The SuperWoman Complex

During the past few weeks I have had the pleasure of making several new friends through my blog and website. Although they are different places in their journey, they are all relative "newbies" when it comes to living as an amputee. Talking with them through email and on the phone, one resounding issue kept recurring.

All of my new friends feel as if they are trying to remain strong for their friends and family to their own detriment. I understand this trait because this was also my experience. After my amputation I found myself trying to make everybody around me comfortable with my limb loss. I refused to let them see me depressed or frustrated. I remained happy and upbeat in public. Inside I was falling apart.

On some level I knew that I wasn't being honest, but I didn't know how else to act. I was worried that if my friends knew how I was really feeling, they wouldn't want to spend time around me. After all, they wanted to go shopping, laugh and be carefree. All I wanted to do was to curl into a ball under my covers and cry. I was certain that if I were honest with how I was feeling, I would depress the mood and become a kill-joy.

My friends and family remarked on my strength. I received accolades from co-workers about my ability to cope. Although the kind words were nice to hear, I also felt undeserving; I knew that I was living a lie.

Despite my smiles and my laughter, I knew that I was not well-adjusted. I missed my leg. My strongest memories are of everything being so much harder than I anticipated. I had opted for the amputation to rid myself of the pain and to regain my life. Instead I emerged feeling ugly, disabled and disheartened.

My friends and family never knew how I was feeling. I worried about placing that burden on them. I've learned that this coping mechanism is common among many new amputees. Let's be honest, it is not the healthiest approach- I gained in excess of 100 pounds during this time frame.

I find myself offering similar advice to most new amputees. My emotional healing from my amputation didn't begin until I allowed myself to give my feelings a voice. Keeping everything bottled up, I was only hurting myself and limiting my own recovery. I urge, sometimes at the risk of being perceived as begging, my new amputee friends to give their grief and anger a voice. It will work against your recovery if you try to live a facade that everything is always fine.

As I started writing and, eventually talking, I realized that my loved ones were not turned off by my emotions. I worried about disappointing people by appearing weak. Instead of being shunned, I was offered hugs.

I realized that I didn't need to be SuperWoman. It was okay to cry. It was okay to scream and be so angry that I would literally tear wads of paper for fear that I would start throwing things if I didn't find a release. It was safe to call a friend and say that I was sad. In fact, it strengthened my friendships because those who care about me were allowed to help.

I learned that being true to my grief had a direct correlation with my own happiness. With time and practice I can say with certainty that living as an amputee has become easier. I no longer analyze every step and every obstacle. I walk without thinking about it, and it finally feels normal.

Of course, I still have days where I miss my foot. I still grieve, but the frequency is not nearly as often as it was in the beginning. When I'm sad, I've learned that it's okay to say, "I'm really sad today. I miss my foot." Acknowledging these emotions has empowered me to be true to myself, one leg and all!