Tag: personal journey

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!!!

 

The Year of the Horse and Your Journey

The Year of the Horse and Your Journey

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Be A Warrior: Closing Season Five, Trusting What Comes Next

 

As I sit down to record this episode, it honestly feels surreal. This is the final episode of 2025 and the close of Season Five of Be-YOU-tiful Adaptive Warrior. Five years. 210 episodes in all! When I say that out loud, it stops me in my tracks a little. What started as a quiet nudge on my heart has grown into something that now feels woven into my life, my healing, and my purpose.

 

My 2025 year in review

 

If you’ve been with me on this journey for a while, thank you. Truly. You are part of this family. And if you’re new here, welcome. I hope you’ll stick around—because Season Six starts next week, and I can hardly believe I get to say that.

When I launched this podcast, I didn’t have a master plan. I wasn’t chasing perfection, production polish, or algorithms. I was chasing meaning. My prayer from the very beginning was simple: If this reaches one person—if it brings hope, peace, or strength to someone in the middle of chaos—then it’s worth it.

This podcast exists because of my faith, my lived experience, and the road that brought me here—one that forever changed on December 19th, 2018. That was the day I chose an elective above-knee amputation after five years of failed surgeries following a taekwondo accident. Five years of fighting my own body. Five years of pain, loss, and unanswered questions.

 

My TaeKwonDo time, pre-amputation

 

If you’ve never heard my full amputation story, I shared it back in Season One. And honestly, as I step into Season Six, I may revisit it again—because time gives perspective, and perspective gives depth.

My first full year as an amputee was 2019, and I set goals like my life depended on it. And in many ways, it did. I hit every single one. I skied again. I surfed. I water skied. I hiked. I rode horses. I proved to myself, my doctors, my family—and maybe the world—that I wasn’t disabled. I was differently abled.

But once I checked every box, something unexpected happened. I felt empty.

That emptiness wasn’t failure—it was calling. I realized I wasn’t meant to keep all of that hard-earned wisdom to myself. I wasn’t meant to just do life again. I was meant to share it. That’s where this podcast was born.

I’ll be honest—I don’t love listening to myself talk. I don’t script these episodes. I don’t cut out the pauses or clean up the edges. There’s an intro, there’s an outro, and everything in between is real. I show up as a mom, a wife, an amputee, a human still figuring it out. This podcast is raw on purpose—because life is raw.

As this year closes, we’re also shifting seasons symbolically. If you follow the Chinese calendar, we’re leaving the Year of the Snake and entering the Year of the Horse. And if you know me at all, you know how much that resonates. Horses have become central to my healing and my heart.

 

 

As a little girl growing up in the suburbs of Chicago, I dreamed of horses, but access and finances made it unrealistic. Life had other plans. It wasn’t until after I lost my leg that horses came back into my life in a powerful way. I reached out to a friend who worked with rescue horses, and something clicked—deeply and instantly.

That connection led me to become certified in horse training, advanced training, and most recently equine therapy. Horses taught me regulation, presence, trust, and stillness in ways nothing else ever had—especially after trauma. Now, I work with people who are searching for grounding, healing, and reconnection to their bodies, especially after limb loss.

The Year of the Horse represents freedom, movement, soul searching, and wellness. And honestly, I can’t think of a better theme for what’s ahead. I don’t know exactly what this year will bring—but I know I’m ready to meet it.

If you’ve followed me for any length of time, you know I don’t believe in New Year’s resolutions. I think the phrase itself sets us up to fail. Words carry power. When we label something as temporary or flimsy, our minds treat it that way. By February, resolutions fade, gyms empty out, and people convince themselves they’ll “start again later.”

So instead, I believe in fresh starts. Turning a page. New perspective.

And one of my favorite end-of-year rituals is choosing a word—or a short phrase—to guide the year ahead. Not a checklist. A compass.

Last year, my words were ‘Be Present’. And those words carried me through one of the most challenging years of my life. In May, I traveled to Boston to see if I qualified for an experimental procedure and revision surgery. In June, I had surgery. July through September were filled with healing, setbacks, crutches, fittings, and learning my body all over again.

