When Reality Hits: Facing Disability Alone (And the Relief When You’re Not)
I’ve Written About Imposter Syndrome Before…
Imposter syndrome is a tricky beast. I’ve talked about it before—the way it sneaks in, whispering that you’re not “disabled enough,” not “sick enough,” not “qualified enough” to ask for help. It makes you doubt your own needs. It tells you you’re exaggerating, lazy, or getting away with something.
But what happens when the opposite hits you? When the reality of your disability slams into you full force—so undeniable, so raw, that you can’t gaslight yourself out of it? That happened to me last week.
From Confidently Capable to Struggling Again
For a long time, I had found a relatively normal state of being. Not because my disability had gone away, but because my service dog made daily life work. With her by my side, I felt capable. I could leave my house without dreading how my body would handle it. I could move through the world with confidence, trusting that she would catch me if I wobbled, stabilize me when I felt unsteady, and support me in ways my body couldn’t support itself.
But suddenly, all of that changed.
Just a few days after celebrating her 6th birthday, she went completely lame on one leg and everything shifted. It wasn’t just that she was in pain—though that alone was gut-wrenching. It was the crushing realization that without her, I couldn’t move through the world the same way. The independence I had fought so hard for wasn’t just slipping through my fingers—it had disappeared overnight. We thought she needed surgery and that her bracing career was over.
Without her, simple tasks became exhausting. Leaving the house felt daunting. I was back to calculating every step, every movement, every moment. And I hated it.
The Power of Teamwork: Why Service Dogs Matter
Service dogs don’t just help their handlers—they create a partnership that allows us to function in ways that wouldn’t otherwise be possible. They aren’t a luxury. They aren’t an optional tool. They are an extension of our ability to exist in a world that isn’t built for disabled bodies.
With her, I could move confidently. Without her, I was reduced to struggling through my day, my body constantly reminding me of its limits. The contrast is staggering. It wasn’t just about mobility—it was about freedom.
That’s what many people don’t understand about service dogs. They don’t just do tasks; they create a level of normalcy that disabled handlers wouldn’t otherwise have. They make life feel manageable. And when that partnership is taken away, even temporarily, the world becomes infinitely harder to navigate.
The Fear of Losing My Partner
The moment I saw her in pain, my heart shattered. She isn’t just my service dog—she’s my teammate, my stability, my legs. Seeing her unable to move, knowing she was suffering, was unbearable.
The emergency vet suspected a knee injury and recommended a surgical consult. My mind raced through worst-case scenarios. What if she needed surgery? What if her working career was over? I had to figure out how to function without her, not in some distant future, but right now.
The thought was overwhelming. Not just because of what it meant for her, but because of what it meant for me.
Facing Disability Alone
Without her, I was back to struggling through each day, pushing my body past its limits.
I wasn’t just missing my service dog—I was incapable without her. The things I had taken for granted—getting out of the house, moving with confidence, enjoying life beyond my four walls—became monumental tasks again.
For a while, I had been living in a state that felt almost normal. With her help, I had built a life where I could function, where I didn’t have to think about every single movement. But suddenly, all of that was gone, and I was reminded in the most painful way just how much I rely on her.
It’s humbling. It’s terrifying. And it’s a reminder that, no matter how much I try to push through on my own, I need my service dog.
Relief, Gratitude, and an Answer
Despite the vet’s concern, something in my gut told me to get a second opinion. The first vet had been uncertain—she thought she felt laxity in the knee, but she wasn’t sure. That uncertainty kept nagging at me.
So, I took her to our regular vet, someone I trust, and asked her to check if maybe—just maybe—this was something simpler.
It was.
She needed chiropractic care. That was it.
One adjustment later, she was moving better. Walking better. Looking like herself again with her full body wag and bright, curious eyes.
The relief that crashed over me was overwhelming. I cried harder after finding out she was okay than I did when I thought she wasn’t. Not for my sake, but in relief that she felt so much better in that instant.
Holding Onto What Matters
She’s not just my service dog. She’s my partner. My safety net. My freedom.
And if I ever needed a reminder of just how much I need her, this was it.
I’m beyond grateful that she’s okay. That I get more time with her. That she can still be my teammate. But I’m also holding onto the lesson this taught me:
Needing help doesn’t make me weak. It makes me human.
And I’ll never take this partnership for granted again.
Get a second opinion
By the way, if you are wondering, Ann Greenbank is an animal chiropractor. It’s worth seeing if this is an option before putting your dog under a knife unnecessarily!
Krys is a wobbly human held together by sheer stubbornness, dark humor, and the occasional well-timed service dog intervention. Staying upright is a team effort—though honestly, a stiff drink might help too.
