From Wheelchair to Walking: A 20-Year CRPS Recovery Story

How one mother's journey through chronic pain led to unexpected healing through mind-body medicine

Life Before the Pain

Before CRPS I was an energetic young mom of five, working full time for a consulting firm. My typical day was: Commute an hour to work, spend the day coaching unemployed clients on job search and career transition skills, commute 90 minutes back home, cook dinner, manage the chaos, go to bed, repeat. My initial trigger for CRPS was a new pair of shoes; they hurt my feet, which was pretty standard for me and new shoes at the time. But long after I'd ditched the shoes, the pain continued to grow.

When Everything Changed

Sometimes the smallest things trigger the biggest changes. For me, it was a new pair of shoes. They hurt my feet, which wasn't unusual—breaking in new shoes was just part of life. But long after I'd ditched those uncomfortable shoes and relegated them to the back of my closet, something strange happened: the pain didn't go away. Instead, it grew.

What started as simple shoe discomfort became the beginning of a 20-year battle with Complex Regional Pain Syndrome (CRPS), a condition I'd never heard of but would come to know intimately.

The Dark Years

At my lowest point, my world had shrunk to the size of my house—and even that felt too big. I couldn't walk from one room to the next without a wheelchair. The vibrant, energetic woman who once juggled five children and a demanding career was now confined to her home, leaving only for doctor appointments.

The medications that were supposed to help made everything worse in different ways. The fog in my brain was so thick I couldn't follow a simple storyline, whether I was trying to read a book or watch television. Most mornings, I would spend hours attempting to read, but the words just wouldn't stick together into meaning.

There were definitely moments—especially five or six years into this nightmare—when I wanted to give up. No medical intervention seemed to work. Every treatment that promised hope eventually led to disappointment. Looking back, I'm still not entirely sure what kept me going. Probably my family, and the fact that I'm stubborn and a fighter by nature.

A Breakthrough

Recovery felt impossible until it didn't. Over those twenty years, I had many moments when I thought I'd found the answer—different surgeries, new medications, various physical therapy approaches.

Each time, hope would surge, only to crash when the treatment failed to deliver lasting relief.

But then came the real turning point. I downloaded an app called curable and learned about something I'd never heard of: neuroplastic pain and brain retraining. The science made sense in a way that nothing else had. More importantly, I decided to both believe in it and commit to practicing the mind-body exercises daily.

For the first time in twenty years, I saw immediate improvement in both my pain and energy levels. And unlike every other intervention I'd tried, this improvement didn't fade away.

What Recovery Really Looks Like

When people ask me about recovery, I think they expect me to say I'm completely pain-free and back to my old self. The reality is more nuanced and, in many ways, more meaningful.

I still use a cane and go to physical therapy when needed—twenty years of limited physical activity takes time to overcome. But recovery, for me, means something much bigger than being symptom-free. It means enjoying the life I have. After being disabled for twenty years, I can work again!

My recovery is sustained by practicing mind-body strategies every single day. My inner critic and anxiety are always trying to get the best of me, and I still get pain flare-ups like everyone else. Interestingly, I never get pain in my feet anymore—the original site of my CRPS. Instead, my brain likes to play "the greatest hits," bringing back pain in areas that hurt for various reasons in the past, usually during times of stress.

Managing these challenges wouldn't be possible without keeping my mind-body toolkit in regular use.

From Darkness to Sunshine

The contrast between my worst days and now feels like the difference between a storm and sunshine. Those dark, lonely years when I was trapped in my house feel like a different lifetime. Now, as cliché as it sounds, life feels like that classic song: "Let the Sunshine In!"

I have goals again. Simple ones, maybe, but meaningful to me. My long-term goal is to walk my dog as far as he wants to go. Some people dream of climbing mountains; I dream of keeping up with my four-legged companion on his adventures.

Advice for the Newly Diagnosed

If you're newly diagnosed with CRPS, here's what I wish someone had told me twenty years ago: find a professional who truly listens to you. It doesn't matter if they're a doctor, therapist, or coach—what matters is that they believe you and support you in positive, hopeful ways.

I really cannot overstate what a difference this can make in the life of someone immobilized by pain. You need someone in your corner who sees your potential for healing, not just your limitations.

The Person I've Become

Perhaps the biggest change isn't in my pain levels—it's in how I see myself. Before this journey, I never considered myself a sensitive, emotional person. I dismissed my feelings, pushed them aside, and powered through everything.

Recovery taught me to consciously welcome my emotions, even when it's uncomfortable. It's not easy—in fact, embracing my feelings is one of the hardest things I've ever done, and that's exactly why I'm most proud of it.

This shift requires me to be honest with myself and others about what I want and what's most important to me. It's forced me to develop emotional intelligence I never knew I needed.

Hope in the Darkness

If you're reading this from a place of pain and despair, please know that your story isn't over. Twenty years felt like an eternity when I was living through it, but healing can happen when you least expect it and in ways you never imagined.

Your breakthrough might not look like mine—recovery is deeply personal—but don't give up on the possibility that tomorrow could be different. Sometimes the answer comes from the most unexpected places.

The energetic woman I was before CRPS is still here, just wiser, more compassionate, and more aware of the incredible resilience of the human spirit. And every day I can walk from room to room, work again, and dream about longer walks with my dog is a day I don't take for granted.

Recovery is possible. Keep going.

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This story is part of our ongoing series featuring real recovery journeys from people living with chronic pain conditions. Everyone's path is different, but sharing our experiences helps build hope and community for others on similar journeys.