On Saturday, I broke my leg. On Tuesday, I had surgery to repair it.

And yeah, it sucks to have a broken leg.

But, for me, this injury means more than just a single broken bone.

This broken bone is a sign that my disease is progressing.

I have Charcot-Marie-Tooth (CMT), a genetic degenerative neuropathy primarily affecting my extremities — wrists and hands, ankles and feet.

I have a fairly mild version of CMT — subtle enough that most people wouldn't notice that anything is even wrong with me.

They don't realize there's a reason other than comfort that I only wear sneakers or shoes with laces. Or only write with felt-tip pens. Or avoid activities that require balance and coordination.

People's responses to my injury vary. Some make jokes about my clumsiness or bad luck. Others encourage me to remember that this too shall pass.

And I know they mean well. I do.

But I want to yell and scream for them to understand that this is not clumsiness. This is not bad luck. And this won't pass.

This single broken bone is a symptom of a bigger challenge I face and will continue to for the rest of my life. One that I wish others understood, but that I feel awkward having to explain.

We often only see one small part of someone's larger story. And yet, we assume we understand more than we do.

So I will keep sharing more of my story to keep at bay the loneliness of feeling misunderstood.

And I will keep reminding myself to ask questions and create a safe space for others to share theirs with me.