We’re not always prepared for the ways life shifts.

One day, we move through the world as we always have—walking with ease, using our hands without thinking, seeing clearly. And then something happens. An accident, a diagnosis, a progression of aging. Suddenly, the body becomes unfamiliar territory. Disability enters the picture.

How do we deal with life after disability?

What I’ve learned—and continue to learn—is that disability doesn’t have to end a life. It can reshape it.

And how have I learned it? Through encountering social media posts by those who have experienced life-altering situations. I don’t pretend to know what life after disability is like, but I CAN talk about what I’m learning. Because that’s what it is: learning. Thank you to these inspirational women:

A woman I follow was paralyzed from the neck down in a cheerleading accident some 20 years ago. She’s gorgeous and articulate. And can’t move anything but her head. She can’t even breathe without a ventilator. And she remains hopeful that medical/scientific advances will mean she will regain movement one day.

How she maintains that hope? I can’t even imagine. But she does, at least publicly. I admire her. Could I do it? I don’t know.

I follow several vibrant and inspirational women with ALS. One in particular has charmed her audience with her humor and her attitude–for the first two years. She’s now declining significantly in year 3 and she is mad as hell that more advances haven’t been made in treating this terrible disease.

I’d be mad as hell, too.

Let’s face it.

I’d never have encountered any of these women without social media. Social media provide a window to lives that we can’t even imagine. And there are lessons to be learned, if we’re paying attention. So let me share what I have been learning.

Life after disability isn’t about “getting back to normal.” I’ve learned it’s about finding a new normal that honors both the limitations and the potential of this changed body. These women have shown me it’s about adapting not only how we move through the world, but how we see ourselves in it.

And there’s grief in that. Let’s not pretend otherwise.

There’s grief in letting go of the body you once had, in mourning the ease you once felt. But these women seem to somehow have found a modicum of peace in embracing what is—maybe not all the time–and surprise in discovering strength and resilience you didn’t know you had.

I’ve also seen that strength and resilience fade and that is so understandable.

One of the great lessons of aging—and of disability—is surrender. Not in a passive sense, but in a deeply courageous way. The kind of surrender that says, this is my life now, and I will still live it fully.

Would I do this?

I don’t know. I don’t ever want to know. But this I do know: we have to look at disabled people more clearly.

Disability doesn’t cancel your purpose. It doesn’t dim your wisdom. It doesn’t erase your voice. In fact, many find that it sharpens all of those. You become more tuned in to what matters. Less willing to waste time on what doesn’t.

We learn to ask for help—something many of us resisted most of our lives. And in that asking, we often find unexpected connection, community, even intimacy. We learn to slow down, to notice, to savor. And in that slowing, we begin to see the world differently.

If you are navigating life after disability—or love someone who is—I’ve observed that there can be life on the other side of it. A rich life. A whole life. Different, yes. But still beautiful. If you can see it that way.

I’ll be honest: seeing disabled life as beautiful is a tall order.

But a disability doesn’t make us less than. We are simply changed. And change, while never easy, is often where our deepest growth lives. If we choose to see it.

I’ll continue to follow these incredible women. And I’ll try to learn from them that we can honor every stage of life—including the ones we didn’t expect.