Emma Griffiths, Phoenix, Arizona
"Pain isn’t a valid excuse to stop surviving."
I’ve walked 48.4 miles since Saturday, May 17th. Every single step—taken with an ankle that’s never truly healed, on feet that were born different, with pain that never leaves—has been a war. People see me cleaning the floors, pushing carts, keeping everything together. They don’t see the swelling in my big toe, the way my ankle feels like it’s being stabbed with every shift, or how badly I want to cry by the end of the day. I had surgery as an infant. Club foot. It never went away completely, just changed shapes. Grew up with it. Adapted. Learned how to live in pain because there was no choice. I’ve never known life without a bum ankle. But recently, it's been worse. I got it X-rayed. Seven angles. Nothing "physically wrong," they said. But how can something look normal and hurt this bad? I work at Whole Foods. I'm on my parents' insurance still, but co-pays are $50 each time. Even if I had time for a podiatrist, I can’t afford the follow-ups. So I keep walking. I walk over 10 miles a day on shift. I limp, now. My legs ache halfway up. I’ve stopped standing “normal.” I used to stand with the sides of my feet flat on the floor just to change the pressure—until that stopped working, too. I use a brace. I elevate it when I can. I’ve even learned that clenching my toes gives me a few seconds of relief. I’ve cried at home alone. I’ve turned off every light. I’ve sat in silence with my bird nearby, trying to make peace with the hurt. Because this is my job. I have a store to keep clean. If I don’t show up, I don’t make money. If I don’t make money, I fall behind. Pain isn’t a valid excuse to stop surviving. Still… I know every day I walk on this ankle, I risk more damage. But I’ve also started losing weight. I’m trying to get healthier. Trying to move forward. So I tell myself this: As long as I’m still kicking—not literally, but you get it—I’m living. I’m alive. And that has to be enough right now.