An Impediment to the Body... Not the Will
A Sedentary Stoic's Thoughts on Disability and Resilience
With the shatter of a C4 vertebra, my physical ability was stolen by spinal cord injury at age 32, snatching alongside with it the incredible autonomy it had afforded me, a tradeswoman and single mom.
In the decade since punching my pass to the disability world with all its loss and limitation, I’ve known sorrow and suffering on a scale I’d have been incapable of imagining prior to paralysis.
From my earliest days fighting for my life on a ventilator, I became determined not to throw open the door to my surmounting grief and let it swallow me whole.
But the loss I’d experienced was so much to contend with.
From my earliest childhood years growing up in rural Arizona, exploring creek beds and canyons, a scrawny blonde tomboy who would scramble up into the trees, to young adulthood during which I’d jumped on the unlikely opportunity to train as a structural steelworker apprentice, my life had revolved around my able body.
At 20 I’d left my sleepy hometown in the dust for the big city; less than a year later I was traveling the West Coast, learning to weld and operate heavy machinery.
For a decade the open road had been my home as I grew more skilled in my profession. I’d fly back to my hometown for holidays and spoil my loved ones with gifts on Christmas. Most often my daughter accompanied me on my adventures.
On my latest trip home I’d slid into the wrong shotgun seat, and the careless actions of the driver flipped the vehicle end over end.
I had known I’d been paralyzed since the moment the SUV hit the ground. Unable to lift my head from my lap, I felt the gravity of all I’d lost in that one horrific instant.
Following my injury, I was bombarded by an overload of emotions: my anger over my entitlement to everything I’d lost, my deep and dark depression, my horror and fear of a future as a complete quadriplegic, my crushed pride and ego, my diminished self worth and surmounting self hate, my palpable regret and lost hope.
I didn’t want to hear some feel-good philosophy telling me to just change my perspective, grin and bear it.
Those who think that’s all Stoicism is are misinformed.
The many modern thinkers and groups across the globe who have dusted off the ancient Greco-Roman philosophy, re-appropriating it for modern times, recognize its applicability to challenges we face today.
Stoicism gives you tangible tools to grin and bear it. Like cognitive behavioral therapy, it rewires your brain.
My patron Saint of Stoic philosophy is Epictetus.
Epictetus was a slave. The early Christian theologian Origen wrote:
‘[W]hen [Epictetus’s] master was twisting his leg, Epictetus said, smiling and unmoved, “You will break my leg.” When it was broken, he added, “I told you so."’
Epictetus is the original gangster of Grin and Bear It.
“Lameness is an impediment to the leg, but not to the will."
Quadriplegia, I decided, could impede my body, but not my will. I adopted Epictetus’s quote “It’s not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters” as my motto, mantra, meditation.
My reaction to this tragedy had to be triumph over it. I couldn’t stand the idea of cowering to it. In the months that followed I pushed myself to persevere. I insisted upon weaning from the ventilator, and my progress afforded me the opportunity to transfer from a skilled nursing facility to a world class rehabilitation facility where I learned to operate a power wheelchair with taps of my head.
“It is difficulties that show what men are." Epictetus insisted. He couldn’t have been more accurate. I’d have never known what I am capable of, had I not been relieved of motor function and forced to forge a new life from the fire.
Seneca would consider it a shame.
“You have passed through life without an opponent – no one can ever know what you are capable of, not even you."
Did the Stoics basically invent Resilience Theory?
Resilience Theory argues that it’s not the nature of adversity that is most important, but how we deal with it. It’s an applied field of study, meaning that we can use it in daily life to benefit humanity.
Prior to discovering stoic philosophy I had been of the opinion that philosophy in general was inaccessible. In embracing stoic tools for resilience and using them in my daily life, I’m now eager to share the philosophy’s capacity for bringing about real mental change.
So how does one grin and bear it?
Don’t let emotions win.
Acknowledge your feelings. If they are invalid, reject them. If they’re valid, give them space. Then turn instead to reason and logic. Maintain a rational and objective view of life’s challenges.
I had to remind myself that mourning my loss was understandable, but that wallowing in my grief didn’t serve me. When I felt the pity or resentment of others regarding my disability I had to stop myself from internalizing those judgements.
Focus on what’s in your control.
Reject stress over situations you can’t affect. Work diligently toward affecting those you can. Your mind is in your control too. Keep it in the present moment.
When I felt overwhelmed, which I often still do, I learned to focus on what is within my control. Sometimes it’s just my emotions, but that’s enough. Staying present can be challenging. The past is tempting to retreat to and the future is uncertain and scary. The Stoics remind me that I can face any obstacle, even death, with a calm and rational mind. They remind me to stay busy at worthy work. So I dedicate my time and energy toward writing and advocacy. I type with my teeth now, but it doesn’t slow me down.
Be courageous.
Face fear and adversity with confidence. Don’t suffer prematurely by worrying. Remember the strength of your heroes. Keep in mind: your gem is being polished.
“A gem cannot be polished without friction, nor a man perfected without trials." – Seneca.
Living with this spinal cord injury means living with secondary health complications, depending on caregivers, dodging institutionalization, navigating poverty. The social safety nets in place don’t always prevent people in need from falling through. And having no control over my body will probably never not be scary.
Ten years have passed since the crash that crushed my C4 vertebra, rendering me a complete quadriplegic. It’s been a decade of redirecting the mind from dark places, of seeking strength deep within, of rising to challenges and struggling to stay present. It’s no exaggeration to boast that each year it gets easier. I get stronger, mentally. I build resilience. I roll easier with the punches, obsess less about what could have been, make more of this life with its limitations.
“Difficulties strengthen the mind, as labor does the body," Seneca said.
I remember training my able body. I was up before the sun, blue collar donned. Physical work brought muscle definition as well as strength. When I’d been injured that muscle dissipated faster than I’d built it.
Now it’s my mind’s turn. Building it up is more challenging than building structures of steel. It’s constant commitment to mindfulness and perspective. It’s giving grace for failure and starting again. It’s using philosophy’s tangible tools, embodying it. It’s remembering Marcus Aurelius scrawling Meditations in his battlefield tent, Epictetus leaning on his cane with a knowing smile.
I embrace the challenges like a Stoic. Keep them coming. The purpose they serve, strengthening this mind, is more lasting than finding peace that can be disturbed at each bump in the road.
The obstacle is the way.
I will not let my mind grow weak, afraid, idle. I train it with logic and wisdom and mantras and meditation.
I bear this disability and the challenges it brings. I don’t grin and bear it. I cultivate a perspective that allows me to bear it. Grinning is just inevitable after that.
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Cassandra Brandt on Daily Philosophy:
