Subtle Changes, Big Impact

When I was little, I used to look at those motorized carts in stores and just assume they were for the elderly.

For the disabled.

For the handicapped.

I knew they existed, but in my head they belonged to a category I never imagined I’d understand this early in life...

Not because I thought I was better than anyone.

Just because… you don’t grow up expecting your body to become something you have to manage.

You don’t grow up imagining that a simple trip to Walmart could feel like a full day’s work after.

And what’s wild is, when I got older, those carts still didn’t feel “real” to me.

Not too long ago, years before married life, back when I was living with my best friend… we used to get high and ride them around the store.

Laughing.

Being stupid.

Wheeling around together like we were kids again...

It was funny.

It was harmless.

It was one of those carefree moments that felt like nothing.

Just silly.

Just fun.

Just normal...

And now...

Now it’s something I’m doing because my body needs it...

I still remember the first time I ever used one for real.

It was the moment my body gave me no choice...

I needed it, and I knew I needed it.

My husband helped me get out of the car and into the motorized cart.

It was not long after I got discharged from the hospital, after my kidneys temporarily failed and my body was still recovering.

That moment is burned into my memory, because it was the first time I truly needed it.

And honestly… I think it was also the first time I allowed myself to use it without guilt.

It’s crazy what we’ll convince ourselves of when we’re our own worst critic.

Because the pain was always there...Every single day.

But somehow, in my head, that still didn’t feel like a “good enough” reason.

I wasn't ready.

I fought it.

It wasn’t until my organs started shutting down and my body forced me to stop that I finally understood how serious it can get.

It could have killed me.

And since then, I’ve changed the way I live.

I’ve become extremely careful with medication and what I put in my body... because you don't realizehow much your kidneys handle until they stopdoing their job...I learned the hard way how serious that can be.

I’ve allowed myself to rest without having to earn it first.

I have boundaries now.

I don’t struggle with the guilt the same way I used to.

And I’ve learned how to advocate for myself, even when it’s uncomfortable.

I’m trying to protect my body.

I’m going to include a picture of the first time I used the cart, because I think moments like that matter. They mark something. They change you.

This was one of the first times I stopped trying to prove I was “fine” and just did what my body needed.

Because this is what survival looks like sometimes... A cart. A grocery list. And doing my best.

Because... I’m only 30 and sometimes my body feels like it’s carrying a weight I can’t explain.

Because sometimes I can’t “push through”

without paying for it for days...

Even on the “good” days... I pay for it...

I wish the cart was this magical fix.

But even using the cart can still be painful...

Holding my wrist like that hurts.

My back gets stiff.

It moves too slow for me.

The stopping and going is exhausting.

The crowds, the stress, the lights, the walking into the store, navigating the aisles, checking out, carrying everything out… all of it is still too much sometimes.

And then came another subtle change...

The handicap placard

My doctor recommended It.

It was a small adjustment, but it made a huge difference...

And what I didn’t expect was how much it would matter later, not just for me… but for him too.

After my husband’s accident, it became helpful in a whole new way.

Because while he’s recovering long walks aren’t easy for him either...

Another subtle change that ended up being more of a lifeline than I ever expected.

At first, it honestly made me sad.

Not because I was embarrassed of the cart itself…

But because of what it represented in my head...

I felt like I wasn’t “old enough” to need one.

I wondered what people thought when they saw me.

I wondered if they assumed I was lazy.

I wondered if they thought I was being dramatic.

I wondered if they were judging me.

And for a while, I let that mess with me.

And honestly, a lot of those thoughts were just that… thoughts.

The kind of rational thoughts we think in our head when we feel like we’re the center of attention.

But the truth is, most people aren’t staring.

Most people aren’t even thinking that deeply about it.

Most people would do what I did growing up…

Glance, and then go right back to their own life.

Because everyone is mostly focused on their own life...

And that includes you, reading this blog.

