Belonging to Injury, Part 1

A story and note to explorers and people affected by injury

What did you say?” He responded, “There’s your torn ACL, and…”

His words trailed off. I felt as if someone was choking me and the wind was being knocked out of my body. I was staring at my phone not comprehending what was happening. Torn?

I was sitting in my car in a prison parking lot where I volunteer in maximum security prisons. Moments before my telehealth call, I experienced an incredible day connecting with humanity and lifting those who are confined by walls and unfathomable circumstances.

As someone who teaches in prison, I realized I would be experiencing a new reality and my level of mental and physical confinement.

When I hung up with the doctor the words “surgery” and “10-12 month recovery” echoed in my head. It was a true out-of-body experience followed by the feeling of defeat washing over me. It was maybe one of the first moments in my life that I felt a true feeling of no matter what I wanted, wanted to do, could do:

I am going to be physically down and there is nothing I can do about it.

I started driving and I could feel each teardrop roll down my face. It was a type of crying that you feel throughout your entire body. My legs felt numb where pushing the pedal driving felt foreign to me. But, then I physically couldn’t drive anymore.

The road turned into an abyss of desert as I was on the outskirts of Los Angeles. I turned off, parked and rage began to fill my body. Like, an anx high school movie I banged on my steering wheel screaming until my fists throbbed. I stepped out of the car and screamed at the top of my lungs.

Tehachapi, California

Cars drove by, but I felt like they were on the other side of a glass wall watching me like I was on TV.

I felt this to my core: I don’t care what anyone thinks, I don’t care if anyone sees me, I don’t care if anyone pulls over, I don’t care what happens next. I turned off reality and the hyper-awareness of others and the world around me became opaque.

My life has been crafted around achievement and constant strength.

Jenny (even in complete distress) would be coaching “Jenny” saying, “You got this, keep it together, you have to be strong”. This has worked to a point in my life of being able to perform and “thrive” in the world around me. But, I was at a breaking point from everything feeling like a battle.

The question I ask myself now is, why did it feel like a battle? Who was I fighting and why?

I think the answer is myself. To give myself grace I have experienced a lot in a short amount of time with the LA fires and a lot of personal life circumstances that have turned my world upside down. I think the injury was the “straw that broke the camel’s back”.

I am writing this article a week / week and a half later after learning my life is going to change for the next year. Explorers, Readers, etc. I apologize. I could not write, share adventures, or connect with you. I was in a dark place with my injury and I felt for the first time in my life a feeling of giving up. I thought to myself, “We’ll there goes my adventure blog, why bother? Who will care?”.

But, then I realized the intention of The Belonging Project was never to be an adventure blog.

I wanted this to be an anti-travel blog that broke the cycle of empty experiences and facades. I want to share adventure based on authenticity, connection, and the challenges we all face with feeling a sense of belonging. In that theme and let this sit for a moment:

For the first time in my life, I am being forced to belong to myself.

I feel before the injury my life was an existential crisis of finding belonging. That feeling isn’t going to go away completely, but something is different now. I was constantly looking for external validation by doing the coolest s***, being the strongest, and going, going, going, going. And, if I didn’t live as if I am always at my best, then who am I?

Would people love me for, me?

Logistically, we are talking about a flight every other week, camping, skiing, skinning, hiking, I am a full-time Solutions Engineer, I tutor high school students, lead partnerships for non-profits, I am a never-ending resume of “doing things and succeeding”. I love all of the things I do. I love doing as much as possible with God’s gift of health and opportunity. But, here’s the problem.

If you are looking for belonging, you are always going to feel lost.

Deep down, I know I was lost. Until a week ago I felt I was on a hamster wheel not sure what I was doing. I was just doing a lot and doing my best. I was hoping something would change, something would feel right, or land when it came to feeling a sense of belonging.

My thoughts: “Oh someone will see how amazing I am and just scoop me up and take me out of a predicament”. That suddenly life would all make sense, that the “bad” would eventually get burnt out, and that all of these puzzle pieces (relationships, where am I going to live, etc.) would just fall into place.