Through it all, I stayed present. I documented the journey. I let myself feel it. And when the holidays arrived—busy, beautiful, chaotic—I stayed present there too. I soaked up baking, gift-making, family moments, and even the exhaustion. I welcomed January’s slower rhythm with gratitude instead of guilt.

This year, my word found me quietly—in church, listening to our pastor speak.

My word for the coming year is ‘Trust”.

That word is heavy in the best way.

Trusting the process. Trusting the people around me. Trusting my body as it continues to change. Trusting God’s timing—even when it doesn’t match my own.

I like control. I like schedules. I like certainty. And trust requires letting go. It’s a trust fall—stepping back and believing you’ll be caught.

My prosthetic journey is still unfolding. My leg continues to change. A new socket is likely coming soon. Nothing feels finished or neat right now—and that’s okay. This year, I’m choosing to stop forcing outcomes and start allowing space.

If something is meant to be, it will unfold. And if it isn’t, that doesn’t mean it was a failure. Sometimes closed doors are protection. Sometimes the blessing only makes sense in hindsight.

 

 

So here’s my invitation to you.

As we sit in this quiet space between years, I want you to choose a word or phrase of your own. Something that speaks to where you are—not where you think you should be.

Be honest. Reflect. Meditate on it. Ask yourself where you struggled this year and where you want to grow—not from shame, but from curiosity.

Write your word down. Put it somewhere visible. Make it your screensaver. Stick it on your mirror. Tell someone you trust. Accountability matters. Growth requires reflection—and sometimes reminders.

And remember this: you are not meant to be at the same place as everyone else. We rise and fall at different times so we can lift each other when it’s needed. Start with yourself. Speak kindly to yourself. Life is too short for your own inner voice to be your harshest critic.

You are already enough. Growth is not about fixing yourself—it’s about expanding into who you already are.

As I close this chapter, I want to thank you for being here. For listening. For trusting me with your time and your heart. If this podcast gave you even one moment of hope or clarity this year, then it has done its job.

Season Six is coming. New challenges are coming. A virtual race is on the horizon. And the Year of the Horse is inviting us forward—with strength, freedom, and trust.

Until next year—keep showing up, keep listening to your heart, and trust the process.

And as always,

Be Healthy,

Be Happy,

Be YOU!!!

Much love,

 

 

 

 

 

Self-Preservation

Self-Preservation

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Knowing Your Limits: When to Hold and When to Push Onward

 

I’m recording this episode from a place that looks very different than my usual setup. We’re away on a family getaway that was supposed to be a snowy ski vacation, but when I look outside, all I see are brown mountains and sunshine. Not exactly the winter wonderland we imagined. Still, we’re here, together, enjoying the time, and as the year winds down and the holidays rush in, I felt like this was the perfect moment to pause and share something that’s been sitting heavy—and meaningful—on my heart.

As you know, I tend to share lessons I’m actively learning myself, and this week’s lesson came straight from the ski slopes. I ski as an amputee. I ski on one leg, using outriggers, and while it looks empowering and inspiring in photos and videos, the truth is that it is anything but easy. Every single time I clip in, no matter how long I’ve been doing this, I still get butterflies. I still hope my body will hold up. I still pray for the best outcome and for enough strength to get me down the mountain safely.

I’ve always been someone who pushes hard. When I lost my leg in December of 2018, I got my first prosthetic in late March and barely had time to adjust before we were headed on a family ski trip in April. I had planned to sit on the sidelines, but I told my husband early on that I wanted to try skiing as an amputee. That trip was my first time learning to ski as a three-tracker—one ski on my sound leg and two outriggers with tiny skis on the ends. It was intense. It demanded everything from my good leg, my core, my upper body, and my mental focus.

 

 

Fast forward to now, and while I have more experience, I also have more wisdom. Yesterday, I went out for my first run of this trip, and it was a long one. I chose a blue run instead of the easier option, and I pushed myself hard. I made it down without falling, and I was proud of that—but my body was absolutely fried. My quad, calf, foot arch, hands, and shoulders were screaming. My grip on the outriggers was barely there, and I knew that if I went again, fatigue could turn into injury.

The old version of me—five or six years ago—would have pushed through anyway. I would have ignored the warning signs and kept going. But yesterday, something different happened. I looked at my husband and said, “I’m done. I want to end on a high note.” And that was enough. Self-preservation won, and for the first time in a long time, I listened to my body without guilt.

