I fell in the first week of January. Literally, fell down. I was chasing a preschooler and slipped. I blame my wool socks. It’s not the first fall I have had in wool socks, so you would think I would have learned my lesson, but no, my desire for cozy feet wins every time. Like a volleyball player, I dove into kitchen tiles landing directly on my shoulder. I cried. My little EMTs came to my side bringing me an ice pack and a toy first aid kit. After my initial triage by little hands with gentle pats, my physician husband determined there were no broken bones or dislocation. I was then ordered into an arm sling until further assessment with my doctor the next week.
Humor being a part of my genetic code meant that after the initial drama died down, I launched right into the jokes:
At least I didn’t set a new year’s resolution to become a rower.
I really wanted to level up my mindfulness game, so I thought I will now do all tasks with one hand.
Something about a woolen sock nemesis???
Humor soothes me. I could have gone down a different path and gotten stuck on this being an omen about the start of 2024. But I don’t believe in it, especially given our shared history of the year that shall not be named. The beginning of the pandemic was the year I was going to really lean in to my career. “HAHAHAHAHA,” said the universe. I am sure many of us started that year with feelings of joy, hope or that we were just going to crush it. No, I take a sharp turn towards humor instead of interpreting events as foreshadowing doom.
The next day, I marched in the direction towards perspective infused with gratitude. I was very aware that this was a temporary blip. It’s an annoyance but pales in comparison to the obstacles others encounter daily. I remember having just a crumb of awareness of how inhospitable this modern environment is to anyone with differing mobility needs during pregnancy and postpartum. Our world remains inaccessible in so many ways to anyone with a disability(visible and invisible). It angers me and it should. So, these blips are reminders to put more energy towards supporting my fellow humans. The sharp edges of perspective segue nicely into strands of “well at least” gratitude.
Thank goodness I have short hair that doesn’t need styling ( like if it was long, it would matter).
It’s good that this happened when I have relatively independently mobile children and I am no longer in a phase where I need to carry an infant.
So glad it’s my non-dominant hand.
So grateful I can still type.
Fortified with my humor, perspective and gratitude, I went to seize the day. And then I took a turn into a hole. I received a text from our babysitter that she had to cancel due to a stomach bug. My humor and gratitude had been cheering me on but it was more fragile than expected. A wrinkle appeared and I fell. I was aware that not much had changed from the previous 5 minutes, all comical interpretations and silver linings were still present but now I felt stuck in the mud.
I went through the very slow motions of getting the older kids on the bus and dropped off the preschooler. Returning home with my toddler I got tangled in the mental trappings of trying to convince myself to get out of the muck. Throwing logic around was insufficient, so then I went with analysis. Yes, therapists do routinely try to therapize themselves. I evaluated for anxiety. Nope, this is not my first orthopedic rodeo. I’ve been through imaging, physical therapy, cortisone shots and even surgery—I wasn’t worried. I knew it was going to heal. Loss, perhaps? No, nothing lost at the moment, no major life plans derailed. Hitting my sore spot of needing to ask for help? Yes, I do detest having to ask for help but I am slowly increasing my tolerance, so not it. As I searched my inner chatter, all I kept coming up with is—I am bummed. Yes, with all of the emotional nuance I possess as a doctoral level therapist and a lover of words, bummed, is what I came up with. It became utterly clear I just needed to let myself be bummed for awhile.
As my toddler watched the Disney classic SuperKitties, I sat on the couch and closed my eyes. Just being…bummed. It was hard to not get trapped in the thoughts that I was throwing a pity fiesta. I resisted the pull to do a self-compassion practice. I have a nasty habit of jumping to the “fixing” part too fast. Instead a body scan was best suited to the task, checking in on how bummed felt from my scalp down to my toes. Ten minutes later, my toddler shouted from around the corner “Mommy, where are you?”
“Right here,” I replied. And I was.
The sun got brighter, the birds chirped louder and I was zen…but not really. Mindfulness is invaluable to me but it is not a panacea. This wonderful quality is misrepresented as a cure-all or happiness wellspring, which is a setup to be thoroughly disappointed. Although not magical, mindfulness still has very real power. As you set aside effort to shape, avoid or time travel from your present and instead pour your attention directly into the raw moment, something softens for just a little. And sometimes a little more possibility emerges and that’s all it is, but somehow it can be a lot at the same time.
After fully dropping in, I was a little less bummed. By the end of the day I was out of the hole, it had passed slowly, just like how I was moving. I am glad I got out of the hole because that night I was woken up by my son telling me his brother was throwing up. The stomach bug came for us all, one by one over the coming days. Omen? Nope, not going there.
The day following my surrender to bummer, I was fumbling with my wool socks (I know I am a glutton for punishment). My six-year-old witnessing my ineptitude at one handed sock gymnastics, got up from putting on his snow gear. He said, “Here, let me help you.” He then proceeded to put on my socks. An action I have done for him a million times. So much of parenting feels like working in the shadows, hoping this all works out. Not really knowing what “working out” is. Moments like this, however, are a spark. Maybe we’re doing okay. And I am grateful I was moving slow enough to be there for it.
There is a saying in the monastic tradition about what they are doing all day long: "we fall down and we get up."
So thank you for reminding us that there is a getting up after falling down. And that our kids can lead the way :-)
I loved this line: “but no, my desire for cozy feet wins every time” - I feel ya! 😁
I also loved the moment on the couch while your littles watched the movie and you ran a body scan, really just sitting with the bummed feeling. That is so brave and inspiring.