Part 5: The standing King

Have you ever played chess and felt that, no matter how well you play or how focused you are, there always comes a battle where you don’t know where to move next or which piece to capture? You know that if you make the wrong move, your opponent will strike, and your mightiest warrior will be taken. Sometimes—if not too often—that very warrior is your mind.

I ask because that’s what Erb’s palsy feels like at times. How does one conquer an enemy when one is born with the enemy as their own shadow? How does one conquer the king with a mind that’s a constant battlefield?

By mastering oneself.

In my case, I started this journey by facing myself—because if you don’t stand face to face with yourself, how will you know what it is you need to master? Irony or poetry, I met myself for the first time in the large gym mirror.

Factor: Sports and freedom

Around the age of nineteen, a friend of my sister’s mentioned a local gym with a cheap subscription, and I decided to give it a try. I’ve always loved sports—I’ve spent late nights and early dawns watching the NBA, the Australian Open, and snooker, as well as afternoons with my family watching ski jumping, tennis, boxing, Formula 1 and countless others. Yet, I never played any sport myself, except for those rare moments in physical education class when I’d get a basketball and an empty hoop and somehow score a three-pointer, wondering how it even happened. It made me feel so free.

I grew up watching the guys in my neighborhood playing basketball until midnight (they would continue up until early morning and the sound of tapping would keep me awake and simultaneously calm).

These guys were many, but Songo and Refo were my favorite to watch. Songo was compact, quick and sharp in his movements — like a skier; sliding smartly between players, and using his body to trick the opponents. Refo, on the other hand, a tall and smooth shooter with a steadiness of a tree; the ball always resting firmly in his hands, his eyes fixed on the net—focused, yet always smiling on the court.

The others were dedicated to the game, but these two were living for it. 

They brought me the joy, adrenaline and happiness I couldn’t experience personally.

About ten years later, God blessed me with a man who has played basketball all his life. But in those ten years, I had a lot to figure out on my own—and one of those things was committing to any kind of sport long-term.

Fitness and weight lifting 

Fitness and weight lifting became my passage to the other end of living with a permanent injury. I no longer was under the dome of weakness—I was fighting it. I was lifting heavy, moving and learning what strength really looks like. But, more than anything, I was learning to stand face to face with myself. In the mirror, in the dressing room, on the bench; before, during and after the workouts. Of all the dumbbells and weights, the heaviest was the look in the mirror—and the realization that there were exercises I simply couldn’t do.

You know the feeling when you think you’ve done all of today’s chores and then you turn around and there’s a pile of clothes waiting to be folded or a dishwasher still empty? That’s what my progress in the gym felt like. The more I advanced, the more new exercises I discovered—and the harder I had to work.

And just as I was writing this paragraph, I realized I needed to stretch. It’s 10:20 PM, and I haven’t properly stretched after my workout.

INTERRUPTION 

Fifteen minutes later:

I’m back, I decided I would give my best to finish this chapter. You’re still reading, so for you, there’s been no interruption. But for me, there was. I stretched, because I knew if I didn’t, I’d regret it in the morning.

Going back to the thought of hard work in the gym taught me one thing in an excruciatingly painful way: discipline and hard work are not the same.

Hard work is hard work. You push until it’s done. 

Discipline looks different every day. Some days you’ll have to give your all throughout the whole training. On others, you’ll give your all by saying no to that quick adrenaline pump, and staying home to rest.

I didn’t do that. I mistook hard work for discipline, and it cost me more than I could imagine.

Factor: The new and the old injury

During a weightlifting workout for which I didn’t warm up properly, I ended up hurting my spine — not once, but twice. You know, just to make sure I’d make a perfect anatomical model for studying musculoskeletal and nerve injuries.

God has a funny way of reminding me that He truly uses our worst ideas for His best ones. I used to joke about being an anatomical model, and I’ve just realized that for the past two and a half years, I’ve been using my own body to understand the nature of a brachial plexus injury. So far, it’s been fun — except for the days when it’s not.

Long story short, after eight years of strength training and weightlifting, I successfully leveled down to doing froggy squats on a Swedish ladder at the physiotherapist’s practice, sharing a room with grannies during electrotherapy — a.k.a. my favorite childhood routine (coughs in boredom and frustration).

Along with leveling down, I also unlocked a new old feature of my back: scoliosis — this time, in an advanced form. My BPI warriors, anyone here know what I’m talking about?

If I didn’t have my faith, I don’t think I’d be telling this story in the same way. In fact, I don’t think I’d be able to tell you that I got out of what felt like an endless stay in a dark pit, if I hadn’t allowed the Holy Spirit to lead me through every exercise.

I wasn’t tired — I was exhausted. I’d go to physiotherapy right after work, after eight hours of sitting in front of a computer. I’d spend those hours trying to grasp new information during onboarding, build campaigns, attend video calls, read educational materials, report to my campaign buddy and team leader, socialize with colleagues, explain my injury to anyone new, and stay calm under pressure — all while feeling a pain that can only be described as someone pinching, twisting, and pulling at your nerves along your spinal cord and inner thighs, all while wearing a heavy weight under the knees.

Those were the longest four and a half months of my life (if we skip the two and a half months I spent lying on the floor in agonizing nerve and muscle pain).

It felt like all of my chess pieces had been taken down — except one: the King Himself. Despite the feeling of complete destruction and defeat, I could my King still standing. Listening to God led me to a place I hadn’t known for years — myself.

“But blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in him. They will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit.” — Jeremiah 17:7-8

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After almost a decade of staring into a mirror, standing face to face with my reflection, finding faults, and focusing on what could look better, I finally saw what I needed to see all along: the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Eventually, I left my job and decided to dedicate myself to healing, learning more about BPI, and doing deeper research — which ultimately led me to writing about the journey itself. My hope is that those who have been searching for themselves will finally meet themselves here.

To Be Continued

Song of the day: Audioslave – Show Me How To Live

Painting of the Day:

Wing of a European Roller (also known as Wing of a Blue Roller) by Albrecht Dürer.

Note: All songs, lyrics, artworks, images, and other forms of inspiration shared here reflect a deeply personal way of expressing emotions tied to a specific period in my life. Some of these pieces may not represent my current thoughts, beliefs, or circumstances, but I continue to include them as an authentic reflection of what I felt and experienced at that time.

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Written in November, 2025.

© All rights reserved. Written by Ana Topshiova, Founder at Zebras and Magpies.

This story is shared with the purpose of encouraging and supporting others on similar journeys, as well as educating, connecting, and raising awareness about Erb’s Palsy/BPI.