“I Told Myself I’d Never Kayak Again”: How Adaptive Kayaking Helped Joy Rediscover Her Identity

For people who become disabled later in life, the hardest loss isn’t always physical. Sometimes it’s identity.

For Joy Redington, kayaking had always been part of who she was.

“Being outdoors is why I moved to Vermont,” Joy told me.

An avid kayaker, Joy describes the sport as her personal escape, a place where exercise, peace and independence all came together. “When I started kayaking years ago, I understood what runners mean by a runner’s high,” she said. “That was my exercise. That was my happy place.”

But over the course of several years, a series of medical crises changed Joy’s life.

How a Traumatic Brain Injury and ARDS Changed Joy’s Life

In 2019, Joy sustained a traumatic brain injury after passing out and hitting her head on ice. Then, in 2025, another devastating medical emergency followed. What started as the flu rapidly progressed into sepsis and Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome (ARDS). Joy was placed into a medically induced coma for 10 days and required ECMO support to keep her alive.

When she woke up, the world looked very different. In addition to the lingering effects of her traumatic brain injury, Joy was also coping with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, a connective tissue condition that affects joint stability and can make physical activity painful and unpredictable.

The recovery process was long and grueling. Joy spent a month away from work recovering and was ultimately left with approximately 40% lung capacity. Even now, something as simple as a cold can hit her hard.

“I had to learn how to eat again. How to talk again. How to walk again,” she said.

Eventually, Joy began using a wheelchair. But the physical recovery was only part of the journey. Emotionally, she found herself grieving the loss of the life she once knew.

The Quiet Grief of Losing Your Old Life

When someone acquires a disability later in life, Joy says there’s often a mental process that resembles the five stages of grief. “There’s a period where you lose an ability and you tell yourself, ‘Well… I’ll never be able to do that again.’” For Joy, kayaking quickly fell into that category. She simply assumed it was over.

“I told myself, ‘That’s it. I’m never kayaking again. Just deal with it.’”

Joy knew adaptive sports existed, but that didn’t mean she was ready to accept them. “I knew adaptive kayaking was out there,” she said. “But I told myself it wasn’t for me.”

The doubts piled up. It won’t feel the same. It’s not real kayaking. I’ll look ridiculous.

“There’s a phase where you’re just not ready for suggestions,” Joy explained. “You’re sad. You need to sit with it.”

For a while, that’s exactly what she did.

The Gentle Persistence of a Partner

Joy credits her husband, JJ, with helping her slowly move beyond that stage. He never forced the issue, but he gently kept the conversation alive whenever kayak season rolled around.

“What do you think about this?” he’d ask.

Sometimes he framed it as something that might even help Joy professionally in her work as an Assistive Technology Specialist with the State of Vermont, where she helps connect people with adaptive tools that support independence, accessibility and recreation.

But Joy still resisted. Deep down, she wasn’t sure adaptive kayaking would feel anything like the sport she loved.

Eventually, though, JJ gave a bit of tough love. “Either let kayaking go,” he told her, “or find a way to get your butt in a boat -- because you’re miserable.”

That comment stuck with her.

The Fear of Looking Stupid

When Joy finally decided to try adaptive kayaking through the Northeast Disabled Athletic Association’s Adaptive Kayaking Program in Vermont, her biggest fear wasn’t physical pain. It was embarrassment.

“The thing I worried about most was getting into the kayak,” Joy said. “I thought I was going to look stupid.” She imagined struggling to climb into the boat in front of strangers. “I pictured myself flopping around like a fish.”

But something surprising happened. Getting in was easy. “One, two, three — I just slid from my wheelchair into the kayak.”

Just like that, the first fear disappeared. But the second one remained: the paddle.

“What Is That Broken Paddle Thing?”

When Joy first saw Angle Oar’s Versa Paddle System waiting for her, her reaction was skepticism.

“I looked at it and thought, ‘What are these for? What is this broken paddle thing?’”

The angled paddle looked nothing like the paddles Joy had used before. It seemed strange, different, maybe even unnecessary.

“I didn’t understand the physics of it,” Joy said. “I thought, if this is going to feel completely different from the way I used to kayak, what’s the point?”

But then the instructor placed the paddle in Joy’s hands and everything changed.

How the Versa Paddle Helped Joy Kayak Again After Disability

Joy started paddling, and within minutes, the skepticism disappeared. “The flow was still there,” she said.

The Versa paddle, supported by its mount, reduced the strain on Joy’s shoulders and allowed her to paddle using a smaller, more natural forearm rotation rather than a full shoulder movement.

“It brought the paddling motion up so I wasn’t using my whole arm from the shoulder,” Joy explained. “My forearms are the strongest part of my upper body, and that’s where the work was focused.”

Suddenly, something familiar returned.

“We were just kayaking.”

Joy paddled for over an hour that day and didn’t want the experience to end.

“I didn’t want to get out of the boat,” she said.

Waiting for the Pain That Never Came : Adaptive Kayaking with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome

For someone with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, Joy expected consequences. “My joints usually start popping or hurting pretty quickly.”  So after the outing, she waited for the pain to arrive. The next day passed. Then another.

“Two days passed. Four days passed.” Nothing. “No radiating pain. My shoulders weren’t coming up.”

For the first time since her illness, Joy realized something incredible. “I can actually kayak.”

Rediscovering Independence Through Adaptive Kayaking

The biggest change wasn’t physical. It was mental. “By the end of that one adaptive lesson, I was already planning the future.”

Joy started imagining her own kayak again -- where she’d mount a GoPro, how she’d revive her outdoor blog, and what it might feel like to reclaim this part of herself.

“My brain was like, ‘Congratulations… you got out of your own way.’”

From Skeptic to Advocate

Today, Joy laughs about her initial reaction to the Versa paddle. “I thought it was this weird broken paddle thing,” she said. Now, she calls it life-changing.

Joy has become a passionate supporter of adaptive kayaking and the equipment that makes it possible. She also appreciates the story behind the technology itself.

When we talked about the origins of the Versa Paddle — originally designed by Angle Oar Founder & CEO Meg McCall’s father, retired engineer Jim Van Gompel, so he could continue kayaking later in life — Joy laughed. “It figures,” she said. “Our dads sound like the same kind of people … hardy go-getters.”

The Mental Barriers to Adaptive Sports After Disability

Joy believes the biggest obstacle facing people with newly acquired disabilities isn’t a lack of gear. It’s the mental barriers we build for ourselves.

“We tell ourselves it’s not going to be the same,” she said. “We convince ourselves we’re going to look stupid.”

Joy understands that mindset because she lived it. “I know people are more stubborn than they like to admit,” she said. “And I know I’m not the only person who thinks this way.” That’s why Joy now wants to help others push past those fears.

“I don’t want anyone feeling the way I used to feel — like they’ve lost part of who they are.”

Finding Freedom and Identity Through Adaptive Kayaking

Five years ago, Joy told herself she would never kayak again.

Today, her story sounds very different.

“I can’t wait to go kayaking this year.”

Sometimes rediscovering something you love doesn’t require extraordinary strength. Sometimes it simply requires the courage to try, even when you’re afraid.

And sometimes, the moment you place a paddle back in your hands is the moment everything changes.