Sandra’s Saga: Chapter 5

“The only thing I know is that I know nothing.” - Socrates

I Am Sandra: Chapter Five – Little Victories

Fifteen months. I can hardly believe it’s been that long since I started this journey—since I made the decision to take my life back, one step at a time. What once felt overwhelming has now become second nature. Walking five times a week is as much a part of my day as brushing my teeth. Dilma and I have turned it into something joyful—sometimes we add a little dancing, other times we experiment with yoga and Pilates.

The exciting part, though, isn’t just how I’m changing. It’s how my small actions have started to ripple outward.

Let’s start with my husband. Now, I love the man, but let’s just say “exercise” has never been part of his vocabulary. Sunday football, Monday night games, basketball playoffs—he’s convinced that yelling at the TV burns enough calories to count as a workout. For months, he humored me as I came back from my walks energized and glowing, but he never budged from his spot on the couch.

So, I got sneaky. I started introducing little stretches—easy things he could do without interrupting his precious games. “Just try this one while you’re watching,” I’d say, showing him how to stretch his back or lift his legs. At first, he rolled his eyes, but eventually, he started humoring me. Now? He does those stretches every evening, grumbling about it the entire time but doing them nonetheless. I see it—his knees creak a little less, and he doesn’t need to grip the arm of the couch quite so hard to stand up. It’s progress, and progress is everything.

The real miracle, though, is my mother. I never thought I’d see her out of that bed again. For so long, her days were spent confined to her walker, her world shrinking with every step she couldn’t take. Watching her decline was like staring into a mirror of my own fears. I couldn’t let that be my future, and I wasn’t ready to let it be hers, either.

So, I started small—tiny chair exercises she could do from her spot. I’d sit next to her, showing her how to gently lift her legs, how to stretch her arms, even how to rotate her ankles. Some days, she resisted. “I’m too old for this, Sandra,” she’d say. But on the good days, she humored me, and we’d work side by side.

Then the magic started to happen. She began to move more confidently. It wasn’t as though she threw her walker through the window (not yet, at least), but she no longer needed help to get out of bed. I caught her walking from the kitchen to the living room on her own one afternoon, and I could’ve cried.

It wasn’t just the exercise; the changes in her diet helped, too. Dilma’s nutrition tips—more leafy greens, lean proteins, healthy fats—were quietly working wonders. My mother was healing, little by little.

Watching her brought a surge of hope I didn’t know I still had. If my mother, at her age, could find her strength again, what could I accomplish? What could any of us accomplish if we just started small and kept showing up?

We’re not there yet, but we’re on our way. My mother is moving more. My husband is stretching (even if begrudgingly). And me? I’m discovering that small victories—tiny steps forward—add up to something extraordinary.

I am Sandra. I’m not just changing my life; I’m helping others change theirs. And it’s only the beginning.