I used to love the wind. As a kid growing up in the plains I’d burst outside at the first hint of a thunderstorm, the wind whipping my hair into knots as black clouds rolled in over darkening waves of corn and soybeans. The wind was excitement, and anticipation.

I traded cornfields for coastlines and learned to sail. We’d get underway and I’d head straight for the bow, riding the rhythm of the wind-whipped swells, embracing the breeze on my face and the taste of salt spray on my lips. The wind was power, and freedom. The wind was joy.

I bought a fancy kite, and laughed when it lifted as I ran along the beach. I snuck out during a hurricane, leaning into the tempest with my eyes half closed, welcoming a wind more powerful than anything I’d ever felt. I inhaled the gale and felt powerful myself.

And then my face caught fire, and air movement became the enemy. The storm escaped the sky and lightning streaked instead along my trigeminal nerve, the ensuing claps of thunder felt rather than heard.

The wind, formerly a friend, a playmate, became pain.

I moved inside. We moved to the foothills, hoping the embrace of family and the mountains would buffer the wind and the pain it caused. I watched soccer games through windshields and BBQs from the kitchen window. Hung wind chimes as an early warning system of another missed day.

I missed the wind.

I missed the relief of a cool breeze on a hot summer day, or the joy of dancing through a swirl of autumn leaves. I missed so much of life hidden away from the weather, but I accepted it as part of my new life, my new body. Until…

Until I started sharing that loss with others. I shared a story with @mycuppajo, and an hour with @devrajoyPT where I was encouraged to envision a future in which the wind and I could dance again. I shared my experiences with @Fizzbw, who herself has faced the same fear.

I shared a series of conversations with @painphysio, whose careful coaching made me wonder if that prediction of pain when I hear the wind chimes warning might actually cause more discomfort than the air currents that move them.

I shared my fear, and they shared their experience and knowledge and strength and hope. And as they did, it became mine too, and the wind began to shift.

Step by step, the breeze is becoming more bother than threat.

Slowly but surely I’m able to feel the air before the anguish, and stay with that first sensation longer.

I see the grass swirling, and the branches bending, and still I start to venture out

Today with the wind chimes pealing, I embraced the breeze, and welcomed the wind, and counted as seconds became minutes as I stood outside. I brought you with me, and together, we were more powerful than the storm on either side of my skin.

I used to love the wind. And today as I combed new knots from my hair, I started to believe that I will again.

Thank you.