A hot knife seared through my hip and into my spine. At least, that’s what it felt like as I was sitting down on the couch one night. Tears trickled down my cheeks, and my legs shook. The pain was like nothing I had ever experienced. While sitting, the pain wove itself through my leg and into my knee as I gritted out a harsh moan. My pelvis had always been sore, but it had never gotten this intense. Just one more step. Come on. Lift your leg. The pain hadn’t gotten better, and I was nearing my breaking point two weeks later. “ Mom, I need to go to a doctor.” This was one of the first times I had ever reached out for help regarding my pain. I had always felt like I had to handle it alone, and if someone else assisted me, I let everyone down. One of my mother’s prodigies, Dr. Wolf, examined my spine as I sat on the hospital bed. Poking and prodding my body, she asked, “Does the pain limit your daily activities?” I hesitated. What will happen if I say yes? What if my coach finds out and kicks me off the team for being weak? “Yes. Every day.” My sacroiliac joint had shifted up because the collagen in my joints was extremely weak causing them to slip out of place frequently. This, coupled with my velvety thin skin, gum disease, wide-healing wounds, and premonition for ganglion cysts, meant I had Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. Later that year, I was also diagnosed with postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome, which meant my joints would dislocate daily, but also, I was constantly out of breath and experiencing pre-syncope. As my new daily routine formed around taking blood pressure medication, drinking up to 6 liters of water, and taping my joints to hold them together, I felt a sense of shame as I grieved who my body used to belong to. I spent days in bed, scared to show my face in school or at practice for fear that everyone was going to judge me for being weak. Weak. That word slowly became who I was. Weak collagen. Weak heart muscles. And even worse, a weak mindset. I hated myself and who I had become. One day, I decided I had to make at least one part of me strong. So, standing in front of the mirror, I flexed my muscles, took some deep breaths, and repeated the following maxim over and over. “I am disabled, and I love myself for it.” I started seriously powerlifting to help with the blood pooling problem and doing low-impact cardio like swimming to strengthen my heart muscles without dislocating my joints. My mindset changed, and my body slowly followed. Now. I play varsity volleyball, power lift, and rock climb with limited pain because I decided that having a healthy body was worth fighting for. I love weak collagen. I love my weak heart muscles. I love my disabilities because, without them, I wouldn’t be this strong.

A hot knife seared through my hip and into my spine. At least, that’s what it felt like as I was sitting down on the couch one night. Tears trickled down my cheeks, and my legs shook. The pain was like nothing I had ever experienced. While sitting, the pain wove itself through my leg and into my knee as I gritted out a harsh moan. My pelvis had always been sore, but it had never gotten this intense. Just one more step. Come on. Lift your leg. The pain hadn’t gotten better, and I was nearing my breaking point two weeks later. “ Mom, I need to go to a doctor.” This was one of the first times I had ever reached out for help regarding my pain. I had always felt like I had to handle it alone, and if someone else assisted me, I let everyone down. One of my mother’s prodigies, Dr. Wolf, examined my spine as I sat on the hospital bed. Poking and prodding my body, she asked, “Does the pain limit your daily activities?” I hesitated. What will happen if I say yes? What if my coach finds out and kicks me off the team for being weak? “Yes. Every day.” My sacroiliac joint had shifted up because the collagen in my joints was extremely weak causing them to slip out of place frequently. This, coupled with my velvety thin skin, gum disease, wide-healing wounds, and premonition for ganglion cysts, meant I had Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. Later that year, I was also diagnosed with postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome, which meant my joints would dislocate daily, but also, I was constantly out of breath and experiencing pre-syncope. As my new daily routine formed around taking blood pressure medication, drinking up to 6 liters of water, and taping my joints to hold them together, I felt a sense of shame as I grieved who my body used to belong to. I spent days in bed, scared to show my face in school or at practice for fear that everyone was going to judge me for being weak. Weak. That word slowly became who I was. Weak collagen. Weak heart muscles. And even worse, a weak mindset. I hated myself and who I had become. One day, I decided I had to make at least one part of me strong. So, standing in front of the mirror, I flexed my muscles, took some deep breaths, and repeated the following maxim over and over. “I am disabled, and I love myself for it.” I started seriously powerlifting to help with the blood pooling problem and doing low-impact cardio like swimming to strengthen my heart muscles without dislocating my joints. My mindset changed, and my body slowly followed. Now. I play varsity volleyball, power lift, and rock climb with limited pain because I decided that having a healthy body was worth fighting for. I love weak collagen. I love my weak heart muscles. I love my disabilities because, without them, I wouldn’t be this strong.