Some people slip on shoes and go. I slip on pain and patience.
Living with severe neuropathy and drop foot means my legs don’t always remember how to move the way they used to.
My AFO braces — cold, rigid, necessary — have become both my anchors and my burden.
They help me stand when my body forgets how. But they also press, pinch, rub, and ache. They remind me of what I’ve lost and what I still fight for, all at once.
The Weight of Walking
People see the braces and think they’re a fix — a solution that evens the odds. What they don’t see is how heavy they feel by the end of the day. The way they dig into skin, how the straps leave marks that linger long after I take them off.
Sometimes I want to throw them across the room.
Sometimes I cry quietly when I take them off, relief and grief tangled together.
And sometimes, I look at them and whisper thank you. Because even pain that keeps me upright is still a kind of mercy.
The Strange Dance of Dependence
There’s a strange vulnerability in needing something to move.
Every step becomes a conversation between body and brace — stiff, mechanical, but determined. My walk isn’t graceful, but it’s mine.
I’ve learned to measure progress differently now. Not in miles, but in moments:
Standing without wobbling.
Making it through the grocery aisle.
Getting up after a fall without breaking something inside or out.
And every time I do, I remind myself that strength doesn’t always look smooth. Sometimes it’s loud, clunky, awkward — but it’s still strength.
What I Want People to Know
If you’ve ever seen someone walking with braces, moving slower than you’d expect, please don’t pity them.
Don’t rush them.
Just understand — that person is already carrying more than the braces you see.
They’re carrying the memory of easy movement, the daily negotiation between pain and purpose, the courage it takes to keep showing up.
And if that person is you — if you wake up each day and face the hard truth of a body that doesn’t cooperate — please know: I see you. You’re not less because of the metal and plastic you wear. You’re not defined by your limits.
You’re a story of resilience in motion.
With love & encouragement,
Crystal Amon
Princess Crystal Says
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📧 princesscrystalsays@gmail.com
Princess Crystal Says 
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