Belonging to Injury, Part 2
Post Knee Surgery and Walking Again
4/16/25 today is my knee surgery.
I did everything I could over the last month to get here. I trained hard, I feel strong, I got the right medical resources. But, I am still scared. My leg hurts. It has hurt for months now where I have faced a lot of physical challenges. I am trying to stay grounded in prayer, friends and love. And, also knowing what I love to do. The outdoors.
I need to overcome this and get back to doing what I love.
I am surprised how calm I am, right now. Especially that I am alone-they did not allow anyone to come back with me. I have anticipated this moment for so long it feels surreal. I am just sitting in a hospital bed waiting to be taken into the OR. I thought I would be paralyzed with fear, but I am strangely calm. My body feels like it is already shutting down and I feel a sense of needing to rest.
Three hours have passed, but minutes have felt like milliseconds.
My life has been on hold for months and I am going into a new phase. Recovery. I think about how much time has already passed since the injury. I haven’t been myself or done “normal” things for so long. By the time I will run again it will be six, seven, eight months since my injury.
A half of a year of my life.
I used to hate running and now, all I want to do is run. It makes you realize all of the things you take for granted in each day. Questions swirl in my head of when will I feel “normal” again? When will I walk again? How much pain will I be in? When will I do what I love again?
When?
When I tell people I am getting ACL surgery, they all make a certain noise. They start to suck in air and say, “oh that’s a long recovery”. The timeline of 9-12 months swirls in my head like a bad dream that doesn’t feel real.
They are walking in, time for surgery.
God, thank you for getting me here, for all of the incredible medical resources and loving people in my life. Thank you.
There are times in life where we have to be brave and step into the unknown.
Injury and a long road of recovery has reshaped my life in a lot of ways making this article an emotional and challenging one. It's hard to convey everything I've been through since my injury in February, through surgery, and now, being deep in recovery. Every day brings new feelings, experiences, and takeaways. I've found myself scraping and piecing together this article multiple times, thinking, "That's too vulnerable," "I'm not positive enough," or "I can't find the words to fully express this."
However, I realized this article isn't about saying the right thing.
It's about sharing what this moment feels like, and what it's like to be in the thick of a challenging journey.
Injury is complex, inspiring, humbling, and a painful process that puts into perspective life's fragility. It can also be an isolating experience. If sharing makes a difference in someone’s life, I’ll take that chance.
When I began writing this I started to feel overwhelmed. I’ve been through a volume of experiences, each with its own story:
I’ve found unimaginable strength in myself-mentally and physically.
I’ve been relearning how to walk again-natural movements have become a class in every day.
Pain has become a part of me- I’m no longer afraid of going through pain.
I’ve watched my leg muscle disappear, my hair fall out, my body change.
I used a rope around my foot to get into bed, the car and into my shower.
I’ve opened my eyes to a micro understanding of people living with chronic disability-I have a lot to learn.
I faced physical paralysis and also, peace in letting go.
Calling this an active recovery is an understatement- I began training 24 hours post surgery and commit 2-3 hours daily, five days a week to the gym and PT
I’ve experienced some of the best feelings in the world in gaining small freedoms that I used to take for granted.
I bought a massage table, so that after surgery, when I couldn't lay on the ground, I could still do 100 sit-ups a day- I refused to allow this injury to make me weaker.
Sometimes, it feels like you will never run or walk normally again- people do not understand what it's like to be in a long-term recovery. Even though I’m blessed that this is temporary, you grapple with a new reality everyday.
You're constantly your own coach, where perspective and patience are everything.
I’ve waited, waited for so many things and I am learning the true meaning of patience-not over days, but weeks, months, and a year to come.
You make choices in every single day-what you put in every day counts.
I've experienced disconnection and loss, while also feeling a great amount of love from the expected and unexpected.
I’ve struggled with some of my darkest and also, brightest thoughts.
I'm indebted to the medical professionals who, day in and day out, go above and beyond to help me recover and get stronger.
I found purpose in what it means to belong to myself and to something greater.
That is a true “Belonging Project”.
“The moment of surrender is not when life is over, it’s when it begins.”
If your life was to change tomorrow for the next year, what would you do?