I was allowing the world to dictate my life versus listening to what was happening inside of me.

Change doesn’t magically happen. Like real, existential, change and addressing trauma isn’t something you can wish away or magically fix. I was avoiding dealing with myself and what was already beyond the “coming to a head” point.

Injury has an impossible avoidance of facing how you live your life.

You cannot avoid rest, you cannot avoid your mind, your thoughts, and the people who do not fit in your life because now you need help and love more than ever. At first, I felt like my life was being blown up with this injury. But, there is also a part of me that deep down feels this would eventually happen.

I was screaming inside to stop and listen, but I didn’t.

Now I have to. Tearing my ACL isn’t what I had in mind. But, it is happening. It’s real and oh boy, it’s going to be a real physical pause. When the injury happened, I was skiing in Mammoth, California. It was the first snow day (I would not constitute this as a powder day. Way too warm, heavy snow).

The morning opened with skiing an untouched groomer where I bombed down and did not turn a single time. I was truly flying and at the bottom, I cried. After experiencing the Los Angeles fires (article), it was the first moment I felt a true moment of relief and joy in 2025.

But, from experiencing euphoria, then came injury.

Mammoth, California

Skiing in a tree line, I caught an edge. POP* I felt it and heard it. I thought I pulled a muscle. There was no pain, but a sensation of a charley horse. I was laughing to my friends because the pop was uncomfortable, but it wasn’t painful. Eventually, I got back up and started to ski down back to my car.

Something was off and I couldn’t put my finger on it.

Mammoth, California

I went to the Orthopedic hospital in Mammoth. I was walking normally and my symptoms were mild. Two surgeons walked in and ran tests where my mobility, symptoms, and x-rays were all normal. The findings were I was fine. The quote, “I could ski the next day”, and there wasn’t a reason to believe I tore my ACL.

Relief washed over me. I’m ok!

I still wanted to be cautious so I rested for a month, did rehab and waited just as I was prescribed to start activity. I decided to test the waters after a month with a cross-country ski on a flat fire road. Driving up to the trailhead, it felt like a million years (even though it was only 4 weeks) since I had done the routine. The mountains were calling me and I felt a sense of eagerness to be back.

Winds at the trailhead were blowing 50mph.

Trees swayed and I was committed. Clack* skis hit the ground next to the car, the gear list check, the routine initiated and the adventure began. But, 1 mile in something felt wrong. My knee began to buckle and the pain started to run in the back of my leg.

Ward, Colorado

At that moment, I realized I might be experiencing a bigger injury.

Half of me was in denial, but the other part was aware something was wrong. So naturally as a stubborn outdoors person, I decided to enjoy some “lasts”.

A few days later I went on an alpine hike and limped 4 miles to incredible views of frozen lakes and peaks. I struggled hard while my calf swelled and I could not put full weight down. A guy stopped as I was hiking up and he asked if I needed help. “No, thank you”, as I scooted past. But, I knew I looked rough.

Note, at this time I did not know my ACL was torn. I was under the impression from doctors that I pulled a muscle or had a bad sprain. I would have not hiked nor recommended pushing the boundaries pre-surgery.

Loch Leven, Colorado

Frozen Lake, Colorado

An MRI later* Well, here we are. 85%-95% torn ACL.

I’m discussing daily how to rebuild my ACL through all the different options of grafts, physical therapy, acquiring a handicap sign, crutches, knee braces, friends, family, love life, and a long list of preparing to be immobile for some time. It’s a grocery list of action items that I wake up to every day.

I am now based in Venice Beach and the adventures are on hold. Yosemite, Alaska, Wyoming, Canada, cancelled. My sister-in-law joked that I’m now just an average American citizen who just stays in one place for some time. I did not like that joke, even though she was right.

I am in the beginning stages of this journey. And, I already feel like a different person.

I feel it in my body because injury is physical and mental. There is also a deep sense of a paralysis of time, but also a relinquishing of my prior self. I went on a walk without my brace as my PT is challenging me to strengthen as much as possible before surgery. I haven’t walked without the brace for weeks and I am already sensing the real mental game with injury.