 

 

That decision mattered more than I realized in the moment. Because what I’m learning—and what I want you to hear—is that your best in this moment doesn’t have to be your best ever. Your best is enough when it honors where you are right now. Strength isn’t always pushing harder. Sometimes strength is knowing when to stop.

As amputees, our bodies are constantly negotiating limits. When you rely on one good leg, you have to be mindful of how far you push before fatigue compromises safety. Yesterday, my head wanted more, but my body was very clear: this was enough. And instead of feeling defeated, I chose to feel proud.

What you don’t see in highlight videos is the pain, the fear, the intense focus it takes to stay upright and in control. You don’t see the internal battle between wanting to prove yourself and needing to protect yourself. And that’s something I think so many of us struggle with—especially when we compare ourselves to others or even to past versions of ourselves.

This year, I’m not the same person I was last spring when I was in great shape, hitting the gym, and doing one-legged squats. I had revision surgery this summer. I’ve been learning a new socket, adapting to a new prosthetic, and giving my body time to heal. That meant less time training and more time resting. And while rest came at the cost of muscle mass and endurance, it also gave me other gifts—healing, reflection, time at home, time with my animals, and space to process everything my body has been through.

We are not static beings. Even with the same injury, we are different depending on the season of life we’re in. And during the holidays especially, it’s easy to beat yourself up for not doing “enough.” But the truth is, everyone’s circumstances are different. Some of you can’t get to the gym. Some of you are waiting on a fitting, a surgery, or relief from pain. Some days, just breathing is the win—and that is okay.

 

 

I know amputees who avoid connecting with others because they feel like they’re falling short. My message to you is this: do what you can with what you have, where you are. Comparison steals joy and progress. The valley you’re in right now does not dictate the rest of your life.

If you’re disappointed in yourself because you know you can do more and you’re choosing not to, then have that honest conversation with yourself and start shifting your mindset. Change the internal dialogue. Set goals. Dream again. But if you’re in a season of healing, pain, or waiting, give yourself grace. This moment is not permanent.

Yesterday, I skied one run—and that one run was enough. I walked away proud, safe, and encouraged instead of broken down and discouraged. Tomorrow, I’ll go out again with confidence and clarity. And when spring comes, I know exactly what I need to do to be stronger.

Being an amputee is hard. Some days are brutal. But you are not failing because you rest, and you are not weak because you pause. Be proud of where you are. Be proud of your scars. Know that you are doing the best you can with the situation you’ve been given—and that is enough.

This season will pass. Keep moving forward. Keep honoring your body. And remember, the warrior within you doesn’t disappear when you slow down—it grows wiser.

I hope you have a beautiful holiday season. And I’ll be back again soon before this year comes to a close.

And as always,

Be Healthy,

Be Happy,

Be YOU!!!

Much love,

 

The Gift of Being Present

The Gift of Being Present

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Finding Purpose and Joy In This Season

 

 

We’re deep into December, and the Christmas spirit is everywhere—homes decorated with lights, the smell of cookies, gatherings, endless lists of to-dos. This time of year is magical, but it’s also overwhelming. We often rush from task to task, trying to make everything perfect, and before we know it, Christmas comes and goes in a blur. Every year, I remind myself: Be present. Really be in the moment. And yet, like so many of us, I still catch myself speeding through the season, missing the beauty right in front of me.

Last week, I shared about Limbs for Humanity, an incredible organization heading to Rocky Point Medical Clinic with 53 prosthetics—most of them above-knee—for 49 people, including a few bilateral amputees. They work tirelessly and always need help, whether through donations, volunteering, or supplying prosthetic parts. I encourage anyone listening to learn more, especially during this season of giving, because providing someone the gift of mobility is life-changing—not just for them, but for everyone around them.

 

Some recepients of the generosity of Limbs For Humanity

 

But today’s episode shifts from giving in a material way to giving with your presence. And this message hit me hard after hosting my annual Christmas cookie exchange. Every year I throw two big gatherings—one for Halloween, which I love, and one for the holidays with my cookie exchange. This year my home was filled with gorgeous faces, familiar laughter, new friends I hadn’t seen in years, women who traveled across town because they wanted to be part of something meaningful and joyful. I spent days creating handmade crafts—because I love creating in bulk and making unique gifts for people—but what filled my soul wasn’t the crafts, or the cookies, or the decorations. It was the simple act of seeing people show up.

