Now, I believe that I am also to blame. My friends didn’t understand me because I didn’t give them the chance. Each time they asked how I was, my stock answer – "I'm fine" – was a lie and they must have known that, as I struggled to get out of my chair. When I couldn't lift my own child. Perhaps they felt I didn’t trust them enough to be open, to let them in. But it was never a case of not wanting to let them in, I see that now. I pushed them away because I was gripped by shame. Shame that my body felt old, and tired, and not like theirs. Shame that I looked different with my crutches and my wheelchair. Shame that at that point in my life I needed more from others than I was able to give in return. Perhaps my friends valued me less because I valued myself less.