When Motherhood Meets the Unexpected: Breaking My Ankle Before Halloween

Two nights before Halloween, I was crying on the floor — not just from the pain of my ankle, but from the realization of everything I was about to miss. I had pictured walking the neighborhood loop with my little boy, hearing him yell “trick or treat!” in that sweet, excited voice, watching him pick out candy, and soaking in all those tiny moments up close. Instead, I sat there, heartbroken, realizing I wouldn’t be walking anywhere anytime soon.

Thankfully, my neighbor had one of those knee scooters, and I was able to wheel myself around the loop that night. I couldn’t go door to door, but at least I could be there — on the street, watching from the in-betweens. Still, it felt like something had been quietly taken from me. I couldn’t hear him say “Happy Halloween.” I couldn’t see the way he smiled when someone dropped candy in his bucket. I smiled through the pain because I was grateful to be there at all… but deep down, I was grieving the version of the night I thought we’d have.

Now, it’s been seven days. Seven long, humbling days.

I haven’t been able to pick up my toddler. I can’t do bedtime because by the end of the day, I’m completely drained — both from the pain and from the emotional weight of feeling useless. The couch has become my home base, my crutches are awkward and unforgiving, and every small task feels like a marathon. Trying to carry something over to my toddler while balancing on one leg? Nearly impossible.

I know it’s temporary, but that doesn’t make it easier. It’s hard watching your family do life around you while you’re stuck sitting still. It’s hard feeling like your body can’t keep up with the role your heart desperately wants to play.

But in the middle of all that frustration, there’s been this quiet reminder of grace. My husband has stepped up in ways that make me both proud and emotional. And even though I can’t scoop him up or chase him around, my toddler still yells “Love you!” across the room — as if to remind me that to him, I’m still everything that matters.

Motherhood has a way of breaking us open sometimes — reminding us we’re not invincible, no matter how much we try to be. I may not be the mom running after her toddler right now, but I’m still the mom who loves him fiercely. I’m still the wife who’s trying her best to smile through the pain. I’m still here, even if my version of “showing up” looks a little different right now.

So, if you’re in a season of feeling useless or stuck — whether it’s because of an injury, exhaustion, or just one of those heavy motherhood days — I see you. It doesn’t make you less of a mom or a wife. It doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. And sometimes, that’s enough.