 

Friends and the Power of Connections

Making gifts brings me joy and keeps me active and positive on harder days

 

 

 

There’s something incredibly powerful about people choosing to be present, especially during one of the busiest months of the year. And that’s when it clicked for me: as much as we talk about being present during the holidays, it’s the very thing we often lose our grip on the fastest.

Being present doesn’t erase the pain, struggles, or discomfort—especially for amputees. As amputees, we know there’s rarely a day when something in our body isn’t weird, uncomfortable, painful, or frustrating. Phantom pain hits out of nowhere. The socket might feel too tight, too loose, too heavy, too something. Sometimes sitting on the couch at night feels uncomfortable. Sometimes the good leg takes a beating and we’re reminded of how much pressure it carries. Pain is real, and it can take center stage quickly.

But being present doesn’t mean focusing on the pain of the moment—it means choosing what part of the moment gets your attention.

Yes, we can distract ourselves. I do it all the time: I hit the gym, work on crafts, visit my horses, pour myself into hobbies, or push through discomfort because I refuse to let it control me. But there’s a difference between distraction and presence. Distraction removes us from the moment; presence anchors us in it.

Presence says: Yes, I hurt—but I’m still here. Yes, this is hard—but there is beauty in this moment too.

 

 

 

And this is where so many amputees get stuck. We become hyper-aware of how we feel… constantly. How does this feel now? What about now? Is this getting worse? Is this going to ruin the day? We begin measuring moments by levels of pain rather than levels of joy. And that traps us in waiting mode—waiting for a better moment instead of living the one we’re in.

But the present is a gift—that’s why it’s called the present. We are not guaranteed tomorrow. We are not even guaranteed the next hour. What we do have is right now. And as long as we have breath in our lungs, we have purpose.

Standing in my son’s house reminded me of that purpose. I could have been home completing my own tasks or sticking to my routine. Instead, I was called to be here, helping my son and daughter-in-law get their home set up, making their day easier, giving them peace of mind. That, in itself, was a gift—to them, and honestly, to me. Being present for the people we love is one of the simplest and most profound ways to live with meaning.

And presence doesn’t only apply to amputee life—it applies to every human being. Some of us are grieving this holiday season. Some of us have lost loved ones. Some are struggling emotionally, financially, physically, or spiritually. Pain doesn’t discriminate. But presence invites us to look up from our pain, anxiety, and fear and notice the good that still surrounds us.

Because even if your situation feels grim, you cannot tell me there is nothing good in your life worth living for. There is always something: someone who loves you, someone you can help, something you can create, something you can smile about, someone who needs your presence.

This weekend showed me how deeply blessed I am. The hugging, the laughter, the conversations over food and wine—it reminded me that becoming an amputee wasn’t a curse. In many ways, it awakened the warrior within me. It gave me new eyes, a wider heart, and a deeper understanding of what truly matters.

And that’s what I want for anyone struggling today. You might feel broken. You might feel alone. You might feel overwhelmed. Maybe this is the first Christmas without someone you love. Maybe the pain feels louder than the joy. Maybe your spirit feels tired.

But listen closely:

You woke up today.

You have breath in your lungs.

You have purpose.

You have power.

You have the ability to make someone’s day better.

And that means you have the ability to change your own.

 

 

Your call to action this week is simple and profound:

Do something positive for someone else.

Hold a door.

Smile at a stranger.

Bake cookies for a neighbor.

Call a friend.

Visit someone who’s struggling.

Offer kindness wherever you go.

Because when you do something for others, you fill your own bucket. You lift yourself by lifting others. You step out of your own pain and into purpose. And you never know whose life you might touch—or how deeply they might need exactly what only you can offer.

So as we enter this holiday season—and as we prepare to step into a new year—remember this:

The present is a gift.

You are a gift.

Your life is a gift.

And the world needs what only you can bring.

Be present.

Be joyful.

Be intentional.

Be a warrior.

And above all—live for the moment!

 

Have a beautifully “present” week this week and as always,

Be Healthy,

Be Happy,

Be YOU!!!

