The Spinal Cord Injury
There was nothing dramatic about the beginning of my spinal cord injury. No car crash. No daring fall. Just a case of pink eye while I was 20 weeks pregnant—still early enough to be in the second trimester, but far enough along that the baby was already kicking. I thought it would pass in a day or two. But the inflammation from that virus went crazy in my system. I was asleep (or unconscious) for 24 hours and when I awoke on March 12, 2009, my body did not work. The swelling in my spinal cord left me paralyzed from my chest down.
I remember lying in bed, helpless, still carrying the weight of new life inside me, trying to process the loss of my own. Everything changed in a matter of days. I could no longer move or feel. I had to learn how to manage bodily functions differently, how to manage daily life from a wheelchair, how to navigate motherhood with a body that no longer cooperated.
What followed was a long season of intense suffering—physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I was in pain constantly. Not just the kind of pain that makes you wince, but deep nerve pain that sears through your body like fire. My muscles spasmed uncontrollably. Sleep was a luxury. Peace, even more so. I still suffer intensely from this pain and these spasms.
For years, although my sensation has always been consistent with my level of injury, my function was more like a paraplegic. Though I had a C5-C7 incomplete spinal cord injury, I had good arm strength and adapted well. I found ways to push through, to make things work, to mother and move and serve with what I had. But in 2017, I experienced another injury—a severe neck sprain—that worsened everything. The overuse of already-weak muscles and the natural effects of aging caught up with me. Bit by bit, I began losing function in my arms and hands. And once again, I had to grieve. Once again, I had to adapt, and still am adapting to a whole new set of norms. New tools. New limitations. New ways to do even the smallest tasks.
It was another layer of loss—but also another invitation to lean hard into grace.
Loss of Marriage
And while the physical injury happened quickly, the unraveling of my marriage was slow. Quiet. Painful in its own drawn-out way. I had already lost the life I once knew, and now I was losing the person who had once promised to walk it with me. Oh how I fought against that ending and hoped and believed…and enabled in all the wrong ways until I learned you can’t help the who’s and what’s that don’t want helped. And by that time, I had been holding so much together for so long that I barely had the strength left to grieve. But I did. I still do. The grief of that unraveling cut deep, and it’s a wound I don’t often open wide in public. Some heartbreaks are just too sacred for display.
And yet, in the quietest corners of all that sorrow in life, Jesus meets me.
He doesn’t come with fast fixes or sweeping rescue plans. He comes gently. Patiently. With enough grace to get through each day. Enough strength to keep going when I feel like giving up. He has taught me, that brokenness can be beautiful—and paralyzed bodies carry great purpose.
The Rising Again
Out of those years of pain and rebuilding, two callings were born. The first was Voice for the Vulnerable, a ministry rooted in my own suffering and shaped by the suffering of others. It exists for the overlooked—for those silenced by sorrow, pain, disability, grief, or injustice. We open the Word of God, and we open our hearts, walking alongside those who are weary, reminding them that they are not forgotten. That they are not alone. That God sees, God knows, and God is still
present.
The second was something I never expected: a marketing agency. It started simply—small business owners asking for help with logos, websites, and social media. Over time, it grew into RISE Sociable Marketing. The name RISE is intentional. As someone who sits every day in a wheelchair, I wanted to remind people that “rising” is not about standing. It’s about rising above your circumstances, your fears, your limitations—whatever form they may take. RISE helps others tell their story well, connect with their communities, and show up with confidence in a world that moves fast. And somehow, through it all, I’ve found that helping others rise has helped me rise, too.
Recently, I finished my bachelor’s degree in Bible and my master’s in Biblical Counseling. Not because I had anything to prove, but because I had a calling to walk deeper into the Word—and to walk with others through the valleys I’ve come to know well. These pieces of my life—ministry, marketing, motherhood, and personal growth—have all been built brick by brick.
None of it flashy. None of it fast. But all of it rooted in grace.
Currently, I find myself in a new season again—designing and building a home that is fully accessible to my needs. A place to live safely and independently as my children grow up and begin to leave the nest. It’s a home I never imagined needing, but one I now see as a gift. A place of refuge. A place to share with others. A place to continue the calling God has placed in my hands, even though most of my body no longer moves.
Meeting Natalie
Along this journey, I met Natalie.
We were both flying to Washington, D.C., on separate trips for advocacy work with United Spinal Association. Different cities, different stories, same mission. We crossed paths at an event, started talking, and instantly connected. There’s something about meeting someone who understands the unspoken parts of your world—who knows what it means to hurt, to fight, to keep going. We became good friends, and I now have the joy of helping her with marketing and design for The Motion Project Foundation. I believe deeply in what she’s doing—and in the healing she brings to our community by reminding us all that we still have motion, even when our bodies resist it.
This life is hard. That’s the truth. There are tears I don’t talk about. Days when the pain is loud
and the house feels too quiet. But somehow, through it all, I’ve never walked alone. I may be
seated, but by God’s grace, I have risen.
Not in strength.
Not in pride.
But in peace.
In purpose.
In Him.
Want to connect more or hear Alicia speak? Visit Voice for the Vulnerable to explore resources, podcast episodes, Bible studies, and upcoming events.
Want to learn more about spinal cord injury recovery and advocacy? Visit The Motion Project Foundation to discover life-changing work and support for SCI survivors.
Let’s rise together.
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