Between the Falls.
The beautiful thing about setbacks is that they introduce us to our strengths.
I used to fall a lot during the early stages of my recovery. My father would always stand behind me, arms ready, doing his best to prevent me from falling. Every time he withdrew his support, my knees would buckle and hit the floor. Those were the early days — each fall painful, each one leaving me unable to break the impact. I was prone to injuries, and walking slowly began to feel like a distant dream. I was afraid to try on my own, terrified of falling again.
Giving up then would have been the end of it all.
Major setbacks often undid weeks of physiotherapy and muscle training. I had to tend to my injuries and give them time to heal. Patience became my greatest lesson. And once healed, I would return to the battlefield again, afresh.
My muscles had grown stiff from the lack of conventional movement, and my back was under constant attack from spasms. For an entire month, pain and the fear of another spasm kept me from moving the way I wanted to. Treatments ran parallel to physiotherapy just to get me back on track. At the time, it felt like a month wasted, my recovery thrown completely off course.
But those little hiccups in life — you later realize how important they truly are.
There were moments when I would fall and injure myself unexpectedly. I remember one particular day when physiotherapy had gone exceptionally well. I was happy, hopeful, proud of my progress. After three long hours of physio, I came home and decided to take the next step — to start jogging. That evening, I stepped out, determined. I hadn’t even completed a full round when I twisted my leg in a pothole and fell.
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That hurt. A lot.
I cried like I hadn’t in a long time. I had torn a ligament and scraped myself badly, but it wasn’t just the physical pain — it was the agony of yet another setback.
But I told myself, It’s okay. I’ll work through this one just like I have before. This too shall pass.
And it did.
I took care of my leg, gave it rest, the right amount of exercise, and a lot of love. All it took was patience and the belief that I would return stronger and I did.
The human body never fails to amaze me. No matter the setback or challenge, it always finds a way to adjust and adapt. It feels like nature’s way of reminding us to keep moving forward, to not look back, and to never give up. My father often tells me that the limit of endurance is much greater than the limit of pain — and I have lived that truth.
Sometimes, you must take the longer route to get where you want to be. But you will get there. And along the way, you learn to be kinder to yourself.
I could have seen GBS as the biggest setback of my life — having to relearn everything from scratch. But I didn’t. Instead, I like to believe that I gave my mother the rare joy of watching her child learn to walk twice.
Today, I see this syndrome not as a curse, but as a blessing; one that gave me the deepest period of introspection and growth I’ve experienced so far. It taught me to appreciate the simplest things in life, like walking, from the bottom of my heart.
I’m glad I got GBS.