 

Much love,

 

The Priceless Gift of Mobility

The Priceless Gift of Mobility

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Helping Those in Need

 

 

December is finally here, and with it comes the beautiful chaos of the holiday season. In my house, it’s full-blown hysteria—parties, travel, gifts, deadlines, and the constant juggling act that December always brings. But this particular week holds special meaning because it’s Giving Tuesday, and today’s episode carries a message that sits deeply in my heart: the power, privilege, and pricelessness of mobility.

If you’re listening for the first time, I’m an above-knee amputee. My amputation took place in December of 2018 after a five-year stretch of pain, surgeries, limited mobility, and a profound loss of the life I once lived. Back in 2013, a taekwondo injury started a domino effect of setbacks—ten surgeries with ten different surgeons, countless appointments, and a knee that eventually functioned at only a twenty-degree range of motion. I couldn’t bend my leg normally, and I couldn’t straighten it either. Each step felt like walking on different-length legs, which wrecked my back, my neck, and my spirit.

 

Me, pre-amputation in TaeKwonDo

 

For five and a half years, I listened to doctors tell me to slow down, ice, elevate, rest, repeat—and none of it worked. Some doctors refused to even see me because my case was too complicated. Some barely looked at me during appointments. One told me that if I amputated, I’d never walk again. I was stuck, physically and emotionally, and I spent so many days crying in the shower, wondering how my entire life had been derailed. I missed out on years of skiing with my young boys. I gained sixty pounds. I feared I might never live actively again.

 

Getting back to skiing with my family was life changing!

 

Choosing amputation was my turning point. It was choosing life over fear. And once I connected with my prosthetist team and physical therapists, that hope grew into freedom. They guided me before and after surgery, walked me through what to expect, taught me patience, and helped me understand that amputees go through years of limb changes. In fact, it took me over three years and sixteen sockets before I finally had one that fit consistently. But each step, each adjustment, each hard moment, was worth every ounce of effort.

 

Day 1 Post-amputation

 

My 1st check socket!

 

The first time I stood and walked on my prosthetic, everything changed for me. Mobility wasn’t just movement—it was identity, joy, independence, and belonging. My life wasn’t over. It was just beginning in a different form.

And that brings me to why this episode matters so much.

I’m on the board of Limbs for Humanity, a nonprofit founded by my two prosthetists who felt called to bring mobility to underserved communities—places with no prosthetic care and people who cannot afford the basic devices required to walk. They partner with the medical clinic in Rocky Point, Mexico, a place without any prosthetic specialists, and every time they go, 40–60 amputees show up—many who have crutched miles just to be seen.

This December, they’re returning to Rocky Point with 53 prosthetic legs, ready to restore mobility to 49 individuals, including bilateral amputees and several children. Most of these legs require expensive components: knees, ankles, feet—parts that often cost tens of thousands of dollars. My own prosthetic runs between $60,000 and $75,000. But these men give their time, skills, and hearts to fabricate sockets, assemble devices, fit patients, and teach them to walk again.

 

A special individual getting fitted for their new sockets- Bi-lateral amputee

 

The many parts Limbs For Humanity use and are in need of to service all of their patients

 

 

That’s a lot of socket casts! These are brought home to create the sockets for each individual

 

Each socket takes 4–5 hours to create, and every leg is custom. And these individuals aren’t seeking mobility for recreation or convenience—they want to walk so they can work, provide for their families, and reclaim their dignity.

This is the priceless gift of mobility.

And this year, Limbs for Humanity is facing a $50,000 deficit as they prepare for their December trip. They need financial donations, corporate matches, monthly donors, and sponsors willing to give the gift that can change a life forever. But financial support isn’t the only need. They also accept:

 

  • Donated prosthetic parts (knees, feet, ankles, liners)
  • Volunteer time
  • Physical therapists willing to join trips
  • Students in biomedical or engineering fields
  • Anyone who wants to serve hands-on

 

For children especially, the need is ongoing. Kids who lose limbs not only experience limb changes from surgery—they continue to grow. That means new sockets again and again, sometimes every few months. Mobility for these kids is more than convenience—it’s childhood itself. Running, playing, participating, belonging.

This Giving Tuesday, I’m asking from the bottom of my heart: please help. Whether it’s financial, material, or volunteering, every bit matters. You can visit limbsforhumanity.org, donate, offer your skills, or simply reach out and ask how you can serve. The waitlist grows constantly. The need never stops.