It’s a hard question and one I never wanted to answer. But, we all experience moments that break the belief that life is linear. I was cleaning out my closet recently when I stumbled across my list of 2025 goals. Reading it, I started laughing and then crying remembering the optimism and expectations I had.
Looking back at it, it was a foretelling moment when I wrote that list.
It was December 31st, 2024. I was laying across a bean bag in my ski pants after a backcountry trip that had gone sideways. We miscalculated the timing and conditions, forcing us to abandon our plans. As I twirled a pen in my mouth, writing out my first world 2025 goals, I remember clinking a beer to the New Year and thinking, "I'll have so many more opportunities and health this upcoming year."
Unfortunately, lists don’t account for real life.
Days after New Year's, my childhood city in Los Angeles burned (article), I buried one of my dogs, and a cascade of events unfolded like a bad dream (that’s hard to share, even in writing). We sometimes get caught up in a figment of life, until something happens and we're forced to confront how much is beyond our control. We feed into the illusion that life is sequential, that everyone dies old after fulfilling every dream. We cling to "happily ever after," focus on ideals, and promote perfection, only to be left with disappointment and broken expectations when real life happens.
The truth is no matter how many lists we make, how much we try to control, manifest, pray, deserve, accomplish, or take precaution, life happens.
We do everything we can to avoid adversity and treat obstacles as the problem. But adversity and facing challenges are not the burden; pretending they don't exist and avoiding them at all costs is. The more we accept that life encompasses death, disappointment, heartbreak, sickness, setbacks, broken dreams, and challenges, the more we begin to live it as a gift, not for gain.
And, that is true freedom.
The word hard is an understatement to the challenges I’ve faced recently.
The other day I was at a dinner with a group of people where someone asked me, "What do you miss most since getting surgery?" The entire table went silent, unsure how I'd respond. Being in recovery is an unavoidable topic and is a part of my day to day. Even if it isn’t spoken, I see people watching me at the gym, crossing the street or walk into places. There is a lot of balancing not allowing your injury to become you.
I answered, “I miss crossing my legs”.
Almost three months after surgery, I can not walk around my block, up and down staircases, stand for long periods, or cross my legs. There are all of these micro-moments we take for granted in every day that have changed for me. For instance, the other day my leg gave out in the middle of a street, leaving me frozen like the Tin Man, struggling to move as drivers honked at me.
But, despite challenges I’m also experiencing a humbling of what it means to be alive.
The feeling of regaining freedoms is an indescribable joy where every day, I get stronger and is serving as a lesson in discovering who I am and what I am capable of.
Just weeks ago, I couldn't get into my shower, needed help out of bed, and thought bending my leg again felt impossible. When I could play piano again with pressing the petal with my right foot (I was a professional pianist for 16 years), it was magic. It feels like you are a kid again; reborn into the world learning how to do things where every movement is intentional versus natural.
My physical therapist is my hero, and I attribute so much of my progress to his commitment to my recovery journey. Going to physical therapy has also brought back some of my favorite childhood memories like being on my high school tennis team and feeling accountable to my coaches. I'm training the hardest I have ever trained in my life, I’m learning about my body and this injury has been a life defining moment as an athlete.
Beyond my own journey, I'm deeply inspired by others.
The day after my surgery, while sitting in the waiting room with other post-op patients, I struck up a conversation with a woman who had waited two years for her meniscus surgery. She shared that doctors dismissed her pain, and she lived under the shadow of not knowing what was wrong. She finally met with my surgeon, who ordered an MRI that clearly revealed she needed surgery. I didn't know for two months that I had torn my ACL, and that period of uncertainty felt like a lifetime.
This woman waited two years.
Despite both of us being cut open the day before, we were joking and laughing in the waiting room. Maybe it was the drugs, or we were simply coping, but in that moment, I believe we shared something and inspired each other.
She said: “I don’t think I would be sitting her laughing if I had ACL surgery like you”.
Me: “Well you’ve had a tough journey and surgery too”.
Her: “You’re right. I’ve been waiting two years for this moment and I am so glad it’s over. I feel like I can finally move forward with my life”.
Me: “Me too”.
She was then called into her post op appointment. She smiled as she crutched away, and we both parted starting our new journeys.
Injury is not special.
