Trying Everything Under the Sun

When you’re living in a body that no longer feels like your own, you become a seeker. You chase hope like it’s your full-time job. Every new therapy, every recommendation from a friend, every obscure article someone forwards becomes a spark—a thread you feel compelled to follow. Because maybe, just maybe, this one will be it.

That’s where I’ve lived. Somewhere between desperation and determination. I didn’t just want my old body back—I wanted a body that felt even a little more like mine. I didn’t care how strange the method sounded, how many times I’d been let down before. If there was even the smallest chance it could help, I was all in.

Botox – The Trade You Don’t Expect

I started with Botox, targeting the tightness in my hand and foot—hoping for relief. I remember sitting at the Barrow Neurological Institute outpatient, buzzing with nerves, thinking, this could finally be it. My fingers had been curled that the thought of them releasing felt like imagining flight.

And it worked—kind of. The tightness eased, but it came at a cost. My hand, once clenched and fighting, now hung there, limp and unresponsive. It didn’t feel like freedom. It felt like absence. Like I had lost the last bit of control I had left. I had traded tension for helplessness.

No one warns you about the grief that comes with almost healing.

Neuro-Acupuncture – A Thousand Needles, One Fragile Hope

Next came neuro-acupuncture. It sounded intense—needles placed into my scalp, face, feet—but I didn’t flinch. I was willing to try anything. I’d lie there in silence, while Dr. Judita moved around me with quiet intention, adjusting needles like tuning strings on an old instrument.

Sometimes, I’d feel warmth in places that had felt cold for months. Sometimes, tingling. Sometimes, nothing at all. But there were fleeting moments when it felt like my brain and body were learning how to talk to each other again. Even a whisper of reconnection was enough to keep me coming back.

It didn’t fix me. But it gave me moments. And in this kind of healing journey, moments matter.

FSM – The Soft Electricity of Possibility

Then came Frequency Specific Microcurrent—FSM. My dad found it through friends and passed along all the info. Low-level electrical pulses to reduce inflammation, ease pain, and promote healing. It sounded like sci-fi—but what didn’t at this point?

We tried it anyway.

Lying there, tiny currents humming through me, I felt a calm I didn’t expect. The sensation was subtle, but there was something about it—like my body was being acknowledged, heard, supported. Not cured, but soothed. Some sessions left me feeling lighter. Not better exactly, but less heavy.

The Quiet Cost of Trying

What most people don’t see is how exhausting it is to keep trying.

Trying takes everything. It drains your time, your money, your emotions. You walk into every appointment with hope and walk out with… uncertainty. You fill out the same forms, tell your story for the hundredth time, and brace yourself for either disappointment or tiny, fragile progress.

And still—you go. You say yes. Because what’s the alternative? To give up?

That’s never been me.

Why I Still Say Yes

I keep trying—Botox, acupuncture, FSM, movement, mindset work, supplements—because to stop would mean accepting this version of myself as final. And I’m not ready for that.

Because sometimes, something shifts. A little more movement in my ankle. A glimmer of control. A tiny sense of return.

And those moments? They remind me why I started this fight in the first place.

Healing isn’t about one magic answer. It’s about layers. About small wins. It’s about believing in your body, even when it betrays you.

Trying everything under the sun hasn’t fixed me. But it’s reminded me I’m still here. I’m still showing up. I still believe.

And maybe that’s the most powerful medicine there is.