If you’ve been blessed this year, consider blessing someone else in the most profound, tangible way possible. Someone out there is praying for the chance to walk, to work, to feel whole again. You can be part of answering that prayer.

And if you’re listening today while navigating your own holiday emotions—if you’re missing someone, grieving something, or carrying heaviness—please know that I see you. The holidays are beautiful, but they’re not easy for everyone. My prayers are with you, and I hope you feel surrounded by light, comfort, and peace in whatever way you celebrate.

As we close out this episode, I invite you to join me in making dreams come true for 49 individuals waiting for mobility this December. Let’s do something big, something meaningful, something life-changing.

Because mobility isn’t just movement—it’s freedom, dignity, purpose, and hope.

Until next time—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,

 

Fittings and Sockets and Legs, Oh My!

Fittings and Sockets and Legs, Oh My!

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Traveling The Yellow Brick Road of Amputee Life

 

In this episode, I want to talk about one of the biggest learning curves after limb loss — getting fitted for a prosthesis. Nobody really tells you how challenging this part can be. You think, “Okay, I’ll get my prosthetic leg or arm, strap it on, and get back to life.” But if only it were that simple, right? The truth is, it’s a process — one that takes time, patience, and a whole lot of communication with your prosthetist.

When I first started, I honestly thought it was going to be pretty straightforward. They’d take some measurements, make the socket, I’d try it on, and off I’d go. But wow, did I learn quickly that’s not how it works. Every limb is unique. Every body changes — sometimes from morning to night. So that “perfect fit” we all hope for doesn’t just happen once and stay that way. It’s something that evolves.

And that means working with your prosthetist becomes this back-and-forth relationship. There’s a lot of give and take involved. They’re the experts in design and fit, but you are the expert in how it feels — and that matters just as much.

Now, I’ll admit — in the beginning, I had my fair share of frustration. When the socket rubbed wrong or my limb was sore, I’d get upset and think, “Why isn’t this working?” It was easy to blame the prosthesis or think the prosthetist did something wrong. But with time, I started realizing there was a little user error in there too. Sometimes I wasn’t putting it on right. Sometimes I didn’t pay attention to small aches that turned into bigger problems. And sometimes… I just didn’t know what I didn’t know.

That’s a big part of this journey — learning to take accountability where it’s due. Not in a shameful way, but in an empowering way. Once we start owning our part in the process, things really start improving. We ask more questions. We write down what we are feeling. We pay attention to pressure spots and skin changes. And most importantly, we communicate all of that clearly with our prosthetist.

Change happens!

Teamwork and communication are key!

 

Because here’s the thing — they can’t feel what you feel. They can’t fix what they don’t know about. So, if something doesn’t feel right, say it. Speak up. Be honest, even if it feels awkward. That’s how you get the best outcome.

If you’re new to being an amputee, remember this: it’s okay to not have it all figured out. You’re learning. This whole process — from fitting to comfort to walking confidently again — it’s a marathon, not a sprint. You’ll get there. Just keep showing up, keep asking questions, and keep working with your prosthetist as a team.

Because at the end of the day, this isn’t just about a prosthesis fitting right — it’s about you finding your rhythm again, your confidence, your life.

You are a warrior! It’s time to unleash that warrior and gain back your independence.

Have a beautiful week ahead, and as always,

Be Healthy,
Be Happy,
Be YOU!!!

Much love,

Take the Drive-Roll Down the Windows

Take the Drive-Roll Down the Windows

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Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 24:24 — 25.9MB)

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Enjoying Your Life RIGHT NOW

 

“Want to go for a drive?”

This simple phrase sends my pups into a frenzy! Their excitement is overflowing and their  joy is tangible!

This energy is what we should be living for each day, but when we are struggling we find ourselves consumed and can only see the problems, to the positives.

