When my journey with multiple sclerosis first began, I couldn’t wait to walk without a cane.

After being bedridden for over a month, I willed myself to walk again through sheer will and stubbornness. I knew at the time that I needed the cane; I couldn’t walk at all without it. At that time, it wasn’t a simple journey. I was waging war against my body and what it had taken from me. Every moment was spent on getting well enough to walk without that cane. To me, that would signify that, at least temporarily, I had beaten my disease.

There were a lot of setbacks. Stairs were my kryptonite (and they still are). There were things that I had done without thinking about that I’d had to learn to force my body to do. I found bumpy ground and slants of any kind difficult to make my way over (and they still present an issue for me). Still, I persevered and conquered the flat mountain. I learned to walk again with a cane and then, when I felt strong enough, I was able to walk without one.

I walked with a cane every winter if I was out on my own. It was safer with the cane then without during the season of ice and snow. When winter hit, the cane offered me protection I needed and assurance that I would be able to make my way with safety. It felt like a good trade off: walk without the cane for Spring, Summer and Fall, but keep it close when Winter came. This has worked well for the twelve years since my MS made its presence known within my body.

Lately, I’ve been taking the cane out with me when I go for my walks. My balance has been off and there have been quite a few times when I go to take a step forward and really must think hard to make my body move my foot. It’s like my body knows what it needs to do having done this without thought for so long, it just needs a little bit more persuasion. This is happening with increasing regularity lately. There is also the increase of pain and muscle spasms. By the end of the day, I’m walking on stilts made of stone, hobbling as I try to do the simplest things. I’ve been tripping over my own feet a lot and all of this has been a source of frustration for me.

It’s been a constant worry in the back of my head, this new need for having my cane nearby. I had done everything I could to walk without one, thinking that this was a sign of how far I had come in my battle. I began to hate my cane a little bit, viewing it as a sign of weakness, even though I know that mobility aids have nothing to do with weakness and everything to do with strength. I know this, but I didn’t believe that way of thinking applied to me.

Until today.

I went out for a walk this morning. I hesitated to go out as it was supposed to rain. I’m never able to walk with my cane and my umbrella at the same time. I have a Hurry Cane, so I was able to collapse it and keep it in my bag so that I could walk with my umbrella hooked around my arm. This served me well for most of the walk, but I’m not able to walk very fast, having to make my way over cracked sidewalks and roads. I try to plan where I will put my next step. I felt less sure of my path without my cane, and I should have taken it out regardless of my umbrella. I know this, but I was being stubborn.

Despite the difficulty that I was having with walking, I kept my cane in my bag. I cut my walk short because I was in a lot of pain and still, I kept my cane in my bag. I chose the wrong path home and ended up having to go up a large hill to get into my building and still I kept my cane in my bag. The way up the hill was so slow and what should have taken a minute of two took me ten minutes, one step after another until I gratefully reached the top.

Making my way through the garage, I tried to make my way up over a slanted part of pavement and my body stopped me. I kept trying to go over the hump in the pavement and was about to fall backwards when I forced my feet to work, keeping them moving so that I wouldn’t fall. I let out a guttural cry and it took me a moment to realize that I had been the one to make the sound. I stood there on the flat pavement and looked back at the mountain that I had overcome and knew that my journey had changed again.

I made it to my apartment, and I took my cane out of my bag and clicked it together. I looked at it and knew that I would never again go out alone without it by my side. I sat there looking at my cane, this symbol of my disabilities, and I felt a moment of sadness. I felt like such a failure, dealing with a body that was slowly turning against me. I thought of that moment when I had first walked in the mall without my cane. It felt like a delicious kind of freedom, almost as if I was flying.  Staring at my cane this afternoon, it felt like my wings had been clipped.

I know what’s going on here. I’m being asked to confront my own ableism. I know that walking with any kind of mobility aid is like being given license to fly. I know that my cane allows me to walk and gives me the security and safety. I know this, even more now. I must get over the fact that it’s a sign of weakness and let go of the notion that I’m a failure because I have to walk with my cane more often than not now.

I have an issue with appearing disabled. I don’t like walking with such an obvious sign of being disabled. There’s a dark part of my mind that views this as sign of my weakness.

I know that I’m strong and I need to remember that I am stronger and better able to take care of myself when I walk with my cane. I know that letting go of my own ableism will take time and that I will have to think of my cane as an enhancement instead of diminishing myself somehow.

This is part of my journey, and I have to stop looking at my multiple sclerosis and cerebral palsy as something to be beaten into submission. This is my life, and I can’t spend so much of it in battle mode. I will miss the small joys that life has to offer.

 I will make my way forwards, two steps at a time and I will fucking sparkle, my cane leading my way like the purple arc of a rainbow. It’s a symbol of how far I’ve come and how far I will go. I no longer want to feel like I’m going in two directions at once. I just have to make my way forward, no matter what the path in front of me looks like.