I’m grateful to the beloved readers who shared their own challenges around integrating “negative” experiences—the ones we’d rather not have had—after reading Part One. Your emails and calls and in-person conversations have lifted me up and inspired me to look more deeply into how we experience events that demand our full attention, and not in a “gee-this-is-fun-let’s-do-it-again” way.
Most of us have had tragic or near-tragic moments that take longer to process and integrate than we imagined they would. This is a normal response, and it’s comforting to know that since we have no blueprint for these frightening, first-time experiences, we have no choice but to flail and fumble our way through the newness and uncertainty, like newborn colts struggling to understand how legs actually work.
Rather than wish these experiences away, I’m learning to accept that they have things to teach me that perhaps I wouldn’t have an opportunity to learn any other way. It’s a perspective shift that I find soothing, and interesting, and I’ve noticed over the years that anything that triggers my curiosity has potential to help me evolve. (Conversely, if I’m not curious about it, I’m not going to explore it, so there won’t be any learning.)
If I had a choice, I’d choose to learn and grow with less pain attached. I’d pick the low hanging fruit and call it a day. Write Part One and be done.
But it seems that we humans occasionally need a shove from the Universe to force us to pay attention to what’s truly relevant to our personal growth, and in some cases, our survival. Given that this accident has outcomes that are still unfolding, I’m giving the incident time to play out entirely.
As the consequences of my fall continue to reveal themselves, I’m noticing a trend. I’m trying to avoid picking up heavy things or doing tasks that require hand strength or dexterity.
I’ve begun asking for help, which reveals my vulnerability and is far outside my comfort zone. Simple things, like carrying my hefty KitchenAid mixer from pantry to countertop or lifting the lid of the big orange jobsite storage box where we lock our pickleball equipment, seem too challenging. Whether they’re truly impossible for me or not, I’ll never know, since I keep getting someone else to do it for me.
I know I’m missing Occupational Therapy opportunities by farming out the challenging tasks. And I need those OT moments because I’m such a pill about doing my PT exercises on a regular basis.
Yet there’s a kinder way for me to think about this.
While doing it myself contributes to resilience and recovery, asking for help contributes to connection—so either way, I win.
As a technique for practicing self-compassion, I’m giving the deeply ingrained voice of the inner critic who bemoans my helplessness a moment to express itself before I offer a more life-affirming perspective. I’m giving the parts of me that are terrified of aging a chance to speak before inviting them to consider that aging equals living, and we’re not yet interested in the alternative. Any other voices that pipe up get similar treatment, and in this way, one thought at a time, my nervous system is calmed and equilibrium restored.
Perhaps there were other ways for me to learn how to be in a healthy relationship with myself. I’m pretty sure there have been some more subtle situations with a similar message that I failed to notice. There’s nothing like a little extreme focus to recognize an unambiguous opportunity, and the fall that I’ve relived dozens of times over the course of this year has offered a rich territory for me to process the trauma in ways that contribute to the quality of my life.
That’s the gift.
While it’s easy to list all the ways in which my injury has detracted from my quality of life, I am choosing to take a more thoughtful perspective that aligns with my most closely held ideals: gratitude, expansiveness, presence, and grace. Remembering what I value (key concept: remembering) helps me see where the quality of my life has improved, where I’ve grown, and how much joy is available to me, despite the outward circumstances.