I remember coming back home after losing my mom. I had spent a full month back in Illinois helping my family navigate our loss and returning to my life here in Arizona seemed surreal. My mom and I were best friends, I called her everyday, mostly just for small talk but she was a great listener in times of need. I vividly remember one day, not long after the funeral, driving in my car and thinking, “I need to call monad tell her about….” when my heart dropped and I realized for the first time that she wasn’t ever going to be there again for my call. At that moment I felt the whole world must see the tears streaming down my face and hear my heart ripping in two. At the red light I looked to my left and to my right at the cars on either side of me. I knew they had to be seeing my pain, wondering what could be making me this sad, but instead I saw people in their own world, signing along to music, talking on their phone, laughing with their friends. No one saw my pain! They were living their life, and my life was at a stand still.

That was the moment that I realized that no matter what I was going thro9ugh, the world kept going, the hours kept passing, the days kept moving forward.

I have never felt so alone in my sorrow as I did in that split second at a red light.

What I learned was that no matter what was happening in my life, the world kept turning and I was there and I had purpose.

I firmly believe that each morning I wake and have breath in my lungs that I am to serve a purpose. That is the day when my thinking changed and for the better. Yes, I need to deal with my pain, but I cannot let it run my life and destroy my and my goals.

Even when things had hit rock bottom for me, with my mom’s passing, I had a family, healthy sons, a loving husband, my father. I may have had a bum leg, but I also had creativity, energy, drive, and passion.

 

My dogs, here,  just living in the present. No looking back and no worrying about tomorrow.

My point: No matter what struggles we face in life, we have even more things to be grateful for. We have people in our lives worth fighting for, and we have PURPOSE!

So often we forget to find joy in the simple things, especially when we feel frustrated, in pain, or fearful, but they are still their, it’s just that our focus has shifted away from good and positive to negativity and al that is falling apart.

This week, I want you to find your joy again. I want you to see past your pain and struggles and find the purpose joy my dogs find in an open window on a drive. Find the beauty in the little things and count your blessings!

 

 

This week our battlecry is simple: Seek the positive and blessings in your life.

Find joy in the small things, don’t allow negativity, pain, and fear to derail you so much that you forget to see all the good around you.

This is a choice, and one we must profess everyday, lest we forget.

Be strong, dear warriors, and find your purpose and passion.

This valley will end, as all cycles do in life, just don’t sit their waiting for the struggle to end to find happiness, you must seek it now, and when you do you will find that your situation won’t feel as bleak and hope will rise up in you.

 

So get after it and seek the positive.

Don’t wait to enjoy the drive.

Get out there, roll down those windows and let the wind hit your face. I bet you’ll feel more alive than ever and find inspiration in your life once again.

I pray you find joy in the little things this week and until next time,

Be Healthy,

Be Happy,

Be YOU!!!

 

Much love,

 

Live courageously! Live in the present!

 

 

Despite The Circumstances

Despite The Circumstances

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Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 23:32 — 24.7MB)

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Navigating Life When It Falls Off The Rails

 

Sometimes life takes a turn you never saw coming. One moment everything feels steady, predictable, maybe even comfortable — and then suddenly, the tracks shift, and you’re left wondering how to move forward. As an amputee, I’ve had my share of moments where life completely fell off the rails. Moments that tested not just my strength, but my heart.

Let’s talk about what it really feels like when life doesn’t go the way you hoped, and how I’ve learned to keep a positive heart posture even in the middle of the mess. I’ll share the honest truth — that staying positive isn’t about pretending everything’s fine. It’s about choosing, every single day, to look for the light even when the darkness feels closer. It’s about deciding to see possibility instead of limitation, hope instead of defeat.

I talk about what helped me shift my mindset from frustration to faith, from “why me?” to “what now?” Because life isn’t about avoiding the derailments — it’s about how we respond when they happen. I’ve discovered that when we meet life with an open heart, even the hardest seasons can become our greatest teachers.

Having a positive heart posture doesn’t mean you won’t have bad days. It means you show up anyway. You breathe through the pain, you give yourself grace, and you keep moving forward — even if it’s just one step at a time. Through tears, laughter, and maybe a few tough lessons, I’ve learned that our strength isn’t built when everything’s going right; it’s built in the moments when everything feels like it’s falling apart.

My hope is that this episode reminds you that no matter where you are in your journey, you can start again. You can choose to rebuild, to believe, and to live with a heart that stays open to joy, even when life doesn’t go as planned. Because sometimes, when life falls off the rails, it’s just leading us to a new and unexpected destination — one that’s even more beautiful than before.

