With the shatter of a C4 vertebra, my physical ability was stolen by spinal cord injury at age 32, snatching alongside with it the incredible autonomy it had afforded me, a tradeswoman and single mom.
In the decade since punching my pass to the disability world with all its loss and limitation, I’ve known sorrow and suffering on a scale I’d have been incapable of imagining prior to paralysis.
From my earliest days fighting for my life on a ventilator, I became determined not to throw open the door to my surmounting grief and let it swallow me whole.
But the loss I’d experienced was so much to contend with.
From my earliest childhood years growing up in rural Arizona, exploring creek beds and canyons, a scrawny blonde tomboy who would scramble up into the trees, to young adulthood during which I’d jumped on the unlikely opportunity to train as a structural steelworker apprentice, my life had revolved around my able body.
At 20 I’d left my sleepy hometown in the dust for the big city; less than a year later I was traveling the West Coast, learning to weld and operate heavy machinery.
For a decade the open road had been my home as I grew more skilled in my profession. I’d fly back to my hometown for holidays and spoil my loved ones with gifts on Christmas. Most often my daughter accompanied me on my adventures.
On my latest trip home I’d slid into the wrong shotgun seat, and the careless actions of the driver flipped the vehicle end over end.
I had known I’d been paralyzed since the moment the SUV hit the ground. Unable to lift my head from my lap, I felt the gravity of all I’d lost in that one horrific instant.
Following my injury, I was bombarded by an overload of emotions: my anger over my entitlement to everything I’d lost, my deep and dark depression, my horror and fear of a future as a complete quadriplegic, my crushed pride and ego, my diminished self worth and surmounting self hate, my palpable regret and lost hope.
I didn’t want to hear some feel-good philosophy telling me to just change my perspective, grin and bear it.
Those who think that’s all Stoicism is are misinformed.
The many modern thinkers and groups across the globe who have dusted off the ancient Greco-Roman philosophy, re-appropriating it for modern times, recognize its applicability to challenges we face today.
Stoicism gives you tangible tools to grin and bear it. Like cognitive behavioral therapy, it rewires your brain.
My patron Saint of Stoic philosophy is Epictetus.
Epictetus was a slave. The early Christian theologian Origen wrote:
‘[W]hen [Epictetus’s] master was twisting his leg, Epictetus said, smiling and unmoved, “You will break my leg.” When it was …
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