some mornings, waking up feels like betrayal. the kind of waking where dreams die the moment your eyes open, and reality crashes down, heavy. my body—stiff, uncooperative. my legs, thinner than ever, a reminder that every day steals more than it gives.

but i woke up. and there’s no undoing that.

so, i begin. from lying to sitting—very difficult. my hands grip the rail, my arms do the work my legs can’t. i rise. i stand, yes! i wait for the super-intense stretching to pass. thirty seconds. a minute. and then i move—directly to the shower.

warm water falls. phone on the shelf within arm’s reach. frustration. a quiet desperation. and then i twist the knob.

ice.

it shocks me. my mind reacts. but in that overwhelming moment, i start to feel a shift. my breath sharpens. my mind clears. warm. cold. warm. cold. by the end of three minutes under that arctic assault, i step out. different. awake. i feel totally okay, mood-wise. big win.

i don’t feel like breakfast, but i make something small anyway. coffee. i sit. my body, relieved to rest, starts to sink into numbness again. time drips by. an hour. almost two. and then the choice looms: shoes or sofa.

i don’t want either.

but i lace up anyway, ask for help with it, and get to the door using the walker. i open the door. the world waits. the sun is out, the air crisp, the streets alive. i get into the off-road wheelchair and start rolling forward, leaving the weight of the morning behind.

i go to a peaceful nature spot and stop. i get out of the chair and sit on a bench—it’s not easy. i inhale deeply. exhale slowly. in. out. again. and again.
spending 40 minutes on intense breathwork.
it’s very hard.

but staying home? that’s a prison of its own. the sofa doesn’t soothe—it suffocates. the walls close in, heavy with bitterness and frustration. staying there, sinking, letting the anxiety win—that’s a different kind of hard.

so, i choose my hard.

out here, the air tastes different. out here, the sun warms my skin, even when i don’t feel like smiling. out here, my mood shifts. slowly.

and so i keep moving.