This holiday season, I am thankful for something I once took for granted — movement.
Until my stroke, I never knew the true importance of physical, occupational, or speech therapy. I never knew what it felt like to depend on others for the most basic tasks — walking, writing, or even standing.
You see, I experienced paralysis on my right side for a while. I couldn’t move. Not walk. Not write. If you’ve read my earlier reflections, you’ll remember when I talked about dragging myself to the restroom. That wasn’t impatience or stubbornness — that was survival. I truly needed help. I was a severe fall risk.
Physical therapy taught me the value of perseverance. It pushed me to believe in the small victories — one more step, one more stretch, one more try. If I didn’t have the will, the intestinal fortitude, to get out of that wheelchair and try again, I would have never discovered the strength within me to walk on my own.
Occupational therapy has been just as vital. I’m relearning how to use paper and pen. What used to be second nature — jotting a note, signing my name — is now a daily exercise in patience and persistence. I’m not just pecking at my phone anymore; I’m truly learning to write again, slowly.
What’s most heartwarming, though, is not just the work of therapists and techs who push us past our comfort zones, but the encouragement from fellow patients — other stroke survivors who’ve already crossed the hurdle you’re still facing. When one of them looks at you and says, “You can do it. I was where you are last month,” that hope becomes contagious.
So this holiday season, I’m grateful for those who see our potential even when we can’t see it ourselves — for every physical therapist, occupational therapist, speech therapist, and every patient who refuses to give up.
I’m learning all over again — how to walk, how to write, how to believe. And most of all, how to be thankful for the journey.
About the Author:
Katina Rankin is an author, journalist, and stroke survivor who advocates for literacy and food insecurity through her nonprofit, Katina’s Klassroom. Now, patient advocacy as well. She lives in Magee, Mississippi, where she continues to write stories of hope and resilience.