As I slowly velcroed my brace off I could feel the space around me fill in. There is a sense that the brace has become a part of me. Without it, I feel unprotected and like my leg will fall off.

I hike in the mountains alone and now, I’m afraid to walk out of my apartment?

When I stepped out, I initially felt naked. But, my fear went away. I felt free and I realized I still have mobility to walk normally (sometimes). Each step on the sidewalk suddenly was a euphoric adventure.

I felt the sun, I felt my hair stick up from the wind and I could feel my heart beat with each step. As people walked passed me, I felt the same feeling I felt from the cars in the desert: there was a glass wall. People walked past me as if I was invisible. All I could think was, “do they even know how good they have it? How can they be missing out on this feeling?”.

Los Angeles, California

I am lucky and I am going to heal.

Everyone gets injured and it will never be a good time. There are people, who live behind that “glass wall”, for the rest of their lives. My perception has completely changed in a short amount of time. I am also new to injury. It is a miracle that I have not been more injured with the 50+ days a season of skiing, the hundreds of miles of hiking, every weekend camping, etc. I mean, I sound like an insane person, but also, this is me and I love what I do.

The outdoors and adventure are a huge part of my life.

I’ve dedicated my life for years to adventure and the outdoors. Nature has also healed me in a lot of ways and made me stronger. Nature is good to me. But, if I am being completely honest I was feeling lost in my life. I was losing myself in what I was doing versus who I am. Well, f*** now I have a lot of time to think about that.

We sometimes pretend we are immune to real life and the ability to slow down.

There are about a million thoughts happening in my head each day, right now. A lot of what I’m sharing sounds like it is coming from a place of strength, but I am terrified. Each day is a completely different experience and no matter what way I spin it, I am heartbroken. I will live in one moment in complete grief to the next feeling gratitude for the smallest interaction happening in my day.

Venice Beach, California

I woke up in the middle of the night crying wondering when I will run again.

I laid their in paralysis as if an anchor was tied to my feet. You just lay there waiting for the darkness to go away. One of my closest friends from prison told me, “We are all in some type of prison”. It is profound, he is right and I felt / feel what my people in prison feel every single day. What can I do if I can’t leave, move, or have choice where I am right now?

Working with people in prison inspires me and also, reminds me that freedom is not based on our circumstances, it is what we find in our minds. Through this time, I am discovering what is possible with my mind and humanity's kindness that I thought was impossible for me to receive.

From crying in bed, the next day I was on a high from showing up to ski patrol tryouts.

I have been applying for 2 years to join a volunteer ski patrol, but obviously, I can’t ski. Life always has a funny way of timing and I got a call came from a recruiter where out of 80 candidates I made it to the first round of tryouts. Excitement was an understatement, but then my heart sank.

Recruiter: “…and we’ll ski test you in a few weeks”.

I can barely walk. I thought, “Welp, there goes my opportunity”. But, some how by the grace of God and also, my stubborn never-give-up mentality, I decided to show up. I drove three hours to the mountains and came to tryouts. I stood there with my crutches while everyone else had their ski gear on afraid of what people may think.

But, to my surprise, I had the best day.

I was accepted as an opportunity versus seen as unhelpful or broken. I shadowed the patrol room witnessing and assisting people on their worst day and also, connected with an incredible mountain community that loves what they do. When I got back in my car, I cried of joy and thought, “I am capable of anything I set my mind to”.

Bear Mountain Resort, California

This is not going to be a straightforward or beautiful process. But, I am experiencing a lot of beauty in my life right now.

Another first time: this is the first in my life I’m allowing myself to receive. I have had complete strangers refer me to surgeons, friends who are willing to fly across the country to be with me, and family stepping in a way that I am uncomfortable with transparently (I hear my grandma in the back of my mind, who would say, “I can do it myself”). A man ran up to me as I was pulling crutches out of my car with an umbrella to make sure I didn’t get wet from the rain.

People care, that is called love, and I feel it.

