I’ve been blessed with good physical health most of my life. I have never had any life-threatening illnesses; I have never broken a bone, nor even sprained an ankle. So back in high school, when my friend broke her foot and had to walk everywhere on crutches, I sympathized, but I still thought it was pretty cool. The idea of walking everywhere on crutches, I mean: she got to leave class ten minutes early, people helped her carry books, and she got this hot-pink cast that we all signed in colorful sharpies. Okay, I admit that the cast didn’t sound so terrific–– colorful as it was, I’d seen my brother’s leg in a cast and knew that it wasn’t pretty; it was smelly, itchy, hot, and it made bathing a real chore. I ruled out the cast as something that might be fun to try, but when I saw my friend hopping out of class early and booking down the hallways, the crutches seemed like an exhilarating accessory.

The other day, I saw some crutches available to borrow as part of University Accessibility Awareness Week (that’s a mouthful, what about people with speech impediments?!), which challenges students to pretend they have a disability of some sort, in order to better understand what those who actually have said disabilities go through on a daily basis. With the memory of my pink-casted friend scooting through my high school’s hallways, I excitedly signed my name to the list and grabbed the pair of crutches the student leader handed me. I swung my backpack around and tucked the crutches under my arm and cheerfully raced to the door towards my next class, I was flying–– for about three steps. Then I got to a door. I had to turn sideways and awkwardly lean down to push the door open and hop through.

Crutches: easy and fun as my friend made them look? False.

It was absolutely horrible. My cross-campus speed was reduced to at least half my normal walking pace, and I frequently had to stop and readjust my balance. It took surprising dexterity to manage the way my body and the crutches interacted, making sure that one didn’t get ahead of the other. I felt like the little mermaid when she first gets her legs, bumbling and falling because she doesn’t know what to do with them, she has a brand-new kinesthetic connection to figure out. I tripped a couple times and automatically supported myself on my pretended “twisted ankle,” which anyone with a real injury wouldn’t have been able to do, not without serious pain. But I thought that almost would’ve been nice, since a broken ankle might distract me from how badly my armpits were aching. And that’s another thing:

Crutches: more painful than the actual injury? Quite possibly.

Two days later, I’m still incredibly sore. The body–– well, mine at least–– was not meant to function with its entire weight supported by the shoulders. My muscles ache from my elbows up all the way down my ribs, a much larger area than I expected. I didn’t even feel those muscles as I crutched around campus; all I could feel were my armpits and hands burning from the pressure, and the rest of my body burning from the heat of the effort as well as the afternoon sun. By the time I turned my crutches back in, I was so ready to walk on two feet again. Why had I ever thought that, when blessed with my own two legs, losing the use of one and walking around on crutches would ever be preferable to walking on my own?

How many of us think that using half our ability and relying on something or someone else to support us is more exciting and fulfilling than doing it ourselves? I’ve met many. The man still living with his parents at age 29, because it’s easier than finding a job and moving out; he has luxuries he couldn’t afford on his own. He doesn’t see how his parents still control him, or he doesn’t care. The girl who won’t break up with her boyfriend, though he’s emotionally neglectful, because she thinks she can’t be happy without him; she couldn’t bear to be alone. She doesn’t consider the fact that she isn’t happy with him, she is alone. But I’ve also met those that refuse to rely more heavily on crutches than themselves. The woman whose parents could help her pay for college, but chooses to work hard to pay for it herself. The boy who should be on medication for his mood disorder, but wants to find his own way to real healing. The kid who keeps scraping her knees on the sidewalk because she hates training wheels. Are they better off without the help? They already know what I just learned: the soreness left over from leaving those crutches behind is worth the freedom of standing on your own legs. And walking on crutches hurts your armpits anyway.