Deeper Reflections
Sometimes the detour asks or presents bigger questions.
This section holds the quiet, contemplative pieces – the thoughts that linger, the emotions that ache, and the truths that shift over time. Here, i explain what pain teaches, how identity evolves, and what it means to live a meaningful life when the roadmap is constantly being redrawn.
Don’t say you miss me when you leave me out!
Isolation hurts in more ways than one.
There were two picnics today. Two. And almost everyone I know around here was at one or the other. Meanwhile, I sat at home. Not because I didn’t want to go. Not because I didn’t make an effort. But because I couldn’t. Neither location was wheelchair accessible. And when you have a wheelchair that gets stuck off solid ground—and costs thousands of dollars to repair—you learn the hard way not to take the risk. Add to that the fact that I can’t sit in the sun without breaking out in a painful rash from my medication, and it’s like the world has put up a giant “Keep Out” sign just for me.
People say, “Oh, I wish you could come!” or “Just come by for a little bit!” Really? Do you really wish I could come? Because if you did, wouldn’t you choose a place where I could actually be there? Wouldn’t someone—anyone—make the effort to include me?
But they don’t.
And that’s what hurts.
I’m tired of being the afterthought. The optional guest. The one it’s “too hard” to bring along. I don’t go to the store with my husband anymore because “it’s just faster if he goes alone.” And I get it—really, I do. It takes more time. More effort. More patience. But understanding it doesn’t make it hurt any less. It just makes me feel like more of a burden.
Isolation is cruel. It carves out space in your soul where connection should be. And when you’re already in constant, physical pain, the emotional kind hits even harder. It makes the silence louder. The absence deeper.
And the worst part? I don’t even know how to talk to the people closest to me about this. How do you say, “Hey, it would mean the world if you just thought of me when you plan things”? Will they understand? Or will they get defensive? Brush it off? Tell me I’m being too sensitive?
I honestly don’t know anymore.
What I do know is this: I want to be included. I want to feel like I matter. Like someone thought of me before the invitation went out, not after.
Because the truth is—I’m already dealing with so much. CRPS, chronic pain, mobility challenges, medication side effects. I’m already fighting a daily war with my body. Is it really too much to ask for my people to fight with me, instead of leaving me behind?