When I was in the second year of middle school, we went out to play a soccer match against another class. There was a boy who didn’t like me, and he pushed me from behind. I fell between the wall and a railing, and my hand broke. I had two months of complications because my arm didn’t heal well, so I needed therapy. Each week, I had about two therapy sessions that lasted around two hours, and they used small electrical pulses. During the therapy, I felt tickling sensations, and they would also apply a gel. Most of the time, I didn’t really feel much. The hardest exercises were the ones where I had to straighten my right arm because it had healed crooked. I didn’t fall behind at school because the accident happened right at the start of summer vacation, so there were no classes. My mom was the one who supported me the most; she was with me at the hospital and at every therapy session. I didn’t practice sports at that time, but the hardest thing was taking a shower and not being able to go out and play with my friends. I did end up feeling resentment because he pushed me from behind, even though we didn’t talk to each other. I think the moment that impacted me the most was realizing that my arm had healed badly and that I needed therapy. I had to follow simple care instructions—like not getting the cast wet and not moving my hand. Yes, even now, it hurts when I try to use that arm to apply force. The most important lesson I learned was not to trust everyone, because you never know what could happen. My biggest trauma afterward was playing soccer again, because for a long time I was afraid it would happen again.