wrong. My first day wasn’t even a quarter mile before I had to stop. But every day, I pushed a little farther—one house, two houses, one street, one block. Eventually, those tiny victories strung together into big victories. And then into medals. And then into confidence.

Today, I’ve completed around twenty-five virtual races. And I didn’t start able to do any of it. I started barely able to walk in my own house.

That’s what starting does. It reshapes your identity from the inside out.

 

So here’s my challenge to you: begin today. Not a week from now. Not when you “feel ready.” Not when you believe you’re strong enough or smart enough or capable enough. Begin now, with exactly what you have in this moment.

Pick one goal—not fifteen. One thing you’ve been afraid to start or have kept putting off. One thing that makes your heartbeat pick up when you imagine accomplishing it.

Then write down the steps. What can you do today? What’s the smallest action that moves you forward?

You don’t need perfect conditions. You need commitment.

And as you start, give yourself grace. Some days will be setbacks, especially if you’re healing. Some days your body won’t cooperate. Some moments will feel defeating. But don’t let a bad day turn into a bad week, and don’t let a bad week become a lost year.

Warriors rise. Warriors begin. Warriors keep going.

I’m starting my own new goal today. I promise that. And I want to hear yours. Message me on Instagram at @BAWarrior360. Let’s do this together. Let me be your accountability partner if you need one.

Because the secret to getting ahead is simple: get started.

Have a blessed week ahead, and as always,

Be Healthy,

Be Happy,

Be YOU!!!

Much love,

 

 

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