“When we can no longer change the situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.” ~Viktor Frankl
There are often moments in life that completely change us without our consent or preparation. Trauma, loss, sadness – don’t wait until they feel ready to process them. Instead, they arrive unexpectedly, pinning us to the wall and demanding severe transformation.
What began as a day like most training days, supported by focus and determination, was unleashed by the unimaginable traumatic events that shattered my life.
Before that moment, as a profession-specific fitness trainer, my world was defined by movement, strength, and confidence that my body could carry me anywhere. Being active has been a way of life for me, both professionally and entertaining.
In an instant, it was all gone, so I worked on something that didn’t feel like I was. At one moment I was strong, healthy and moving. The next thing I know was to wake up in a hospital bed. My body was broken, my mind was shaking, my heart was heavily heavy with sadness and fear.
My femoral artery had been cut off. My family said people who maintain these types of injuries are not usually able to survive in preparation for the worst.
“We’re fighting the clock, we’ll do what we can,” the surgeon said.
Those words hang in the air, marking the harsh reality of how vulnerable the situation is. “Life over Limb” was called and the cutting was a reaction.
I spent the summer in the hospital, unable to see the light of the day, nor breathe fresh air. Being in a medically induced coma for several days, I spent hours following the hours of four of the eight complicated, life-saving surgeries in the first week alone.
My body was passing through the unimaginable battlefield of battle for my life. I was circulating, resuscitated, enduring a fasciotomy in four compartments that kept the fillets of the limbs open.
The skin grafts eventually become lively with machines beeping around me, and the tubes, feed tubes, catheters and IVs running from my body bring me to life. I lay in an isolated critical care unit under a 24/7 clock caught in the space between survival and uncertainty.
As I lay in my hospital bed, the reality of my new existence settled. My foot loss was more than a physical change. It was a deep change in my sense of self, forcing me to stand up to who I am, beyond the body I always knew.
I peered into the edge of the bed and in reality I wasn’t ready to attack me at once. As usual, one leg sticks out from under the hospital blanket. The other side – my legs stopped short.
The once filled space was absent that I could feel as much as I could see. At that moment, all of its weight – what happened, what was taken, what was unresolved, what sank deep into my depths. I never woke up from this living nightmare. This was the real thing.
I was faced with a new reality. The lower left leg was amputated under the knee. There were no progressive accumulation, no illness or any injuries to suggest what was coming. The sudden loss was more than physical. It wasn’t just my legs. I felt like I had lost my independence and the look of life I once knew.
The weight of it all drew me into the darkness that I felt was impossible to escape. Still, in the darkness something began to change. What once felt like an ending has become an opening for self-discovery. It is the bridge to a deeper understanding of myself and the realization of strength, courage and resilience that has always existed within me.
Over the next few weeks, I tackled despair and uncertainty, but realized that this darkness had more than pain. It became the catalyst for conversion. Loss of my leg forced me to stand up to truths I’d never admitted, opening the door to the lessons that have shaped my life in ways I couldn’t imagine.
Pain and adversity, anger and fear were not the enemies I once believed in. Instead, they have become a powerful force for me to grow and have led me on an unexpected path. It wasn’t something I was intentionally hoping for, but ultimately provided exactly what I needed.
I came to understand this through small triumphs, like lifting myself out of my hospital bed, taking that first step, learning to balance when the world below me is unstable and my footing feels unstable and unfamiliar.
These moments of discomfort became invitations. The struggle changed while we were going, as we met with enthusiasm rather than resistance. With each step forward, I regained both my footing and self-confidence, revealing a sense of empowerment that I hadn’t noticed.
Pain, fear, and struggle all led me to a powerful realization. It continues to shape how I see myself and how I engage in life.
In many cases, limitations are the story we tell.
At first I believed that life had betrayed me, my body disappointed me. I told myself I couldn’t do what I once loved. I was afraid of failing, fearing that I would look weak. As I began pushing my boundaries, moving, standing, and learning to find new ways, I realized that my biggest obstacle wasn’t my body. It was a belief that I had the fixed restrictions imposed on me now. When I tried it, I discovered a world of possibilities.
The mind skillfully builds barriers that we think are insurmountable. Once confronted, they reveal themselves as fantasies. It’s not real, it’s a perceived limitation. The only true limitation is what I put on myself. I might do something else now, but in doing so I discovered that there is truly the power of adaptability and the totally infinite possibilities.
My body doesn’t define me
For most of my life, I have equated value with physical appearance and ability. I built my life and career around movement and made my body play. When I lost my leg, I felt like I lost my core. I struggled with my own reflection and with visible marks of things that have changed. I was worried that it was being deemed, labeled and labeled as defined by what was missing. And over time I began to see things differently.
My prosthetic leg, once a symbol of loss, is a badge of my courage, a testament to all I endure and overcome. The external physical changes were undeniable, but the larger shifts were internal.
My sense of self felt unfamiliar, as if it had been stripped along with my feet. Uncertainty and overwhelmingness have been lost, and I have realized that I have been called to look deeper. It took time and reflection to realize that my wholeness remains. Strength, persistence, and self-worth were not dependent on physics. They lived inside. Even when they felt unrecognizable, they waited for it to be regenerated.
Everything I needed was in me forever
It is easy to believe that healing and wholeness comes from outside of ourselves, that we must chase after what supports us. I was looking for evidence of my worth and reassurance that I hadn’t lost anything essential. But in the quietest moments, when I was sitting alone in my pain, no one left to persuade me other than myself, I began to see the truth.
What felt like loss was not empty space. It was the opening and an invitation to reveal what was always within me. There was no need to rebuild from nothing or become a new person. I had to recognize what was already there. And in that perception, it unfolds naturally.
Losing my leg didn’t break. It revealed me. It became my biggest discovery. I now accept the unknown in invitations to meet myself in ways I have never seen before, revealing the depth of courage, resilience, and inner strength that is manifested by difficulties.
Final Reflection
We all have stories about what is possible, conditioning, fear, and stories influenced by experience. But what if our limitations are not real? What if they’re not just being challenged? What happens when everything that needs to rise needs to be healed and reconstructed?
The greatest changes often emerge from the depth of difficulty. Life challenges us in ways we never imagined, but among those challenges is revelation.
Difficulty and struggle often go hand in hand, but within them there is a path to peace. They bring pain, but they also provide wisdom. They shape us, but they don’t have to define us. As we stop resisting and leaning towards something that challenges us, we gain clarity, reveal strength, discover deeper understanding of ourselves.
Things that once felt impossible begin to feel naturally. Through struggle, we find empowerment. Through trauma, we find ourselves discovery. All difficulties include invitations to redefine, reconstruct and regain. The question is not what life does from us, but instead we chose to reveal it instead.
About Susan Wang
Susan Wang is the mother of two young adult sons and is a writer who turns personal adversity into powerful lessons about resilience, adaptability and inner strength. She shares her journey of loss and change, urging others to challenge restrictions, embrace change and reveal internal forces. Connect with her on Facebook and Instagram.
