An athlete’s mindset can be an asset when living with hemophilia

My husband, Jared, lives with hemophilia B and a seizure disorder. He also lifts weights, performs bodyweight workouts, and swims.

Now and then, someone will see him doing laps in the pool and ask, “Are you a professional?”

To which he responds, “No, the water just loves me more. I move better here than on land!”

He isn’t a competitive athlete. But over the years, he’s built what I’d call an athlete mindset, and it shapes the way he sees his body, his health, and even his identity.

Adaptation, not competition

For us, the athlete mindset isn’t about winning medals. It’s about knowing your body won’t feel the same every day. Some days you’ll feel strong, and other days you’ll feel like you’ve hit a wall. That’s part of the rhythm of movement.

Athletes understand this. They expect plateaus. They prepare for soreness, overtraining, and days where their bodies push back. But they don’t throw in the towel — they adapt. They find a way to keep moving, even if it’s not the movement they planned. Jared has learned to do the same.

With hemophilia, unpredictability is a given. Some weeks, Jared will move with ease. Other weeks, a bleed leaves his joints swollen or immobile. When that happens, he adjusts. If his right arm feels off, he’ll use his left arm as primary. If his legs hurt, he’ll do upper-body workouts instead. If everything feels too much, he rests.

This approach has changed how we navigate chronic illness. Instead of asking, “Why can’t I do this?” we ask, “What can I do today?”

Tools are nothing shameful

What really makes an athlete mindset powerful is the acceptance that tools exist for a reason. Athletes use wraps, tape, braces — whatever helps them train safely. It’s not weakness. It’s a smart strategy.

Jared now applies that logic to mobility aids. If he needs a cane during an ankle bleed, he uses one. If a rigid boot helps with swelling, he puts it on. If he wants to go out but has limited lower-body mobility, he’ll use a pair of crutches. These aren’t last-resort decisions. They’re thoughtful adaptations that let him stay in motion.

This mindset didn’t come easily. Like many people, Jared grew up with the belief that tools such as crutches or braces were for people who’d lost something. That belief stuck with him for years. But slowly, it’s shifted.

Now, we both see it differently. Using a tool doesn’t mean you’re giving up. It means you’re choosing to keep going — just in a different way.

As a caregiver, I’ve been helped by this shift, too. I don’t expect Jared to move through life with a fixed routine. Some days, support looks like urging him to push through a difficult exercise. Some days, it’s a walk with a cane. Some days, it’s just rest. All of it counts.

Living with hemophilia might not be a sport, but it takes the same grit, discipline, and self-respect that any athlete would recognize.

And when you treat your body as a partner, not a problem, you don’t fall behind. You find your way forward.

Note: Hemophilia News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or another qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Hemophilia News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to hemophilia.