The Importance of Showing My Kids Resilience

Some parents teach resilience with words. I teach it with the way I live.

I didn't choose the lesson plan. It chose me on July 3^rd, 2011. The day everything in my life changed. One moment I was the strong, athletic kid who could move without thinking. The next moment, I was a C5-C6 quadriplegic trying to figure out how to rebuild a future I never planned for.

Years later, that future includes four little faces who watch everything I do. And because of that, resilience isn't something I practice for myself anymore – it's something I practice for them.

A Life They Were Born Into, but One I Had to Learn from the Ground Up

My kids weren't around to see the accident. They weren't there for the hospital walls, the grief, the relearning, the adapting. They came into my life after I had already fought my way through the hardest parts.

But they are here for the everyday version of my recovery; the version that doesn't end.

They see:

• the way I transfer with precision because I have to get it right the first time
• the way I slide to the floor to change diapers because it's safer for all of us
• the way I adapt toys, bedtime routines, and even how I hold them
• the way my fingers work differently, and how I use wrist movements to make up for what I lost
• the way I pause, breathe, and try again when my body doesn't cooperate
• the moments when I push myself past exhaustion because they need their dad
• the way I get into my braces and stand, just to watch their faces light up

These moments aren't dramatic to them; they're normal. But hidden inside that "normal" is the foundation of their resilience.

The Morning Routine That Teaches Them More Than They'll Ever Realize

Every morning in our house looks different than most. The kids climb into the van with me, not by watching me hop in effortlessly, but by watching me lock down my chair, secure my equipment, and adapt the space around me so we can start the day safely. They hand me things I can't reach. They wait a little longer when I'm transferring. They don't see inconvenience, they see teamwork.

And that small window of patience is planting seeds they'll carry forever. Kids raised around disability grow into people who notice when someone else is struggling. They grow into people who offer help without hesitation. They grow into people who don't measure others by what they can't do, but by who they are. That's a lesson a classroom will never teach.

The Moments That Could Break Me, but Build Them Instead

There are times I have to crawl. Times when I hit the floor intentionally because it's the safest way to move with four toddlers running around. Times when the only way back into my chair is by pulling myself, inch by inch, using strength I didn't know I had until I needed it.

To another adult, those moments might look like a struggle. To my kids, they look like Dad doing what needs to be done. I hope they never forget that visual. Because one day they'll face something that knocks them down – maybe not physically, but emotionally or mentally. And I want them to remember me on that living room floor, using whatever I had left to rise again. Not gracefully, not perfectly, but determinedly. That's resilience.

Standing in My Braces and What That Moment Really Means

When I strap into my braces and stand, the kids cheer like it's a holiday. They run under me, hold my hands, and look up at me like I'm ten feet tall.

They don't know how much training it takes. They don't know how much focus it requires. They don't know how heavy that moment truly is for me. But one day, they will.

One day, they'll understand that I don't stand because it's easy; I stand because I want them to grow up knowing their dad never stopped trying. Even when something takes years. Even when it hurts. Even when it reminds me of everything that changed.

Effort matters more than the outcome. I want that imprinted on their hearts forever.

Adapting Family Life Not Around My Limitations, but Around Love

Our home doesn't operate on "what Dad can't do." It operates on "how can we do it differently so Dad can do it?" That simple shift has taught my kids how to:

• be patient
• help without being asked
• problem-solve creatively
• celebrate small victories
• see possibility where others see limitations see limitations

Instead of watching me step back from fatherhood because of my disability, they watch me step in. They watch me show up in ways that take twice the effort, and because of that, they learn how to give twice as much heart.

Why I Believe Their Future Will Be Stronger Because of My Struggle

Kids don't become resilient because their life was easy. They become resilient because they saw someone survive what wasn't. I hope my kids remember:

• the days I was exhausted, but still showed up
• the moments I failed, and tried again anyway
• the things that took me longer, but still got done
• the times I was frustrated, but didn't quit
• the days I stood, simply because standing mattered

They're growing up with a daily, living example that life won't always go the way you expect, but that doesn't mean it can't still be beautiful.

My Disability Didn't Take Fatherhood from Me, It Gave Me a Purpose Bigger Than Myself

If I had never been injured, my kids would've had a different version of me, maybe stronger physically, maybe more capable, maybe more "normal." But they wouldn't have had this version of me:

• the dad who knows what it means to fight for everything
• the dad who lives with purpose because he knows what it's like to lose direction
• the dad who shows them that strength comes from attitude, not muscles
• the dad who refuses to let circumstances define him
• the dad who lives every day knowing he's setting the example they'll lean on for the rest of their lives

My disability didn't diminish my role as a father, it deepened it. It forced me to become intentional. It forced me to adapt. It forced me to live in a way that teaches them something meaningful.

If the way I move through this world makes them kinder, stronger, tougher, more patient, more compassionate, more determined, then my injury became part of their story for a reason. And that reason is resilience.

About the Author

Zac Wolfe became a wheelchair user after a car accident in July 2011. He quickly learned that he had two choices: continue to live his life and explore this beautiful world or let this injury defeat him. Zac chose to live and explore. Zac is a huge outdoors enthusiast and loves off-roading in his Jeep. He made it his life goal to help others keep pushing forward and see that anything is possible with a positive attitude. It may not be easy, but it is worth it. Throughout his 14-year journey in a wheelchair, he has overcome unthinkable obstacles. Zac has a beautiful wife and has been blessed with four beautiful children: Charlie, Knox, Noa, and Navie.

Zac's ride is a Quickie Nitrum and Empulse M90.

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