This week I want you to end your day writing down 3 things you are grateful for. Do this every day and see if it doesn’t help you shift your perspective and get you into a more positive mindset and heart posture. Who knows, this may become your new norm and a habit you carry through life!

Sometimes you’ll find it hard, in the midst of struggle, to see the positive but if you really search I know you can find 3 things that are positives in your life. Dig deep and search your heart.

I pray you have a blessed week ahead, and as always,

Be Healthy,

Be Happy,

Be YOU!!

Much love,

Finding Success

Finding Success

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Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 29:21 — 31.2MB)

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Defining Success As An Amputee

 

 

 

What is success?

Can any one person define success for the world?

Of course not!

As an amputee we need to remember that. Success id what you make of your life and where you’ll find contentment and happiness behind what you do and accomplish.

For some of us it’s walking for the first time without assistance.

For others it’s wearing their prosthesis all day long.

And yet for others, it’s getting back to work, or the gym.

Facing fears has become our new norm. I remember, when I first got my leg, that every time I went walking inside or outside of my house I had fear well up inside of me and I had to battle it so it didn’t paralyze me and leave me stuck, immobile.

It takes time. It takes courage, but remember your journey is yours.

I know people see amputees walking around in the world like it’s a piece of cake but the reality is we all start over and learn to walk again. Some people charge forward determined to walk again while others are fearful and apprehensive to don their new leg and trust it.

It takes time. It takes practice.

 

This was my very first test socket, using parallel bars for support, and yes, I was scared!

 

So what’s the difference on those who walk and those who struggle?

First is mindset, the voice inside your head that is stubborn and tells you, “Yes, you can!” That’s a great voice to have, a positive one. Listen to that voice.

Second, those who find success not only have that positive mindset they also set goals with timelines/deadlines. They are determined to accomplish, despite fears (and yes, we have fears when trying new things, failing, picking ourselves up and trying again-that’s how we learn and improve).

Third, they don’t compare themselves to others. They find joy in their own accomplishments as they improve each day, whatever their goals may be.

What you CAN do are endless possibilities. Like the caterpillar, you need time to become that butterfly.

 

You can do whatever you put your mind too. However, make sure you are realistic with your goals and timelines. After amputation you may feel stuck or defeated because you had no idea how long healing would take, or how a socket would feel on your own flesh, or even how heavy it would be to manipulate because you got weak while you waited to heal.  Just because you were an amazing walker with 2 legs doesn’t mean post amputation is going to be like riding a bike (by the way, post amputation biking riding is also a new challenge, like everything else). You must relearn how to walk because it IS different than before.

Cut yourself some slack. Understand that fears are common and the only way to your goal will be through some of those fears.

But I can promise you, facing fears to reach your goals, no matter how big or small they are, will be one of the most rewarding things you’ll feel.

Just don’t give up. Dig deep and know you are capable. You may be needing to take baby steps to push through, but take them.

You will fail and you will fall, but that is how you learn. Pick yourself back up and go at it again, and again, and again.

 

Hiking is my favorite activity but is exhausting. The terrain is uncertain but I worked hard to be able to get to this point.

 

 

Let’s do this!

Change your mindset to positive mode!

Decide what you most want to achieve.

WRITE IT DOWN!

Set that goal and a plan on how to achieve it. If you want to wear your leg all day but aren’t wearing it at all now then start by saying: Day 1 I will wear it 2 hours around the house (use assistive devices if you are concerned) but wear it! Sit in it, stand in it, mosey around your house with it on. Day 2 wear it for more time, don’t take it off, even if you only wear it 10 minutes longer than yesterday you still improved! Continue on that path. Always adding more time, staying in it longer and walking where you are safe.

After a few days of doing this then you can set a realistic goal deadline to wearing it all day. Set that date!

This is how you achieve your goals, and this is how you will find YOUR success!

Also, success is NOT a straight line without setbacks. If you are having a bad day or the fit hurts, then you use that time to adjust, take a break, and then start again the next day. One setback does NOT mean you’ve failed, it means you are learning!

Keep going, Warrior!!!

You can do this, I know you can.

Remember, you are stronger than you know! Dig deep and find your inner warrior!!!

And as always,

Be Healthy,

Be Happy,

Be YOU!!

 

Much love,

 

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