I’ve always been a go-getter. A multi-tasker. A seeker of things that spark joy. Between my careers and my kids, I take on too much. That’s just how I’m built. Nothing stops me.
Turns out, the universe had other plans. And the only way to actually slow me down was to
physically pull me down…literally.
The Falls (Yes, Plural)
The first fall was at my daughter’s birthday party (ironically, last fall). We were rollerskating, and I tripped. As my knee hit the rink, I heard and felt a pop. I nearly fainted and was wheeled out. Without imaging me first, the orthopedist handed me crutches and casually diagnosed a 2/3 tear.
I pushed for an MRI, even just for a longer exam, to which she replied, “What are you going to do, get surgery? I don’t think you even need one.”
So I let it go.
I gave my power to the doctor. I did the PT. I “rested”, but in all honesty, I didn’t actually take anything off my plate. I kept loading up work and responsibilities. A few months later, even though something still felt off, I decided it was time to get back to it. I should be healed, according to the calendar.
Then our giant puppy wanted to run with the kids, and I thought, “why not, I’ve rested this leg long enough. Time for some cardio!”
I started running. It felt amazing. I even joked, “Watch me become a marathon runner in my forties.” Then, two seconds later, like something out of a bad sitcom, my hamstring gave out. I went down to the ground hard. The entire experience felt like whiplash. My body suddenly didn’t feel like mine anymore.
A week after that, while I was mid-multitask, my son tapped my shoulder, my knee cracked, and I fell again.
Three falls.
My daughter, my dog, my son. All within months of each other. Looking back, it’s almost funny how literal it is: my family taking me down until I had no choice but to stop.
Learning to Self-Advocate
This is the part I want other people to hear most: I knew something was wrong long before anyone confirmed it.
And I let myself be talked out of trusting that.
After the third fall, I finally got an MRI, but they would only approve looking at the knee. I begged for them to look at the hamstring too. Once again, I was told it was probably fine. Another “expert” telling me what I was feeling wasn’t real.
The imaging confirmed half of what I had known for months: torn ACL.
I was completely floored. I found an orthopedic surgeon and explained all three falls and how connected it all felt to me, even if no one else had put it together yet. Because I wasn’t going to let anyone operate on my knee until I knew it was the right call with the right person, I got three separate opinions over three weeks before scheduling anything.
While that was unfolding, I kept pushing on the hamstring, and finally got that MRI too. The original orthopedic office (the same one that had first waved off the hamstring as nothing to worry about) got the results back and called me themselves. Multiple doctors had now reviewed the scan, and they all agreed I needed to see a hamstring specialist right away.
It took a month to get an appointment.
When I finally sat down with him, he told me my hamstring was completely torn off the bone, and that we needed to have surgery immediately. Apparently the longer you wait, the harder these repairs get.
Even though I intuitively knew the hamstring was worse than they originally told me it was, I wasn’t prepared to hear that outcome. I called around for more opinions. I didn’t want to cancel our summer. I didn’t want to go under the knife. But the pain kept getting worse—worse enough that it started affecting my sleep, my nervous system, my energy for everything and everyone.
It was my longtime physical therapist who finally said the thing I needed to hear, ”Amy, you keep adding one thing after another. You need to build a strong foundation and fix the root of the problem, or think about what’s actually coming next.”
I canceled our summer and scheduled the surgery.
What Recovery Actually Looked Like
It was not easy. Two weeks mostly in bed. Crutches, a brace, kids out of school, everything I usually juggle just stopped.
Surprisingly, I loved healing.
I started reading for pleasure again. I wrote constantly. I relearned how to slow down and actually take stock of what mattered: being present with my kids, taking care of my mind as seriously as my body, and figuring out what a “strong foundation” really means.
A strong foundation is not just physical. It’s how I structure my time, my space, and my boundaries.
I’m still working on that. I probably always will be.
A few weeks post-op, the brace came off. The crutches went into the garage (though I know I might need them again for the ACL repair). I started driving again. I started PT. And slowly, I started coming back to myself; not the old version who ran on empty, but a stronger, more honest one.
My Biggest Misconceptions About Recovery
My recovery was not linear. I thought I would just rest for a set number of weeks and then be back, but it was not like that at all.
It was ice and setbacks. It was needing other people’s opinions before trusting my own gut. It was healing forward, tweaking something new, and having to relearn patience all over again.
Nobody warns you how much of recovery is mental — how much of it is about your relationship with your own body and your own limits, not just tissue and time.
What Movement Gave Back to Me
When I finally got back to my mat, back to PT, I realized something I didn’t expect: I was strong. Stronger than I thought.
I was only on crutches for two weeks, but in that short window, I leaned on my core constantly. Every transfer in and out of bed, every trip across a room, every step relied on the strength I’d built through years of Pilates. That practice didn’t just show up when I got back to the mat; it had been holding me up the entire time, long before I could give it credit.
I didn’t abandon movement during recovery. It just changed shape. Breathwork when I couldn’t move much. Upper body and core work when my leg couldn’t participate. Visualization on the days I could do neither. Staying connected to my practice didn’t mean staying the same. It meant staying present, in whatever form my body took that day.
What I Wish I’d Known at the Start
Self-advocacy isn’t optional. It’s the whole ballgame. If you suspect something is wrong, keep asking, keep pushing. Get the third opinion if you need it. Doctors are wonderful, but only you live in your body every day. Nobody else does.
I wish I’d known that slowing down wouldn’t undo me.
For someone like me, that was the scariest part. Not the surgery, not the pain, but the fear of what would happen if I actually stopped. Turns out, slowing down allowed me to get to know myself again.
If You’re in the Middle of This Right Now
Be patient with a process that will not be patient with your timeline. Be consistent with the small stuff—the exercises that feel “too easy”, the rest that feels “unproductive”—because that’s where the real rebuilding happens.
And listen to your body even when it’s inconvenient. Even when a doctor tells you not to worry about it. Even when you have plans you don’t want to cancel.
Recovery isn’t a straight line. This story only reflects my personal experience. Every injury and every body is different. But I can assure you that there is a version of you on the other side of injury who is calmer, stronger, and a lot more in tune with what your body has been trying to tell you all along.
And I can promise, it’s worth the wait.
Check out Amy Rosoff Davis’ Knee Injury Support program, a 3 class series designed to help you move with greater strength, stability, and confidence during injury.
