Sneakers, Stilettos, and a Fake Ankle

Sneakers & Stilettos™

Most days, there is no makeup.

No soft brushes sweeping confidence onto my face. No mascara to open tired eyes. No lipstick to pretend I feel bold when I don’t. Most days, my reflection is bare—honest in a way that’s uncomfortable if I stare too long.

There are no fancy clothes either. No perfectly styled outfits that say “she has it all together.” No designer purses draped over my arm like I belong to this polished world. No gold jewelry catching the light, pretending life is easy and soft and predictable.

Most days, it’s just me.

A Romanian country girl dropped into a city that feels too shiny, too loud, too perfect for someone like me. A place where people move fast, look flawless, and don’t seem to carry what I carry. And I walk through it all feeling… different. Not less. Just aware.

Aware of where I came from.

Of who I had to become just to survive.

Because underneath the simplicity of my days, there’s a body that doesn’t forget.

A fake ankle.

A sentence I still struggle to say out loud without feeling something twist inside me. Fake ankle. Like it’s just a replacement part. Like it’s simple. Like it didn’t come with loss, grief, anger, and nights where I questioned everything.

Every single step I take is a reminder that life didn’t go the way I planned.

There’s pain—real, physical pain—that doesn’t care about my schedule, my goals, or my responsibilities. Pain that wakes up with me. That follows me through the day. That sometimes makes the smallest things feel heavy.

And then there’s the other kind of pain.

The quiet kind.

The kind that sits in your chest when you’re alone. The kind that comes from rebuilding yourself when no one is watching. From losing a version of you that you can never get back. From carrying strength that you didn’t ask for but had no choice but to develop.

Most days, I don’t talk about it.

Because most days, I choose discipline over everything.

Not motivation. Not inspiration. Discipline.

Because motivation fades the second pain kicks in. Inspiration disappears when life gets repetitive and hard. But discipline? Discipline is what gets me up when my body says no. It’s what pushes me forward when my mind starts drifting into doubt.

It’s what reminds me: you didn’t come this far to stop here.

People see pieces of me.

They see the days I dress up. The days I put on the stilettos, stand a little taller, walk into rooms like I belong there. They see confidence, composure, maybe even strength.

But they don’t see the full picture.

They don’t see the mornings where I sit on the edge of the bed, taking a second longer than I should, preparing myself just to stand up. They don’t see the frustration when my body doesn’t move the way I want it to. They don’t see the mental battles—the constant negotiation between pushing forward and just wanting a break.

They don’t see how much it takes.

To keep going.

To keep believing.

To keep chasing something bigger than the pain.

Because yes—I have a goal.

A dream.

Something that lives so deep inside me that even on my worst days, I can’t ignore it. It whispers when everything else gets loud. It pulls me forward when standing still would be easier.

And I refuse to let my circumstances be the end of my story.

I refuse to be reduced to what happened to me.

I am more than an accident. More than a broken body. More than the pain I carry.

I am discipline.

I am resilience.

I am a girl who came from simplicity—from dirt roads, from a life that didn’t require perfection—and somehow found herself in a world that demands it. And instead of trying to fit into that mold, I’m learning to exist as I am.

Unpolished.

Unfiltered.

Real.

Some days, I’m sneakers.

Grounded. Practical. Just trying to get through.

Other days, I’m stilettos.

Strong. elevated. refusing to shrink.

But most days?

I’m both.

And maybe that’s the point.

Maybe this life isn’t about choosing one version of myself over the other. Maybe it’s about carrying all of it—the pain and the progress, the past and the future, the country girl and the woman building something bigger.

Maybe it’s about showing up exactly as I am, even when it’s messy.

Especially when it’s messy.

Because this journey… it’s not pretty.

It’s not curated.

It’s not always inspiring.

But it’s real.

And it’s mine.