There are over 175,000 ACL reconstructive surgeries in the US per year and of course, women take an “L” in their 30’s with being more susceptible to tearing their ACL (article). But, my journey and choosing how I come out of this is what makes it unique. No injury recovery is the same and it is a choice. It’s a choice in every single day when I wake up to when I go to sleep.
My choice: I want to come back stronger. Mentally and physically.
Injury happens when we are truly pushing ourselves.
Before my injury, I was pushing myself: fifty ski days a year, hundreds of miles of hiking, accepted into ski patrol and so on. I finally felt I could say I “belonged” to the exclusive outdoor community. But when my injury happened, I convinced myself that I would be weaker, derailed, I’m getting older, and that I was crashing down from my peak. I was wrong.
I’ve realized that my peak isn’t when I’m at my best. It’s when and what I decide to do when I hit the bottom.
Something I am extremely proud of is putting the work in every single day:
2-3 hours a day, 5 days a week of PT and the gym.
30 minutes-1 hour per day of biking or swimming.
Deep rest and listening to my body.
Incorporating mindfulness with meditation, sports psychology, etc.
Staying on top of nutrition, vitamins, supplements.
Cutting out alcohol and coffee (going strong for 4 months).
I’m committed. But, of course, I do miss the things I used to do and love.
I've really missed being among pine trees where this summer has felt like a loop of doctor's offices, the gym, and my apartment walls. It's been a "Groundhog Day" scenario, and I'm constantly finding creative ways to focus on what I can do, rather than what I can't.
Recently, I had the chance to visit Northern California. With not being able to walk for long periods of time I set up a chair in the forest and sat there for hours taking it in. While I might not be summiting peaks or backpacking incredible trails right now, this injury has made me want to be defined by who I am, not by what I’m doing.
Speaking of doing things, someone said to me recently, “I don’t want to be doing what you are doing”.
I stood there, perplexed, thinking, "What am I doing?".
She clarified, "I don't want to do knee surgery, ski, or any of that."
I didn't know how to respond. At that moment, I was trying to dip a corn chip into salsa, balancing on crutches at a housewarming.
As this woman is explaining how much she doesn’t want to be me, I’m thinking to myself, "I don't want knee surgery and a long recovery either, lady."
People project and I’ve noticed people say crazy stuff while you are injured.“You’ll never be the same again” is a personal favorite.
Growing up in the city, I always dreamt of climbing mountains and seeing the world. I would watch Disney's Atlantis weekly, aspiring to be like Milo Thatch, a passionate adventurer who always did the right thing. That dream has never faded and I know myself; I want to live my life fulfilling as many dreams as possible, inspire others to pursue theirs, and do everything I can, until I can't.
I know this conversation wasn’t personal (nothing really ever is), but I had an epiphany.
As much as she doesn’t want to be me, I don’t want to be her (I’m laughing as I’m writing this because I mean that with kindness). It would be easy to throw in the towel, create a life of perceived safety, but I know what I love. I guess people are right. Skiing is dangerous and I will never be the same again. But, thats the point.
I don’t want to ever be the same after this.
5/5/2025
It’s my first day trying to walk off of crutches. It comes with wins and also setbacks. People treat you differently when they don’t see crutches. They stare at you while you walk all f***ed up with this look of “what’s wrong with you?” A man came up to me as I was trying to step down from a curb while holding cupcakes for a friend’s birthday. I was grabbing onto someone’s car mirror (sorry) and I must have looked rough because he asked if I needed help. I always feel the need to explain myself-“I had knee surgery”. I see in real time people’s faces suddenly look relieved-”Oh thank God that isn’t permanent”. It’s crazy because it’s almost as if disability creates an existential crisis in their own fragility of life. You can see people thoughts of, “I’m so glad that isn’t me”. I think about disability all of the time now and what people go through.
Trying to walk also feels like freedom for me despite it being beyond challenging and painful. I cannot remember the last time I walked normally. January? I’m watching people walk past me while biking at the gym. They just walk. I have to think about every step right now or how far the bathroom is. Ugh, too far. I’m holding it.
There is darkness in the world where we have choice to be “light”.
There is a lot happening in the world and it is easy to get bogged down and focus on the darkness. But a recent experience at the airport reminded me of the "light" that exists.
