I was born with proximal femoral focal deficiency (PFFD), a congenital limb difference that resulted in my becoming an above-the-knee amputee. Until I received my first prosthetic at age 5, I had to crawl and hop around to grab whatever I needed. Once I received my prosthetic, though, I was able to play with other children and have more autonomy. I could stroll down the grocery store aisles with my mom, instead of having to sit in the shopping cart.
But it didn’t bend, so I couldn’t ride a bike—and I was given a white foot. I couldn’t get one in my skin color because it wasn't available to me at the time, so I had to deal with the fear and anxiety of standing out when all I wanted was to just have fun like any other kid. A few months later, I finally got a black prosthetic foot shell. But because there wasn't much variation in prosthetics, it was pitch black, so even though it was an improvement, it still didn't match my skin tone.
When I was 13, I got a new prosthetic leg that allowed me to be more functional, but it was a completely different mechanism, so I had to learn a new way of walking. It was a lot bulkier than my earlier prosthetics, too, so I would often fall as well as wear big and baggy clothes to hide it (in hot and humid Florida!).
Because my earlier prosthetics weren’t as functional as what I have now, I was often hard on myself for how they limited me. I felt like an outcast and didn’t want to deal with my insecurities.
It wasn’t until I met other amputees at an adaptive ski camp that I realized I wasn’t alone. I even met someone with my specific condition for the first time. It finally felt normal to wear shorts, or to take off my leg to relax and watch movies.
That experience taught me that my body isn't weird or awkward; it's resilient. I started to fall in love with my body and, after coming home from the camp, I wrote my first song, "Unlimbted." It's about knowing that my body is capable of more than just looking great—it gets me through everything I need it to in life. That's something I remind myself of whenever I’m facing a challenge.
This belief that my prosthetic doesn’t hold me back allowed me to play basketball when I probably had no business playing basketball, walk on a balance beam in a gymnastics routine, and, most recently, climb rocks toward a waterfall in Puerto Rico during a birthday trip. I ended up breaking my prosthetic, but hey, it was worth it.
I took a risk traveling with my prosthetic. But when something’s broken, you fix it. You don’t overthink it. And now, I’m back to my adventures. (My latest: acting and a new EP!) Resiliency means I put no limits on what I can do.
This article originally appeared in the May/June 2022 issue of Women’s Health.
Jasmine Gomez is the Commerce Editor at Women’s Health, where she cover the best product recommendations across beauty, health, lifestyle, fitness, and more. When she's not shopping for a living, she enjoys karaoke and dining out more than she cares to admit. Follow her @JazzeGomez.
