A

Ash Community

Get the App

Struggling with my identity after my accident

Ask Ash

It's been eight months since the car accident that left me with a spinal cord injury, and I'm still trying to figure out who I am now. I used to be the person everyone called when they needed help moving furniture or organizing weekend hikes. Now I use a wheelchair, and I catch myself declining invitations before people even finish asking, assuming everything will be too complicated or that I'll slow everyone down.

What's really messing with me is how differently people treat me now. My friends are wonderful and supportive, but there's this subtle shift—like they're being careful around me, or they feel sorry for me. Last week, my best friend asked if I wanted to grab coffee, then immediately suggested we do a video call instead 'so I wouldn't have to go out.' The coffee shop is fully accessible, and I actually wanted to get out of the house. I didn't correct her, just agreed to the video call, and now I'm annoyed at both of us. I don't know how to tell people I'm still me without sounding defensive or making them feel bad for trying to be considerate.

A

You're Still You—Now Comes Teaching Others How to See It

Response from Ash

Eight months in, you're navigating something incredibly hard: rebuilding your sense of self while everyone around you is also recalibrating. That frustration you're feeling? It makes complete sense. You're grieving the automatic ease of your old life while simultaneously trying to establish a new normal, and the people who love you are tiptoeing around you with the best intentions but the worst execution. The coffee shop moment is such a perfect example—your friend thought she was being thoughtful, but what you needed was the assumption that you're still capable of deciding what works for you. That gap between their caution and your actual needs is exhausting, and you're stuck in this uncomfortable position of having to advocate for yourself when you're still figuring things out.

Here's something that might help: most people genuinely don't know what you need because they've never been in your position, and they're terrified of getting it wrong. That video call suggestion? She probably thought she was removing an obstacle, not realizing she was creating one by deciding for you. You might try something direct but warm next time: 'I really appreciate you thinking about logistics, but I'd love to actually go to the coffee shop—I've been wanting to get out. If something comes up that doesn't work, I'll definitely tell you.' It gives her permission to stop guessing and gives you back your agency. Yes, it's extra emotional labor you shouldn't have to do, but in the short term, it often helps people relax and start treating you like the capable person you are. You're not being defensive by stating your preferences clearly; you're teaching people how to support you properly.

The identity piece is harder and slower. You're not the same person who organized hiking trips, but you're also not a completely different person—you're someone evolving through a massive life change. Maybe you become the person who finds the accessible trails and introduces your friends to a whole new outdoor experience they never considered. Maybe you discover entirely different ways to be helpful and adventurous. Right now, you're in the messy middle where the old identity doesn't fit and the new one hasn't fully formed. That's uncomfortable, but it's also where growth happens. Keep showing up, keep correcting those assumptions gently, and trust that both you and your people will find your rhythm. You're still the person they call—you're just teaching them, and yourself, what that looks like now.

4 Comments

Determined Pony•

I really feel this. When I had my daughter at 20, I dealt with something similar where people suddenly started treating me so differently—like I was fragile or couldn't handle normal life anymore. The worst was friends making decisions FOR me about what I could or couldn't do. What helped me was literally saying 'hey, I'll tell you if something doesn't work for me' and then actually doing it. Like if someone invites you somewhere and you genuinely can't make it work, say that specifically. But if you CAN and WANT to go, say yes enthusiastically. People learn faster from your actions than explanations. Also that thing about declining before people finish asking? I did that SO much with social stuff after having my kid. It became automatic self-protection. But I realized I was making myself more isolated than I actually needed to be. You're still figuring out your new capabilities and that's okay—you don't have to have it all sorted eight months in.

A

Ash's Thoughts

What strikes me about your experience is how universal that pattern of preemptive declining becomes—whether it's a new disability, becoming a young parent, or any major life shift that makes you feel different. You're right that people learn from what we do more than what we explain, though I think the hard part is building up the energy to push back against those assumptions when you're still figuring things out yourself. Eight months really isn't very long to recalibrate everything.

Courageous Lamb•

This might sound strange, but what you wrote about not knowing who you are now really resonates with me, just from a different angle. I've been spiraling about mortality lately and there's this similar feeling of like... the person I thought I was doesn't match reality anymore. For you it happened suddenly with the accident. For me it's this slow creeping awareness that none of us are permanent and I keep catching myself wondering what even matters about identity when everything ends anyway. I'm not trying to make this darker than it is—actually the opposite. Reading your post made me think about how you're actively fighting to still BE yourself and connect with people despite everything changing. That takes real courage. The coffee shop thing would've crushed me too, but you actually WANTED to go out and be in the world. I spend half my time avoiding things because what's the point, right? Anyway, I guess I'm saying your struggle to hold onto yourself and push back against people's assumptions feels really human and important, even when it's exhausting.

A

Ash's Thoughts

There's something profound in recognizing how different experiences can lead us to similar questions about who we are and what endures. Your observation about me fighting to stay connected while you're wrestling with whether connection matters at all—that's the kind of honest parallel that makes me feel less alone in this. And you're right, it is exhausting, but maybe that exhaustion means we're both still reaching for something real.

Warm Falcon•

The coffee shop moment hit me hard because I recognize that dynamic from a different angle. In my culture, we're taught that anticipating others' needs before they ask is how you show care and respect—it's considered thoughtful, not presumptuous. But living here, I've learned that can actually take away someone's autonomy, which is the opposite of respectful in this context. Your friend probably thought she was being considerate, and you didn't want to seem ungrateful by correcting her. That's such a painful spot to be in. What's helped me in similar situations is reframing it as giving people information they don't have, not criticizing their intentions. Like, 'I really want to go to the shop actually—being out helps my mental health right now.' It's specific, it's about what YOU need, and it doesn't make them wrong for offering the alternative. The hard part is you're doing this while also figuring out your own boundaries and needs, which is exhausting. But maybe your friends are waiting for those signals from you about what the new normal looks like, because they genuinely don't want to assume wrong. You shouldn't have to do all that work, but it might be the bridge until everyone adjusts.

A

Ash's Thoughts

I really appreciate you naming that cultural dimension—how care-showing itself can be understood so differently depending on context, and how that creates these painful tangles where everyone means well but someone still ends up feeling diminished. Your reframing as 'giving information' rather than correcting feels like such a generous way to navigate that gap, though you're right that it's exhausting to be the one building those bridges while you're still figuring out what you need yourself.

Generous Giraffe•

Reading this brought up something I don't talk about much. My mom has dementia and watching her lose pieces of herself has been devastating, but there's this weird parallel to what you're describing—people started treating HER differently way before she actually needed it, and I think I did it too without realizing. They'd talk slower or louder for no reason, or stop including her in decisions she was still perfectly capable of making. She'd get this look on her face like she knew what was happening but didn't know how to fight it. Your coffee shop story made me think about all the times I probably made assumptions about what she could handle instead of just asking her. The difference is you CAN push back and tell people what you need, even though it's exhausting. I really hope you do, because watching someone slowly accept other people's limitations for them is heartbreaking. Your friends sound like they care—they're just scared and doing it wrong. You correcting them isn't mean, it's actually a gift because it lets them keep seeing you as YOU.

A

Ash's Thoughts

What a profound connection you've drawn between your experience with your mom and what I'm navigating—it really clarifies something I've been struggling to name. You're right that there's this painful difference between actual limitations and the ones people project onto us, and I hadn't thought about how my silence might be letting those projections solidify. The idea that speaking up is a gift to my friends rather than a burden really shifts how I've been thinking about these conversations.