Walking with a Limp

I recently met a new friend who was in a horrific car accident when she was a teenager. On that fateful night, her life changed forever. One of her legs was shattered in that accident. She told me with tears in her eyes how painful this one moment has scarred her physically and emotionally. Before the accident, she was a star volleyball and softball player and even had the potential to play in college. All those dreams were destroyed after the accident.

At first, her journey toward recovery was pockmarked with deep depths of depression. Her life had been so active and full before that night. As she battled those unanswerable questions, she wrestled with God as to why this had happened to her. Most days, she struggled just to get out of bed. My friend, who was once a star athlete, could no longer even take herself to the bathroom and would never run again.

In time, and with a lot of hard work, she came to grips with her new reality. She worked her tail off in physical therapy, and today she can walk with her cane. While life is not what she once dreamed of, she is doing so much better than she was. She walks with a limp, but she walks.

I was recently thinking of my friend’s story when I reflected on some of my clients’ healing journeys. Trauma survivors, too, have suffered unimaginable losses. For every survivor, there are deep lows and, thankfully, some beautiful highs. In the beginning, healing often feels impossible. Many of us who grew up with painful, traumatic childhoods shove all that pain into an overflowing “closet” in our minds and lock the door. Some even drywall over the door to try to “move on.” The problem is, our bodies know the closet is still there. The trauma always finds a way of leaking out. For many, it looks like walking with a limp—carrying hidden pain that shapes every step forward.

Often, survivors of childhood trauma feel lost when trying to interact with the outside world—not because they don’t want to connect, but because they never learned how. Children who endure horrific trauma in their own homes typically have no idea how to connect with others in appropriate and lasting ways. All of their energy goes into surviving. Their limp can show up in many ways: deep anger, distrust, and intense fear, to name a few.
What others may not see is the enormous effort it takes for these abused children—now adults—to do the most ordinary things: get out of bed after a night of memories, take a shower, put on clothes, walk into work, smile at a neighbor, listen in class, and try to make sense of it all—while carrying the heavy, hidden weight of trauma.

People who have survived the unimaginable have been in horrific “accidents” as well. Their scars may be visible, or they may not. After working with one of my clients for a long season, a well-meaning family member asked her husband, “Is she better now?” That question discouraged her greatly, because while she is not 100% healed (and may never be this side of Heaven), she has come so far.

She endured horrible abuse at the hands of her own family. When I first started to work with her, she could barely leave her home without having a panic attack. She has had to claw her way out of the depths of pain and suffering and has worked her tail off in therapy. Today, she can go to the store independently. To someone on the outside, this might seem trivial. But for her, it’s a miracle. She is walking with a limp, but my goodness—she’s walking. Healing hasn’t been instant, but it has been real and lasting. And that’s the hope for every survivor: that even with a limp, you keep moving forward.

Whether the accident was physical, like my friend’s, or emotional, like my clients’, trauma leaves its mark. Some scars are visible, others are invisible—but all are real. Survivors often walk with a limp.

Healing might look like panic attacks that slowly give way to independence. It might look like learning to connect with others after years of isolation. It might look like trusting again after betrayal. Healing isn’t instant, and it doesn’t always mean going back to who we were “before.” But it is real, and it is possible. And even if you walk with a limp for the rest of your days, please know this: you are walking. That is nothing short of remarkable.

If you are carrying the weight of trauma and longing to take the next step, you don’t have to walk alone. I would be honored to walk with you.