I was in a wheelchair, left at the boarding gate, when I suddenly realized I didn’t eat and I was super hungry. A woman in a wheelchair next to me started eating, then unexpectedly asked, "Do you want half of my grilled cheese sandwich?" "Heck yeah!" I said. She chuckled, "I get the bigger slice, but glad you aren't a germaphobe." That grilled cheese felt like a lifeline, and for the next few hours, Linda was my friend. As we were being wheeled out together in Sacramento, she looked at me and said, "You know, I think I was pushed next to you for a reason."
I’m thankful for Linda and we should all be more like her.
If you are going through a hard time, an injury, recovery, setback, health etc. Here are some things that have helped me during this time that I wanted to share.
Inspiration for Challenging Times
Acceptance: Before injury, I lived with a lot of trying to change and fight against the grain thinking (things just can't be this way!). Persistence is a part of me, but I've learned that not everything has to be a battle. Sometimes, things just are. There is power and freedom in accepting something or someone for face value, instead of trying to change or fight it. I pushed back on this concept at first, but things changed when I asked myself, who am I fighting? The answer was me.
My physical therapist highlighted this recently when I had a road bike fall and injured my healing leg. I was beating myself up: "How could that happen? I knew how to ride a road bike before surgery!" He said, "Jenny, the more you accept that you are currently in recovery and dealing with an injury, the more awareness and mindfulness you'll gain as you start to get back your freedoms. You won't always be this way, and there's opportunity in leaning into where you are, right now." Acceptance + not about changing what is = power.
Add “right now” to every sentence: We sometimes treat time as if it's infinite believing things will last forever. My injury has definitely felt like "forever". But, time always is moving, and everything is temporary. I see it in recovery: "Wow, I forgot that just a week ago, I couldn't move my leg like this."
I've begun adding "right now" to my thoughts and conversations to draw a line between "me" (Jenny) and my current life situations. Your situations will always be shifting, but you remain constant. Doing this helps show that even when you're in the thick of something, there is an end and light at the end of the tunnel.
Assembling a team: Every day, I thank God for the incredible people in my life who go above and beyond to ensure I come back stronger and get through each day. Santa Monica Sports Medicine feels like a second family, with my Physical Therapist, Sports Psychologist, Surgeon, friends, family, and so many others here for my journey.
It took time and effort to build this support system. I asked friends to write me letters that I could read when I felt down, I searched extensively for the right PT clinic before Santa Monica Sports Medicine accepted me, and I consulted six surgeons before choosing mine. Take the time to surround yourself with the right resources, within your means and capabilities. You have options when you're going through a hard time, and you don’t have to do it alone.
Being an athlete: "Athletes like you," my physical therapist said the other day to me. I looked at him, "Who, me?" He just stared back like I’m a dumby, "Yes, you." Before surgery, I struggled to call myself an athlete, constantly comparing myself to the top tier athletes around me feeling like I wasn't good enough. But I am an athlete, I train like one, and I will be an athlete for the rest of my life. If you push yourself physically at something, you are an athlete, and you should be proud.
Everything is an opportunity: Hitting the bottom can make us feel like we have no choices, but choices exist in every single moment, even when we feel paralyzed or getting back up seems impossible. I could have become a couch potato through this injury (and there's nothing wrong with rewatching Gossip Girl for the 10th time, curse you Dan Humphrey!). But when you find yourself stuck, take time to look at what you do have and the options available-no matter how small they seem at the moment.
It’s ok to not always be positive: The amount of times I’ve been told "you should be more positive" while in a cathartic state or dealing with something truly s***y, is a horrible feeling and its also damaging. There’s a difference between being a positive person versus feeling through what is happening.
In the early stages of this process I would feel pressured into positivity just to appease others. But, when it wasn’t coming from a place of authenticity, I begin to shame and gaslight myself that everything is ok. You’re not always going to be positive and that’s ok. There are medical studies that show how important it is to allow your feelings to “feel” (especially when you are down) The book Rebound has been an amazing resource.
Feel it, be honest, choose what you want to do with it and then let it go. And, if someone tells you to be more positive, ask yourself if you are a positive person or if this person is projecting. Or, say back, “would you like to switch places?” I’ll tell you, most people are not jumping up and down to for ACL surgery.
