From Hiding to 8.6 Million Views

There are moments in life that make you stop and think, How did I get here?

The last few weeks have been one of those moments for me.

If you had told me a few years ago that I would be posting videos of myself in a bathing suit, wearing my braces, driving my scooter, laughing with my family, and sharing every part of my disability with millions of people… I would have told you that you were crazy.

For so many years, I hid.

I wasn’t ashamed of my family. I loved sharing them. But me? That was different.

On Facebook, I wrote. I shared pieces of my life. But I rarely shared pictures of myself. As the years went on, after having my boys and entering perimenopause, I gained weight. At my heaviest, I reached 215 pounds.

For many people that’s just a number.

For me, it wasn’t.

Living with arthrogryposis, multiple hip replacements, chronic pain, and orthopedic challenges means every extra pound is something my body has to carry. Walking became harder. Moving became harder. Even getting dressed became harder.

Food also became my comfort.

Two years ago, I made one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

I started a GLP-1 medication.

Today, I’m 60 pounds lighter.

I’d still like to lose another 20 pounds, but honestly… I’m already celebrating how far I’ve come.

The biggest change wasn’t the number on the scale.

It was my confidence.

For years I refused to wear shorts because I didn’t want people staring at my braces.

Now?

I wear them because I’m comfortable.

Do people still stare?

Sometimes.

Do comments still hurt?

Of course they do.

I’m human.

The difference is that those moments don’t define me anymore.

They slide off my shoulders much easier than they used to.

For the first time in my life, I’m choosing my comfort over other people’s opinions.

And that feels incredibly freeing.

Then something happened that I still can’t fully wrap my head around.

One of my videos reached 8.6 million views.

Eight point six million.

I still say that number out loud and laugh because it doesn’t seem real.

Millions of people watched me trying to get out of a swimming pool… slipping… falling on my butt… and getting back up.

But I don’t think people were watching because I fell.

I think they were watching because I got back up.

The comments have touched my heart more than I can ever explain.

Women told me they finally wore shorts because they saw me wearing mine.

Mothers said I gave them hope.

People with disabilities told me they finally felt seen.

Others simply thanked me for being real.

If I’m honest, I think they gave me just as much as I gave them.

Social media has become more than an app.

It has become therapy.

A place where I can tell my story.

A place where I can finally stop hiding.

Even my family sometimes forgets I have a disability because I’ve spent my whole life figuring things out and making it work.

Sometimes that frustrates me because there are days I simply can’t do everything.

But maybe that’s the biggest lesson I’ve learned.

Strength doesn’t mean pretending things aren’t hard.

Strength is finding a way forward anyway.

As many of you know, Miguel and I have owned our commercial cleaning business for over twenty years.

We’re proud of what we’ve built.

We’ll continue running it while we explore what comes next.

But if I’m being honest, my heart has started pulling me somewhere new.

Into writing.

Into speaking.

Into sharing.

Into building a community where disability, chronic illness, menopause, aging, motherhood, and resilience aren’t hidden—they’re celebrated.

To my 8,000 new followers…

To the 8.6 million people who stopped scrolling…

To every single person who has left a kind comment, shared my videos, or quietly watched from the sidelines…

Thank you.

You have reminded me that vulnerability isn’t weakness.

Sometimes it’s exactly what someone else needs to see.

If my story has taught me anything, it’s this:

You only get one life.

Wear the shorts.

Wear the braces.

Take the picture.

Get in the pool.

Fall if you have to.

Then get back up.

Because the people who matter won’t remember the fall.

They’ll remember your courage.

With love,

XOXO, Deb

Between the Flares