“We are not what happened to us; we are who we choose to become.”
When the accident occurred, I was in my final semester of a Bachelor’s degree in Economics. After three months in hospitals, I found myself living back with my father, barely mobile and unable to care for my child or my home. It was the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, and while the world was at a standstill, I was learning how to walk again with a physiotherapist.
In those long hours between exercises, I felt a void. I decided to use the fact that universities had moved online. I contacted my professors, scheduled retakes for my exams, and started studying. It was my escape. Studying distracted me from the dark thoughts; it made me feel less “useless.” While my body was failing, my mind was sharp. I graduated the following year, proud that I had finished what I started.
- The Poverty of Disability
By the time I graduated, I had returned to work and launched a fundraising campaign for my surgery in Cyprus. At that stage, a better financial future seemed like a fantasy. I had nothing. My salary was low; I couldn’t even afford medical care for myself or my child. My father had to mortgage our only home to fund half of my treatment. I lived in my child’s father’s apartment and drove his car. I felt like my only possessions were the clothes on my back and my uncomfortable shoes.
For a long time, I felt a crushing sense of guilt whenever I thought about spending my own salary on myself—whether for clothes or a simple experience. It was as if having needed help for my surgery meant I had no right to a normal life. It took a long time to lift my head from the sand and realize that being a patient didn’t mean I had to stop being a person. During all these years, I was also fighting a long and grueling legal battle for compensation, but the procedures were so slow that I almost lost hope they would ever end.
- Proving My Worth
Slowly, I began to adapt to my job. I was back in the same company but in a different position. My colleagues saw me as a person, not a medical file. My managers understood my physical limitations and the need for ongoing treatments. This motivated me. I didn’t want their pity; I wanted their respect. I wanted to prove I was an asset.
I realized that the sheer logistics of managing my treatments had made me a master of problem-solving and adaptation. If I could manage a shattered life, I could manage a Master’s degree. I completed it with honors and an ease that surprised me. My opinion started to matter at work, my responsibilities grew, and my income moved from “minimal” to “middle.” My self-esteem began to return.
- The Battle with the System
In the beginning, I was denied a disability pension for years. I didn’t fit into their “tables and criteria”—my diagnoses were complex, some even unrecognized by local medicine. One day, I decided to fight back. I didn’t hire a standard lawyer to write my appeal. I dug into the law myself, searching for every grain of truth I could hold onto. I wrote my appeal with a dose of sarcasm and bitterness toward the institutions. A few months later, I received the percentage I deserved. It’s a battle I will have to fight every two years, but I’m ready.
I also learned to navigate the system. When I needed a complex surgery in Belgium, I didn’t turn to fundraising again. Instead, I mastered the institutional pathways and fought until the state agreed to cover the medical costs.
- The Call that Changed Everything
One day, while waiting outside a doctor’s office after work, my lawyer called. After years of agonizingly slow litigation, we had a final court decision. We won the case against the insurance company.
I almost fell off my chair in shock. For years, I had dreamed of what I would do with that compensation. When it finally arrived, the first thing I did was pay off my father’s mortgage and settle my debts to friends. My first “luxury” purchase? A personal laptop.
Of course, requests for financial help from relatives followed. I helped where I could and started donating to campaigns I believed in. But then, I made a decision for myself. I wanted a home. A sanctuary I could decorate to my own taste.
- Building “On Green”
Unexpectedly, my apartment found me. I signed a deal for a property “on green” (still under construction). I know the money won’t be enough to fully furnish it yet, but that doesn’t terrify me. I believe in my ability to grow, and even if I have to take out a loan later, I will have the peace of mind to do it. Winning the case also gave me the stability to afford the travel expenses for my ongoing treatments in Belgium without fear.
Now, I fall asleep every night knowing that in three years, I will wake up in a place I can finally call home. Those three years will be my “training mission” to fully return to life.
I’ve proven to myself and the world that I can survive. Now, I’m going to prove that I know how to live. I even got a tattoo to remind me of this path, should I ever lose my way. It feels like waking up from a long lethargy.
My treatments continue today and will likely last a lifetime. But I refuse to let them stop the rest of me. I’ve learned to manage appointments and surgeries as mere details in my daily routine. Our diagnoses are a part of us, but they are not the whole story.
We are not defined by what happened to us; we are defined by the life we choose to build from the pieces.
I would love to hear your thoughts or share your own journey, please leave a comment below. I’ll make sure to respond to every single one of you – we should support and motivate each other!
Continue reading: New journey comming soon..
Practical Guides: The Strategy
The whole story: The Journey