Zibby Mag

By Mallory Weggemann

Paralympic swimmer Mallory Weggemann says the past shouldn’t limit us.

As I looked around my bedroom, I saw my books for spring semester piled on my desk, clothes gathered on the floor of my closet, swim posters still hanging on the wall from my senior year season.

I laid in bed that night, gazing at a room that was still in the same condition as it always had been, yet positioned beside me was a stark reminder of just how much had changed.

It was my first night home from the hospital. I still think of it often, and the awareness I had in knowing that the choice I made come morning would be one of the most important decisions of my life. As I glanced at the wheelchair at my bedside, I knew that when I woke up I could either stay in bed, lost in my surroundings, grieving life as I had once known it, or I could transfer into my chair, lean on my community and begin to put the pieces back together.

When the morning came, I carefully lifted my body onto the four wheels. I dressed myself, tearfully, struggling to do the most basic tasks. Wheeling out the door of my room was my way of saying, “I have a choice in this.” That choice would set the pace for the days, weeks, months, and years to come.

We cannot control our circumstances or the cards we are dealt. We can only control how we choose to respond and that is ultimately what defines us. I never imagined that, at eighteen years old, I would walk into a medical procedure and never walk out. I didn’t know the first thing about what living life with a spinal cord injury would be like. Everything felt daunting — I had more questions than answers and I was overwhelmed by uncertainty.

However, I quickly learned that sometimes the answer can be as simple as choosing to get up. We don’t have to know where the path will lead us, we don’t have to hold all the answers, we just have to choose to keep moving forward and not allow our past to weigh us down, to paralyze us.

I never imagined that, at eighteen-years-old, I would walk into a medical procedure and never walk out.

It has been over thirteen years since I made that decision to move forward. Looking back, it was perhaps the most challenging season I’ve ever had to navigate— but it also gave me the power of perspective. I experienced emotional growth as I found the courage to forgive, and I reached new heights of confidence knowing that my worth is rooted in who I am, not how society perceives me.

Following my paralysis, I faced an onslaught of unsolicited opinions — individuals who told me that I was broken, less than, deserving pity and wishful thinking. I still face it to this day, people who see my wheelchair rather than me, individuals who believe that there isn’t a place in our society for “people like me.” Yet, with each comment, I am reminded that those words aren’t a reflection of me or my worth, but their own ignorance, insecurity, and unconscious bias.

I may roll rather than step, and to some I may look different, but these four wheels have carried me more places than my two feet ever did. The scars I carry are symbols of my survival and the loss I have faced has cleared the path for a life filled with more joy than I ever imagined possible.

We all know adversity, and we have all faced our own versions of loss. Our impulse is often to yearn for the life that once was — looking back to our past and clinging to it. Last year was no exception and now we talk about going back to “normal” without realizing the larger significance. But I’ve learned that there is no such thing as normal, it’s just an illusory perception based on past experiences.

In the months following my paralysis, I yearned for life as it once was; I longed for a time when everything made sense. But I quickly learned that it wasn’t feasible — going backward isn’t natural. I also realized that it wasn’t a matter of “moving on;” this was about moving forward.

I may roll rather than step, and to some I may look different, but these four wheels have carried me more places than my two feet ever did.

When we wake up each morning, we have the power to choose and to embrace our unwritten futures, but in order to do so we must cut anchor. It is important to honor the journey we have traveled, to pay respect to what we have accomplished and survived, but we can’t inhabit those memories— we can’t measure our lives solely on past circumstances. If we do, we inherently limit ourselves.

Since I made that pivotal decision to get up and fight and I have continued to make that choice every day. It hasn’t always been easy, but that decision brought me back to life and led me to where I am today — in the home I share with my husband, gearing up for the Tokyo Paralympics later this summer.

When people ask how I moved on following my paralysis, first, I clarify that I didn’t. I moved forward, but I will never move on from it. I have moved forward by choosing to get up every day, because I believe my pain was for a greater purpose; I believe all of our pain is. Adversity is a part of our evolution, it is how we explore our truth and discover the strength that lies within.

Wherever you find yourself, remember that every day begins with another opportunity to get up and keep fighting. No matter where you are along your journey, or how challenging things are at present — your future knows no limits.

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Mallory Weggemann is a record-setting, two-time Paralympic swimmer for Team USA. She has set fifteen world records and thirty-four American records, and is also the recipient of an ESPY Award, a 15-time World Champion, and a Paralympic gold and bronze medalist. Weggemann has also served as a commentator on NBC for the PyeongChang 2018 Paralympic Games, the first female reporter in a wheelchair ever to serve in that capacity.

Weggemann’s first book, Limitless: The Power of Hope and Resilience to Overcome Circumstance, came out in March of this year.

Learn more at www.malloryweggemannusa.com.