Let them leave: Before my surgery some people decided to walk away, saying it was "too much" for them. Looking back at it now, I feel a sense of relief that they are gone and also, what a bunch of “wimpies” (knee surgery is a breeze in the grand scheme of life). But, I was surprised to find that their exiting revealed unconditional love and support, showing me who belongs in my life. I was so afraid of loss, but ironically, it led to more love.
I also used it as motivation to tap into my inner angsty teen energy with a new motto, "watch me." I occasionally redownload Instagram to share updates on my recovery. Recently, one of those wimpies messaged me on Instagram, saying, "Wow, you're doing really well and looking strong." Yes, I am. Continue to watch me.
Pick your hard: My therapist said to me recently, “pick your hard”. I stared back, asking, "Can I pass?" Sometimes, we expect easier options or better outcomes, when in reality all options will be a level of hard. It's just about choosing the right "hard" for you and the one that will ultimately lead to better outcomes. Embrace the hard.
“Sorry, I’m asleep”: You’re welcome for your next family reunion. After surgery, while grateful, I wasn't thrilled to be living at my parents' house. There were constantly people, interactions and streams of unread texts. At Easter dinner, still heavily medicated, my mom joked, "Are you really going to wear that?" as I stood there in a matching purple sweatsuit and Crocs. Me: "This is all I can get over my leg."
Despite my Easter disappointment attire and in all seriousness, I didn't fully realize until surgery how much it affected my mental health the pressure to respond and be present for others. It took me feeling barely human to realize I needed to stop. So, I started faking sleep. I'd hear footsteps approaching my room, quickly turn off Love Island, and pull the sheet over my head. I would hear, “oh we’ll come back later”. I would text back, “sorry, I was asleep” (even five days later). No one gets mad. People respect sleep.
Trusting yourself and the process: When you see your muscles disappear, your hair fall out, and you face daily pain with no idea what tomorrow holds, it's incredibly hard to trust that everything will be okay. But, life is a giant trust fall and a belief that you can overcome anything.
For example, I battled the fear of losing too much weight, or gaining too much if I couldn’t run. My physical therapist consistently said me that gaining weight was okay and that I would heal better. When I finally began to trust the process, to look beyond the daily struggles and focus on my overall progress, I found inner strength and the certainty that I would come back stronger.
Recently, I ate a donut in front of a group, and people watched me as if I were David Blaine performing street magic, wondering, "How can you eat unhealthy carbs when you can't run?" I can, because I trust my body. I train hard, I am strong, and I trust the process.
Turning off / rest: I've never taken a real break in my life. This was my first, and it's been a gift to experience the importance of resting and listening to your body. Taking disability leave from my full-time job gave me time to heal and I think, deep down, I knew I desperately needed rest from my life. My advice, nothing is more important than your health, and if you need a break—even if it's just five minutes a day—I truly encourage you to take it. It will change your life.
What you tell yourself and others matters: When I first started sports psychology, I'd often refer to my leg as “the bad leg." My therapist immediately stopped me and called me out. "It's your healing leg," she corrected. She taught me that what you tell yourself and what you tell others directly reflects your outcomes. Catch yourself, make those micro-adjustments in how you speak about things, and you'll see your life change.
There are moments of euphoria and there are dark moments of what feels like a never ending tunnel.
Experiencing depression often reminds me that I want to embody light and strength for myself and others. This was powerfully reinforced by a recent, devastating post from my volunteer prison program: one of the program’s students overdosed and died. I constantly think about the days I can’t volunteer and just how maybe if I was volunteering that day, I could have made a small difference in a person’s life. It’s a reminder how you have no idea what is going on in someone’s life and why sharing your light makes a difference. I know it makes a difference in my life.
95% of people over 30 will never sprint again in their lives.
I'm leaning into this time as an opportunity. And, one day look back and be grateful for every single moment. If you are physically able, go to a park, field, beach, where ever and go sprint, jog, move side to side, dance, tap your heels. Just move because it’s a gift.
I also truly cannot wait until I can put my ski boots on and hear that click in the bindings. Or, be sitting on the chair lift high above the ground with the wind in my face skiing down the mountain.
For right now, I get to cross my leg for a minute, I am healing (super well), my neighbor brought me a meal, I get to see the sun out my window and, I get to write and share this story with you.
And, that is a great day.
Songs:
You can listen to the full Belonging Project Playlist on Spotify