The first step back is rarely graceful.

Today marked Hunter’s first physical therapy session — a milestone that sounds hopeful on paper but felt anything but easy in the moment. As damaged nerves began firing again, the pain came fast and sharp. Not the kind you can brace for. The kind that reminds you exactly what was lost.

But the physical pain wasn’t the hardest part.

Between repetitions, when the room grew quiet except for steady breathing and clinical instructions, something deeper surfaced. Fear. Not of discomfort. Not of recovery. But of identity.

“I’m scared I won’t be able to protect my family anymore,” he said — a sentence heavy with more than just injury.

For someone who’s always been strong, dependable, the steady presence others lean on, vulnerability doesn’t come naturally. It doesn’t fit the image. Yet there it was — honest and unfiltered.

And then, just as quickly, something shifted.

He looked at his arm — bruised, weakened, uncertain — and said the words no one in the room expected:

“This arm may never be the same… but it’s still strong enough to hold the people I love.”

That’s the kind of strength no injury can measure.

Recovery won’t be quick. There will be setbacks. Days when progress feels microscopic. Nights when doubt creeps back in. But today wasn’t just about nerve signals and muscle activation.

It was about redefining what strength means.

Not just lifting weight.
Not just regaining motion.
But showing up — even scared — and choosing to keep going.

The road ahead is long.

But so is his resolve.