Five years ago, a missed fracture led to CRPS and changed my life. Last week, I heard a crack, pop, and crunch- and once again I was told it was “probably just a bruise.” This is what happens when doctors don’t listen, and why being believed can make the difference between healing and lifelong disability.

I fell down the stairs. The ER said “nothing’s broken.” My foot disagreed- and so did my body. CRPS, a rare and misunderstood nerve disorder, set my leg on fire, twisted my muscles with dystonia, and made daily life a negotiation of pain and energy. Some days, I laugh to keep from crying. Some days, I cry because the pain is too much. Some days, I just survive. This is my story: raw, honest, and invisible to most- but very, very real.

🔥 CRPS Awareness Month: When Your Nerves Go Full Flaming Banshee 🔥 “The calendar says November, but my nerves say I’ve been possessed by a flaming banshee. Which can only mean one thing: it’s CRPS Awareness Month.” Complex Regional Pain Syndrome (CRPS) is a chronic pain disorder so dramatic they nicknamed it the suicide disease. Imagine nerves that respond to minor injuries—or sometimes nothing at all- by lighting themselves on fire for eternity. Burning, stabbing, electric pain. Skin color and temperature chaos. Spasms, weakness, and yes… it can even spread. There’s no known cure. Treatments exist, but results vary wildly. Awareness matters because early diagnosis, proper care, and validation can make a huge difference for those fighting these invisible infernos.

Today’s story isn’t about faeries or forest spirits- it’s about fluorescent lights, cold tile floors, and an ER visit that reminded me why chronically ill patients, especially young ones, often fear seeking care. From being disbelieved to having my partner unfairly accused of harm, this experience highlights the gaps in understanding, compassion, and safety that make hospitals trauma triggers instead of places of healing.

Welcome to another Folklore Wednesday! This week’s topic leans a little more Halloween-themed- because of course, it’s my favorite time of year. Before plastic pumpkins and fun-size candy bars, before ghost-shaped Reese’s and glow sticks, there were soul cakes- small round pastries spiced with nutmeg and cinnamon, marked with a cross, and given to children and the poor in exchange for prayers for the dead.

This morning, we said goodbye to our sweet Bear. After more than a decade of love and loyalty, it was time to give him peace. He’s resting now on our land- forever home, forever loved.

On our way home from the Food Bank, before what was supposed to be a bright night at China Lights, the Moss Maiden and I were in a car accident that could have taken everything from us. The world stopped turning for a moment- and when it started again, nothing felt the same.

This week’s post comes with some heavy news. Our beloved old man Bear- the fence guardian, squirrel chaser, and Luna’s favorite big brother- had quite a health scare over the weekend. We’re working closely with our vet and doing everything we can to keep him comfortable, happy, and surrounded by love. 💛🐾

They say the Fae can’t lie- but that doesn’t mean the truth is safe. This Folklore Wednesday, we’re exploring the art of half-truths, clever bargains, and why silence might be the sharpest trick of all.

Sometimes rest feels like weakness- especially when you’re used to running on empty. After a whirlwind family visit, I’m learning (again) that burnout isn’t a badge of honor… and even cryptids need a nap sometimes.

Even cryptids need care sometimes. Today, on World Mental Health Day, I want to remind you that you’re not alone in the woods. The world feels heavy right now- tension, fear, and exhaustion echo through our communities- but you’re still here, still surviving, still worthy of rest and kindness. Take a breath, pet your dog, and remember: even the bravest monster gets tired. Here in the Cryptid woods, no one wanders alone.

The air is crisp, the kitchen smells like comfort, and family’s on the way. This week on The Crippled Cryptid, I’m sharing a cozy autumn life update- from van-life visits and birthday pups to simmering soups and slow, seasonal magic.

Spooky season has officially arrived, and your local cryptid is stirring up equal parts medical mayhem and kitchen magic. From Xolair injections (boo) to cookie dough banana bread (bless), I’ve been feasting like Dracula and haunting my own fridge with leftovers. Plus, new content schedule updates and a glimpse at what’s lurking in my calendar of upcoming appointments.

“Glowing red eyes, massive wings, and a mystery that haunts both Point Pleasant and Chicago… Could Mothman be an omen, a guardian, or just a misunderstood cryptid? Let’s unravel the legend together.”

Curl up with a blanket and a hot drink: here are four “cryptid-adjacent” reads from my latest library haul that feel perfect for autumn nights full of mystery, magic, and a dash of the unexpected.

Autumn always feels like breathing again- crisp air, golden leaves, and a body that cooperates a little more. This season I’m rolling out a refreshed rhythm on The Crippled Cryptid full of folklore, books, Luna updates, and cozy glimpses of disabled life.

Fall is my season- the time when my joints stop screaming, my boots come out of hiding, and adventures feel possible again. This year, my fall bucket list includes apple orchards, haunted houses, cozy Halloween dinners, and maybe even the world’s biggest mozzarella sticks.

A new neurologist appointment gave me something I haven’t felt in a long time: hope. After years of dismissive providers, I finally found a doctor who listened, involved my partner, and took my conditions seriously. Here’s what happened- and why it mattered so much.

Once hidden under hearthstones and behind walls, witch bottles were the ultimate 16th–18th century DIY curse repellent. Packed with pins, herbs, and sometimes more unpleasant ingredients, they were believed to trap evil before it reached the household. But would you dare open one centuries later?

They say the Witching Hour is when the veil between worlds is thin… but sometimes, it’s just when your brain decides to drag you into a conference call you never agreed to.

August is here before I was ready for it, and the garden- like the rest of my life- feels like it’s moving on weird timing. The tomatoes are slow to ripen, the zucchini’s shy, and I’m still waiting for someone to take my knee seriously. But yesterday we celebrated the Moss Maiden’s 32nd birthday, and even in the midst of frustration, there was joy. Bundt cake, Thai food, thrifted treasure, and love- because birthdays are sacred here.

From eyeliner poetry to service dog snuggles and the world’s coldest hotel room- this birthday love letter is a celebration of twenty years of weird magic, soft witchy chaos, and choosing each other through it all.

In this midsummer post, I reflect on tomatoes, medical maybes, and the slow grief that hangs in the air when the world feels too loud. Featuring a Harvest Bowl from the garden, a rustic ratatouille, and a heart full of conflicting feelings about summer.

In every culture, monsters haunt the edges- and for many disabled, chronically ill, or neurodivergent folks, that marginal space feels familiar. This post explores how cryptids and folklore creatures mirror our lived experiences, and why reclaiming the “monstrous” can be an act of magic, survival, and pride.

“The Fae have always called to me- through books, through stories, through that strange shimmer at the edge of the woods. This Folklore Wednesday, I’m sharing the books that carved runes into my soul and left me hungry for more: faerie tales for the feral-hearted.”