Before my accident in 2023, I thought I knew what it meant to be strong. I had worked since childhood, travelled constantly and learned to keep going through difficult times. I was used to making plans and trusting that my body would carry me wherever I needed to be. Then, almost overnight, even the simplest parts of my life became uncertain.

As I began to recover from the accident, I developed a bacterial infection that threatened my ability to walk. I remember hearing that possibility and struggling to take in anything else. The work I had been worried about, the places I wanted to go, all the plans I thought were urgent suddenly fell away. I wanted to know whether I would ever be able to stand and walk on my own again.

People often talk about recovery as a story of courage. I did not feel courageous most of the time. I felt frightened. I was frustrated by what I could no longer do and by how much I had to rely on other people. Some days I was grateful to be alive; on others I grieved for the life I had known. Both feelings were real.

The physical effects lasted well beyond the most critical stage. There was pain, exhaustion and the slow work of rebuilding my strength. The psychological effects were harder to explain. I worried that something might go wrong again. I found it difficult to trust my body. Even as I made progress, part of me remained afraid of losing it.

Recovery did not happen in a straight line. A good day did not guarantee another one, and a difficult day did not mean I had failed. I had to learn to ask for help and to accept that rest was part of getting better. For someone who had spent so much of his life moving from one job or journey to the next, that was a profound change.

In 2024, I stepped away from public life to focus on my health, my studies and the people closest to me. I needed time to understand what had happened and to decide how I wanted to live afterwards. I began to value things I had once taken for granted: an ordinary walk, an unhurried conversation, the chance to make plans without fear taking over.

I am back at work now, and I still love fashion and the creative world. Returning to a photo shoot or a runway brings me joy, but I no longer need those moments to prove that I have left the accident behind. It happened, and some of its effects have stayed with me. So has the care I received from others and the patience I slowly learned to give myself.

I share this because someone reading it may be facing a recovery of their own. I cannot tell you when things will get easier. I can only say that you do not have to feel brave every day, and you do not have to measure your progress against anyone else’s. There were days when all I could do was get through the day. Those days mattered too. They brought me, step by step, to the life I am living now.