Sometimes I feel like we live in our own worlds and through a lot of distraction. We do this up until we have nothing to distract us (injury, death, disappointments, etc.). But, when we open our eyes to acknowledge the fragility of life, we can see beautiful things. We can see things differently and allow love in our life.

I am not even at the hardest part and it’s hard to think about how I will be in more pain.

I am grateful for my body and I always thank God for my health, but my body is changing. It is compensating, it is in pain, and it is trying to adapt to injury while still being strong. My mind is also fragile. I am sometimes in dark places, I feel isolated, I am scared and I feel beyond anxious.

Some movements and motions have already become foreign (my injury was 2 months ago). There are now moments at the gym or in PT where I feel a muscle I haven’t felt or used recently. And, I’m stunned. I stare at my legs in the mirror thinking, “What are you?”. I know the human body is incredible and you can rebuild these things, but it is surreal to experience being at your strongest, to watch your body change, and know what it will take to get back to where you were.

That is a hard thought. But, also, injury is a part of what I do.

A friend of mine wrote me a beautiful message and he reminded me, that injury is a part of the outdoors. I always play back the moment skiing wishing I didn’t go in the trees, but that is a dangerous thought and that is also one of my favorite parts of skiing.

We never think of the downside when we love what we do.

I have to constantly remind myself I will never stop doing what I love because of fear. It is impossible to avoid injury if we are doing what we love, and we are growing as athletes. To be injured from skiing for me, means I was getting better and I was pushing myself since starting 4 years ago.

I’ve been seeing a few PT specialists and one of them said today, “damn, you are strong as hell”. To have a stranger recognize you, it feels like I am not lost, I am strong, and I will be ok.

I used to feel like I was not a good athlete. I would put myself down.

Living in a mountain town for years, I pushed myself hard. I started from nothing and grew into skiing 50+ days a year, becoming an avid backpacker and a Wilderness First Responder. But, I never felt good enough from the people around me. I never took enough risk, I never progressed hard enough and I wasn’t strong enough to keep up. No matter what I accomplished, I was never enough.

However, I have been challenged in the best way since the injury. The number of people who have called me and proudly called themselves ”athletes” no matter their level, sport, activity, etc. has been humbling and eye-opening.

I stand now as a proud and great athlete.

And, I will continue being an athlete for the rest of my life. I honestly feel angry at the people who have told me otherwise and I am angry at myself, for believing them. But, we are where we are now because of them and I pushed myself.

My PT therapist who pushes me says, “Jenny you need to tell yourself this every day”:

I am strong

I am an athlete

I am going to have a good surgery

I am going to have a good recovery

I am going to be back doing what I love

Sometimes I don’t always believe it, but I am trying. I have a lot of blessings in my life and I’m too stubborn to give up (life is boring when we give up).

What do you do when 6 months to a year of your life will change?

Waking up every day now feels strange. There is also a disassociation with everyday life and knowing that things are going to change for the foreseeable future. My body and brain are also trying to acknowledge that my leg will be cut open soon to be fixed.

I think about how will I not drive for 2 months, what happens if I am alone and can’t do something, what happens if I’m in too much pain, what happens when I can’t do laundry, and so on. No matter how many times my community, friends, and family tell me they are here, I still have fear.

Every day, I experience heartbreak.

Injury has felt like 10 heartbreaks at once. You are grieving the loss of your physical ability, you are grieving the loss of your sport, your outlet, your joy, you’re everyday life, and you learn incredibly quickly, who is here for the journey and who is tapping out.

People are coming and going, already.

It is incredibly painful on top of the already physical and mental pain. People can feel uncomfortable when you are down for long periods of time and unconsciously expect you to perform, overcome, and be constantly positive. There are people who tell me, “It’s ok, it’s going to be ok”.

They mean well and I know people don’t know what to say. But, I’m not ok.

I've learned through psychological first aid and first responding that you don't tell patients, “It's okay” or “You are okay”. When we say this to someone who knows they are not okay (even if it well intentioned), it gaslights their experience when their body feels a sense of danger. The reality is we unfortunately cannot guarantee other’s outcome or our own.

