When the Happiest Place on Earth Meets a Much-Needed Timeout
Let’s be real: when your body tells you to take a break at Disney World, it’s wise to listen—even when everything in your soul says go, go, go. The kids were having an absolute blast (and so was I), so I refused to be the wet blanket. Already humiliated as the guy in the scooter that beeps like a damn backhoe when wedged in an elevator corner, I wasn’t about to ruin the trip for anyone else.
This getaway had been two years in the making. My husband—please, someone nominate him for sainthood—has shifted his entire life around my disability. There was no way I was gonna be the reason my son stored a “blue ball in the core memory system.” No. Freaking. Way.
Gratefully, we invited one of our son’s best friends to join us. They’ve been thick as thieves since first grade and know how to navigate each other’s energy like pros. Chris and I gave them the green light to dash off and conquer some rides. Right then, the air started whispering that classic Florida shift—the kind where the pavement smells wrong and you know a thunderstorm’s about to throw down.
CP and I tucked ourselves into an alcove, and I dared to peel off the boot. Bam. Foot: absolutely not okay. I glanced at CP—curled up on the floor, half-asleep—and suggested he head back to the room. He looked at me like he’s officially out of patience with my nonsense and told me to shut up. Fair. Honestly? Fair.
Meanwhile, my brain’s racing. Kids need fun. Foot needs ice. Dinner’s in two hours. Espresso martini already consumed and not helping. So I shoot Archie a text: “Go wild. Ride everything. Just check in.” He’s golden and on it. I steer myself to Hollywood Studios First Aid and—get this—it’s like French healthcare, Disney-style. Ice pack? Check. A tray of little feel-better goodies? Check. A quiet space to regroup for 20 glorious minutes? Double check.
That simple pause changed the entire evening. I wasn’t pretending not to limp. I wasn’t masking pain with forced smiles (my nonverbals are loud). I could just be—present and grateful.
So why all the drama before arriving at such an obvious answer? Maybe because we forget that self-care isn’t selfish—it’s strategic. And the inclusion of Diane, with her magic timing and energy, turned out to be a blessing wrapped in sunblock and pixie dust.
Here’s my reflection for the day: pausing doesn’t mean we’re quitting. It means we care enough to stay in the game—and let others thrive too. That awareness, that breath of grace, is what makes Disney truly the happiest place on earth.
