There are many people in this world who live with pain and silent struggles every single day. How they cope, no one truly knows. They carry it within, locked away, until it begins to consume them.
I am a staircase girl. I grew up different from most children: different, yet special. Still, sometimes it hurts. There are days I wish no one would see me at all.
I am afraid of stairs.
Some days, when I look up or down a staircase, fear rises suddenly within me. My heart races. My body feels unsteady. I imagine myself falling, losing balance, ending up in a wheelchair, or needing a cane to walk. The fear feels real, too real.
Many times, I’ve wished we could install an elevator in our house. But that isn’t possible.
So, I’m left with a daily struggle:
Do I go down the stairs…or not?
If I don’t, how will I eat? How will I drink? How will I go out and live my life?
Sometimes, the stairs feel like a barrier, not just physically, but mentally. They cloud my ability to believe that I am safe. That nothing bad will happen.
And yet, it’s just a staircase.
That question alone breaks my heart.
There are days I cry because I cannot bring myself to climb down. When I stand there, everything feels like a spinning roller coaster. I lose my sense of balance. My body feels like it’s betraying me.
In open places, like church, I often need someone to help me. I try to do it on my own, holding the rail tightly, carefully placing one foot after the other; but deep down, I am afraid.
Afraid of falling.
Afraid of being seen.
Afraid of being misunderstood.
Sometimes I wonder if people are laughing at me. So I call only those I trust to help me.
Climbing stairs is not easy for me.
I fear that people won’t understand. That they might record me, post it online, and say hurtful things without knowing what I’m going through. I feel like I climb like an old woman, even though I’m still young, in my mid-thirties.
And when I see little children running upstairs so freely, I wonder
Why can’t I do that?
I remember one day at the mall. I saw an escalator, and fear took over me completely. I held onto my aunt, trying to step on, then stepping back again: over and over. People stared. I felt exposed. Eventually, I gave up, went back to the car, and waited.
And I cried.
I cried because I felt defeated. Because something so simple had become so difficult for me.
But even in those moments, I speak to myself: “It’s just a staircase. You will not fall. You are safe. God is with you.”
I remind myself that I am not alone. That I am protected. That I can take that step.
And I must.
This fear has held me back for too long. And if I am going to move forward, I have to confront it.
So now, whenever I see a staircase, I start with prayer.
I picture God beside me, walking with me, holding me steady, guiding every step. I call on His name and remind myself:
“With God, I can do all things.”
Yes, I am a staircase girl.
But I will overcome.
I will climb.
And I will remember
I am safe.
It is just a staircase.
There is nothing to fear.
And I am stronger than I feel.
