Seven years ago, everything changed. I went from being an all-rounder athlete—the girl who ran, competed, danced, and thrived in movement—to someone who was prescribed a month of bedrest. One wrong twist. One injury. And suddenly, I was on an operating table for a three-hour ACL and meniscus reconstruction surgery that rewrote how I lived in my own body. The medications did help ease my pain but....nothing was strong enough to numb the grief of losing my independence. My days blurred between unbearable swelling, rehab sessions, and the disbelief of not being able to do the most basic things. I couldn’t walk to the bathroom on my own. I couldn’t get myself a glass of water. I couldn’t even stand long enough to brush my teeth. The body that once carried me through every game, every dance… suddenly abandoned me. Through that season of loss, I realized something life-changing: Movement is a privilege. It is so immensely sacred to physically be able to do the things we rarely even think about—hugging our siblings, running to catch the ice cream truck, chasing our kids in the park, holding hands on a walk, walking barefoot on the beach, climbing into bed after a long day. We take movement for granted—until it’s gone. Today, seven years later, I am able to move freely again, to jump, lift, box, dance... to be able to live without pain. And it wasn’t magic. It wasn’t luck. What made it possible was the boring, repetitive work. Rehab. Training. Exercise. Diet. Showing up every single day doing the same things all over again. Fighting through failures. Celebrating small wins. That’s what rebuilt me, and that’s how I took my power back.