A sprained life



It’s Friday Travellers,

This has been a rough one. It’s been almost four days since my sprain, and while I’m definitely on the mending road, it’s probably going to be another couple weeks before I am back to my full plyometric strength.

I stood on my front porch this morning, watching the sunrise in the distance. For a brief moment, I felt like it was saying, the world is still out here, waiting for you, but let’s be honest, the world stops for no woman. It was a really good one too. The clouds looked like rippled sheets across morning’s bed of a sky. The little waves were tinged with reds and pinks against the periwinkle blue. Even now it’s quite lovely…


I have to say this injury has given me some insight in these past few days about myself and life, so I’m just gonna jot those down here for posterity…

First, I realized I have spent most of my life feeling bad for my feelings. I have disenfranchised my big emotions because the people around me didn’t have the same kind of expression. My ex and I often discussed how emotions were not something he was raised with, his family kept it all buttoned up. I, on the other hand, was raised by a person who flooded the entire house with her emotions. She could drown everyone in her path. It was too much. The rest of my family was completely non-expressive. I’m certain they had feelings, but no one ever let them out. It’s like they all had little cages inside where they locked them away from everyone, including themselves. Sometimes, I think people feel like emotions are unsafe to share.

I’ve been on both ends of the spectrum. Most of my super intense displays have involved my parents and whatever my mother had done or how my Dad had hurt me growing up. The whole abandonment thing. Since the EMDR, the duration and intensity has significantly decreased. The issues with my Dad were resolved, and my mother is more of an annoying gnat now. But I need to learn that having emotions isn’t something I have to apologize for, because no one does.

Monday night when I sprained the ankle, I was really upset. I’ve only had one other injury in 18 years, and I was alone. And it hurt and looked scary swollen, which made me feel fearful of losing my full range of motion mobility. I don’t think any of that is inappropriate. But afterwards, I felt bad for my feelings and that just has to stop. I recovered myself, I picked myself up. When I was walking out of the emergency clinic down the concrete ramp, I was thinking, “You can handle this, this is your life now, you are on your own.” But I was really sad and it was a lot. The part that bothered me though was feeling like I needed to apologize for being upset, because I don’t and I’m not. Feeling like how I feel my feelings is wrong.

We humans really don’t like it when people behave in any way other than our way, do we? Why do other people’s emotions disturb us? Or make us uncomfortable when their response to a situation is different than our own. I’m not talking about going emotionally postal, I’m talking about some crying and saying all the thoughts. I’m a person who may get upset, but I always calm back down and my rational mind will take over. For me, it’s just getting it out of my system. I don’t want to zip up all my feelings because it will make me super uncomfortable inside my own skin. Because I spent most of marriage shoving it all down, and look how that ended. I think it’s better to let it out, than believe you can just lock it up.

I also realize that if you are not an athlete, if you have no consistent relationship with movement, you have no way of truly understanding why an injury is so upsetting to those of us who do. I personally don’t understand how everyone doesn’t work out each day, not in a form of judgement, but because of all the awesomeness you are missing out on. You are missing out on what I think is the greatest relationship of your life, the one between you youness and your vehicle, the body.

For me, movement clears all the gunk out my body, mind and soul. It’s like a really active deep cleansing and when I can’t move, like now, it just feels yucky inside. I feel kinda gross because I’m not moving thru all the things that clogged me up the day before, and I’m not talking about poop, I’m talking about all the things that collect inside your being each day. Stress, the remnants of food, and the way sedentary life makes everything feel smashed and stuck together. I feel like a gelatin mold versus a strong vibrant human. There are no words to accurately depict this level of suckage. This weekend, I’m going to start moving around the injury, so hopefully that will relieve some of these feelings.

Lastly, I think this whole unfortunate twist in the story has shown me, I can handle things on my own. A little learning through adversity. The night of the injury was awful, coming home to a dark house, no one to tell me, it’ll be okay, no one to offer to help, but I made it. I have people I can call, and a few volunteered to come over, but in the end I realized this is a moment to really come to terms with life, my life as it is now. And I made it. And I feel sorta proud about that tiny victory.

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