If someone had told me a few months ago that I’d spend half my year sitting on a couch learning how to walk again, I’d have laughed. Or at least tried to — probably before tripping over my own leg.
When I got injured, everything stopped. My independence, my routine, my confidence — all gone. Overnight, I went from being busy and capable to needing help with basic things like carrying a cup of tea. It was humbling in the most uncomfortable way.
And honestly? I struggled. I missed feeling useful. I missed the part of me that had things to do. Everyone else was off to work, school, sport — and I was left staring at my foot wondering if it might like to participate in life again sometime soon.
Somewhere in all that, I started journaling. Nothing fancy — just me, a pen, and a lot of rambling about pain, progress, and occasionally wanting to throw my crutches out the window. But that little habit gave me something. A reason to get up. Something to focus on that wasn’t my ankle.
And then, almost by accident, I started sharing bits of what I’d written. Not because I had a plan, but because it felt… right. Like maybe someone else might feel less alone if they read it. And before I knew it, a few people were reading along. Somehow, it became my thing.
These days, I joke that it’s like a full-time job — minus the paycheck and the staff. It gives me purpose. It makes me think, laugh, reflect, and (let’s be honest) occasionally avoid my physio. Though I am about to go and do that right now… promise.
It’s funny how life forces you to slow down just enough to see what matters. Purpose doesn’t have to be big or glamorous. Sometimes it’s small, quiet, and found in the middle of a setback you never saw coming.
So, if you’ve lost your rhythm or your direction (or in my case, your ability to walk properly), take heart. There’s still purpose waiting for you — maybe even hiding in the scribbles of a notebook, or in the messy, funny, unpredictable bits of recovery.
Because even when life slows you down, it doesn’t mean you’ve stopped. It might just mean you’re finding a new way forward — one wobbly step at a time.
