Few years ago I couldn’t have done this.

Getting off the gilmobile, sitting on the sand, wrestling with shoes, foot-drop brace and sweatpants to change into a bathingsuit – it is already a challenge before you even touch the water. Standing back up on soft hot sand takes both my brother’s hand and my cane.

Then those few steps into the river. Passing him my cane. Lowering myself into the water. And finally climbing onto the paddleboard – awkward, stressful, but possible.

Breathwork taught me how to breathe through all of it. Not just staying calm during effort but weaving a quiet rhythm into the spaces between efforts. A slow, steady vooooooo, vibrating through your face and skull, carrying you through the discomfort.

Years ago, I believed progress meant overcoming – completely defeating a limitation, making it disappear.
Today I know better.
Progress is staying engaged with the struggle. Moving forward imperfectly. Not quitting even when the challenge stays with you.

Today was not a motivated day. It was a discipline – and most days are. I didn’t want to do it. But I knew if I didn’t I’d face it later: pain, restlessness, obsessive thoughts, that heavy disappointment in myself.

So I stayed with it. I breathed through it. I kept.

And when I made it back to shore, back to my scooter, the water cold against my skin, my head was clear, my pain lower, my mood much better. I will not have to wrestle with myself tonight. I’d already shown up.