Every year, I meet a stranger. She has my name, my memories, and my reflection in the mirror. Yet somehow, she is never quite the same person I was before. One of those strangers was thirteen years old. She believed love had to be earned. Not demanded. Not expected. Earned. She thought good grades would earn it. Obedience would earn it. Being polite, agreeable, and easy to manage would earn it. She believed that if she became everything others wanted her to be, she would finally be enough. So she learned to stay quiet. When she disagreed, she swallowed her words. When she wanted something different, she pushed the thought away. Being liked felt safer than being honest. Being accepted felt more important than being understood. For years, she carried an invisible scale. Every achievement added weight to one side. Every mistake added weight to the other. At the end of each day, she measured herself and wondered whether she had done enough to deserve appreciation. The strange thing about chasing approval is that there is never a finish line. No matter how much she achieved, there was always something more to prove. Then life did what life often does. It asked questions she could not answer with obedience. Questions about who she was, what she believed. Questions about whether a person without achievements was somehow worth less than everyone else. For the first time, she stopped searching for answers in other people and started searching for them within herself. The answers did not arrive all at once. They came slowly, through mistakes, through disappointment, through realizing that being loved by everyone is impossible and being understood by everyone is unnecessary. Most importantly, they came through one simple realization: A person's value is not something they earn. It is something they already possess. Today, when I look back at that thirteen-year-old girl, I do not judge her. I understand her. She was trying to find her place in the world using the only map she had. But I am no longer her. I speak when I have something to say. I allow myself to have opinions. I care less about fitting perfectly into other people's expectations and more about remaining true to my own values. The girl who once wanted her future written by the hands of others now wants to hold the pen herself. And perhaps that is why I love meeting strangers. Because every year, another version of me arrives. She questions things I once accepted. She sees possibilities I once ignored. She teaches me something the previous version could not understand. A year from now, I will meet another stranger. I do not know what she will believe. I do not know what fears she will leave behind. I do not know what lessons she will learn. But I hope she remembers what it took us years to discover: We were never meant to earn our right to matter. We always had it.

What sport can someone do when they can't kick a ball, run, or even properly wheel a wheelchair? You would think that my perpetual ability to fall over while standing still would discourage me from playing any kind of sport, but that would make too much logical sense for my tastes. My whole family is very athletic; my Mom gloats about beating the boys' long jump team in high school, my brother has played soccer since three and my sister plays anything that catches her attention. But what to do with me? Apparently the answer was quite simple for my Mother: horseback riding. Horseback riding is one of the best things that has happened to me. During eleven years of riding, I have had ups and downs, had plenty of things to be proud of, improved my self-confidence and gained new skills. The program was called Pegasus, it is a physical therapy program for disabled riders. It entails riding for an hour and you gain basic knowledge of horses. I fell in love with it right away. For once I had the ability to move fast. Really fast. That alone gave me a whole new sense of freedom. Where I could barely walk at an average pace let alone run, the sudden ability to move at any speed while on the horse was exhilarating. Also, I was finally able to look people in the eye. From the wheelchair I was always shorter than everybody, and always looking up. Now from the horse, I was the one looking down on them. Five years in, I hurt my ankle. Since the stirrups irritated it I had to ride without them. Riding this way involves a lot of balance and skill. I was set back a few years because of the increased limitations. For a little while I felt like giving up. When one day someone pointed out something: I was the only one in my class without stirrups who didn't fall off. I realized they were right. With this new insight, I continued. It was in my 7th year in horseback riding when someone wanted to do an interview piece on Pegasus. It was summer break; I was vacationing in Nova Scotia; when my Mom asked a question out of the blue: “would I like to go on T.V. to represent the whole Pegasus program?”. Apparently she had gotten an email. About three weeks later and a whole lot of running around, I was in front of the camera, again I was being asked a question: Why do you like horseback riding? My answer was simple: the freedom of movement. But my success did not stop there. With my ankle healed up and a new horse named Soleil, my coach put me in a show. However, I wouldn't be riding against my other class mates. This time I'll be against able-bodied riders. Since it was my first large show, I didn't get my hopes up of bringing any ribbons home. I was just excited to be in the show. After the hour long show consisting of equitation which is a test of the amount of time it takes you to get your horse to respond to you. All the riders go into the ring at once and someone calls out instructions and you do it at a seconds notice. The second show was Dressage which is a pre-practiced pattern done by all riders. After both shows I was exhausted and still wasn't expecting much. Much to everyone's surprise that day I came in first, beating out the people had less physical limitations than me. I looked back at my parents, realizing the whole ring was applauding me. I sure did a lot of gloating when I got home. Flash forward a few years, I was faced with the biggest challenge of my life. At the young age of 18, I underwent a double hip reconstruction surgery which included work on my knee. The surgery itself lasted 6 hours and I was a Holland Bloorveiw Children's Rehabilitation Hospital for 5 months. The stay itself was isolating away from friends who were moving on, moving out and going to University. Worst of all, I was unable to horseback ride as horseback riding comes from the hips. Most people think you control your horse using your reins, but the horse listens to the riders' change of positioning and shifting of your weight around. It took me a full year later to literally get back on the horse. It was one of the happiest moment of my life. By that point, I was still having problems with my hips and not recovering well and I was beginning to give up hope on riding again. Getting back on diminished the fears and although I was unable to stay on for long, I did it. It took another full year to be able to stay on for the full lesson and I still have bad days. But riding overall greatly improved the speed of my healing process both on a physical and emotional level, as it gave me an intense workout and gave me new hope not to mention the emotional bond I have with my horse. Over the 10 years I have been riding I have learned many lessons, and gained confidence and pride. Before I started horseback riding I thought of myself as the girl that was in a wheelchair but could not wheel it, and the girl that loved to run but could barely stand. Now I am the woman that stands tall just on someone else's feet.