You’ll finish this, and you’ll go right back to living your life.

Because you don’t live mine.

I don't live Yours.

And that’s just the way the world works.

So if you ever catch yourself spiraling about what people think, try to remember that your thoughts can be your worst enemy sometimes.

Because in reality, people have been really kind...

Really respectful.

Really accommodating.

Really helpful.

And the world has felt a lot softer than my anxiety tried to convince me it would...

Because my anxiety tried to convince me otherwise...

But then something clicked.

They don’t know.

They don’t know what my body feels like.

They don’t know what it costs me just to leave the house.

They don’t know what it takes to get dressed, get ready, get in the car, walk inside, and hold myself together like I’m fine.

They don’t know that a simple grocery run can steal the rest of my day.

They don’t know that it can steal the next day too.

And honestly, they could assume anything...

They could assume I have a sprained ankle.

They could assume I’m recovering from surgery.

They could assume I pulled something.

They could assume I’m pregnant.

They could assume anything.

Because strangers don’t have context.

And even more than that…

It’s not their business.

It’s not like anyone is going to walk up and ask me why I’m using it.

"Hey, why are you using that cart? You're too young for that!"

And if they ever did, I finally found a response that protects my peace...

“I’m disabled.”

Simple.

Short.

Sweet.

Done.

But I didn’t always feel like I was “allowed” to say that...

For the longest time, I thought I couldn’t call myself disabled unless I was officially on disability.

Like I had to wait for a piece of paper to validate what my body lives with every single day.

And I’m not going to lie… that mindset kept me quiet for a long time...

Last year, my therapist encouraged me to join some online support groups, especially on Facebook.

She told me it could help to talk to people who actually get it...

People who actuallylive with chronic illness...

People who live with fibromyalgia...

And when I joined… I was shocked.

Because it wasn’t just a handful of people...

It was hundreds and hundreds of thousands.

Hundreds of different pages and groups and support systems...

And it wasn’t only older people either...

No...

There were people my age.

There were people younger than me...

There were people who tried to work through it...tried to push through it...tried to be “normal for as long as they could...

Until their body couldn’t anymore...

Just like me.

Because I did that too.

I tried to keep going...

I tried to function like nothing was wrong...

I tried to be the version of myself that could do everything...

Until my body made it clear I couldn’t keep living that way.

Those groups changed something in me...

Because they reminded me that disability doesn’t have an age requirement.

It doesn’t wait until retirement.

It doesn’t ask permission.

It doesn’t care what stage of life you’re in.

Or what your hopes, dreams and plans are for your future...no...

They also helped me find words that didn’t drain me.

Because when people would ask things like:

"What do you do for work?"

"What’s going on with you?"

"Why don’t you work anymore?"

I used to stumble through a longer answer...

“I don’t work anymore due to my chronic illness.”

And every time I said that, it opened the door for more questions.

“Oh my gosh, what do you have?”

“I’m so sorry, what is it?”

“What’s fibromyalgia?”

“Is it like arthritis?”

"Ohh I have pain/fatigue too"

“Do you take medicine for it?”

“Are you going to get better?”

"You should try..."

And sometimes… you just don’t want to explain your pain.

Sometimes you don’t want to educate someone.

Sometimes you don’t want to relive it out loud.

So those people in the groups taught me something simple...

Say it clearly.

Say it once.

And protect your peace.

“I’m disabled.”

And for me, I wasn’t able to say those words until this past year.

Because even though it was true, I had to wrap my mind around it.

I had to make it make sense in a way my brain could accept.

So I broke the word down.

Dis = no. Not. A negative.

Able = ability. Being able.

Disabled = not able.

And that’s what chronic illness does.

It removes your ability to function normally...without aids, crutches, meds, tools, assistance...

Fibromyalgia is a chronic illness.

And chronic illness is a disability.

It’s a disadvantage my body lives with every day.

It affects what I can do.

How long I can do it.