It’s important to meet and empathize with people where they are in order to make them feel safe and process grief.

I need positive pep talks, to be told I am strong, and to have activities to look forward to. But, I also need empathy and understanding when I’m at my worst. I need to feel like it's okay to be down, and that I am enough here. And, that I am deserving of care even when I am not at my best. So, I am stating this now:

I am not going to perform any more.

There is a lot to dig into with this experience and it will be a journey. There will be real hard moments, truths, authenticity, beauty, depression, and connection through this process. I labeled this article as “Part 1”. Candidly, I’m not sure of how many there will be, but,

I would like for you to join me on this journey and learn with me how we can maintain life’s adventures and belong to who we are no matter what.

What I am looking forward to:

• Training as an athlete: I'm going to train as a real athlete, and that's cool. I've always questioned myself as an athlete, but I'm inspired by the people I've talked to who have come back from injury.

• I am writing, so I never forget: I want to share my experience to remember the humility and process I'm going through. More importantly, I want to help others. As I pursue becoming a volunteer Wilderness EMT and Ski Patroller, I aim to use my own journey to better support people through their injuries.

• Asking for help: I am trying this out. My success rate is somewhat high so far, but also I know it’s going to come with some disappointment and incredible reward. I will also try being less stubborn (maybe, no promises).

• Try to see this pause as valuable time: I know this time will be incredibly challenging and impact my mental and physical health like never before. However, I'd be a hypocrite to the principles I teach in prison if I didn't practice what I preach. I tell those I work with, 'There is opportunity all around you, regardless of your circumstances.' This recovery period will offer its own gifts.

• Leaning on God and relinquishing: I am surrendering. My usual response to chaos is to grab my phone, fixate on all that needs to get done, analyze every relationship, and worry about who's staying or leaving. But I'm working on letting go because I physically can't do it anymore and I am ready to allow people to take care of me.

• I am just going to be Jenny: In the theme of relinquishing I am working on just being Jenny and Jenny being enough. Because she is. Jenny loves outside, she loves big adventures, but Jenny is enough by being in recovery, by being herself, and not always being amazing.

What’s next:

• Surgery/PT: I will be doing this sometime in April. Everyday, I discuss the best way to harvest tissue from some where else in my body to rebuild my leg. I’m a little unhinged writing this article as you can tell, but this is real and it’s a process. My days are filled with rehab, getting as strong as possible, slowing down and taking care of my mental health before surgery.

• Being based in Los Angeles: I will be rehabbing for the next few months and listening to my body. I have been in the process of exploring moving back to the mountains and that is on hold (for now). I am beyond grateful for my community, friends and family here in Southern California.

• First Aid / Using experience to help others: I am hoping to use this time to continue pursuing my non-profit efforts of working in prison, and programs that support people affected by homelessness, trauma, addiction and abuse. I have been studying Wilderness Medicine, psychological first aid, and ways to support mental health in my own life. See more below within The Belonging Project updates.

The Belonging Project, updates:

Please have grace if my posting is inconsistent in the coming month. I plan to document my journey, continue the monthly editorial, and finally share the stories and connections from my years of adventures – we've barely scratched the surface: 43 countries, 1000+ trails, and so much more.

I'll also be bringing to the The Belonging Project more of my passion for mental health, attachment systems, Wilderness Medicine, pursuing my OEC, and psychological first aid, particularly in my work with prisons and those affected by homelessness and abuse. I'm not an expert, but I'm committed to personal growth and ongoing training.

I know I will find true belonging through this experience. It will teach me what is possible with love, kindness, and strength through adversity. It will also push my boundaries with my mental health. I will especially miss the smell of pine trees and views of peaks, right now. I already miss doing what I love most. This will be beyond hard and I am terrified too. Onward.

Thank you for reading. Please feel free to join our community of explorers, or to connect with me directly.

Songs:

SWIM-ford. Remix

Blur, Kasbo

Aurora, Sam Cisco, OKO

The Belonging Project Playlist