How much I can do before I pay for it.

So when I say “I’m disabled,” I’m not being dramatic...

I’m not being negative...

I’m not taking anything away from anyone...

I’m explaining a truth.

My Truth.

And I’ll admit it...

The cart still helps.

It’s better than nothing...

It makes shopping possible on days where it otherwise wouldn’t be.

But if I’m being completely honest…

The easiest option is Walmart delivery.

Because you don’t even have to leave your house.

No trip.

No crowds.

No lights.

No stress.

No noise.

You can literally order everything you need from the convenience of your couch and have it brought to your door...

And usually, my husband would help load and unload everything, especially the heavy groceries....

But since his accident, he can’t do that anymore...

And I can’t handle long shopping trips either.

So Walmart delivery is the solution for sure.

What a beautiful day and age to live in, honestly...

And I don’t even feel bad about using the app.

Fibromyalgia or not…

Millions of people use Walmart Plus delivery.

Amazon.

Doordash.

Instacart.

All of it.

So if anyone ever wants to judge the cart, or judge the delivery…

They can save it.

I’m choosing what helps me.

I’m choosing what keeps me functioning.

And honestly… I think this logical mindset might be genetic.

My dad was recently diagnosed with prostate cancer...and I’ve been working through that one for a while too.

Knowing it’s not terminal has been a huge relief, but it still changes things.

It still makes you look at life differently... Time...

And watching him go through his own process reminded me of something.

My dad is an Army veteran.

He has all his limbs.

And even he... struggled with the word “disabled.”

Because he’s seen people who lost limbs.

He’s seen what life can do to a body.

So in his mind, he couldn’t put himself in the same category.

He fought it.

He questioned it.

He minimized it.

He tried to push through it.

Until it got real.

Until things got scarier.

Until things got harder.

Until the daily pain and the limitations stopped being something he could ignore.

And eventually, I watched one of the most stubborn, logical men I’ve ever known accept his disability.

Not as weakness.

Not as defeat.

But as reality.

As truth.

As something he didn’t choose, but something he had to live with.

And seeing that in him helped something click in me too.

Because it reminded me that disability isn’t a competition.

It’s not about who has it “worse.”

It’s about what you’re able to do, what you’re not able to do, and what your body is living with.

And sometimes the strongest thing you can do is stop fighting reality and start caring for yourself inside it...

And if you’re reading this and you’ve ever had that thought cross your mind…

If you’ve ever wondered what people are thinking when you use the cart…or whatever aid or tools...

If you’ve ever felt too young to need help…

I want you to remember something.

What’s funny is… I didn’t really get the looks from people my age.

I got the looks from people who were older...

Like they couldn’t understand why someone young would need it.

Like disability only “counts” when you’re elderly.

And honestly… I get it

That’s what I thought too when I was growing up.

Somewhere along the way

..society trained us to believe that disabled automatically means old.

As if chronic illness only picks a certain age group.

As if fibromyalgia has rules.

As if pain checks your birth certificate before it shows up.

Even the government doesn’t always believe it easily.

So when someone looks at me like I don’t belong in that cart…

I don’t even feel angry anymore.

I just think…

How lucky of them...

How lucky they are to be able to live in a body that doesn’t understand this.

How lucky they are to not know this kind of pain at this stage of life.

And I genuinely hope they never have to.

I hope you never have to.

And I want to say this too...

Just because I have limitations doesn’t mean I don’t still believe in a beautiful life...

I still do affirmations.

I still look forward to things.

I still have dreams with my husband.

The cart is just a tool.

It doesn’t mean I can’t go shopping.

It means I can.

And honestly, it makes me feel seen...

Because the world doesn’t create accommodations for nothing.

It creates them because people need them.

So if you ever see me out and about, just know I’m doing everything I can to keep going...

To have some resemblance of a "normal" life...

Even if my “normal” looks different now.

~Kristen, UnfilteredXoxo 💋

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28