Broken Leg, Healing Heart
Last year in May I broke my leg. I was moving my husband’s motorcycle in our garage, lost my balance and the bike fell on my tibia bone, crumpling it like soda can. I was alone when it happened. Somehow I managed to crawl out from under the bike (thanks, adrenaline!), but after I was free, I couldn’t get up off the floor. I wasn’t strong enough to push myself up, and the intense pain in my leg kept me down. I sat there on the dusty garage floor for an hour until my husband could come get me and take me to emergency care.
Sitting there on the garage floor, I watched my mind as my shock subsided, the pain changed from alarming to a constant buzz, and my mind settled into acceptance. By the time my husband got there, I was relatively calm. (Of course I cried when I saw him. Isn’t that always the case? We see our loved one and break down anew?) And we made our way to the hospital.
But that’s just the first part of this story. The real story is the change that happened after the break. And it came from stillness.
The break in my tibia was not able to be casted or set to mend. I was told healing would just take time. So I was immobile for eight weeks, but with no cast. This was hard. And as everyone around me carried on doing things and filling in the gap to keep life ticking, I sat. I read. I drew in my sketchbook. But a lot of the time, I looked out the window and thought.
I thought of how I had used busy-ness to avoid my mind. I was quiet enough now to hear the internal voice that was a running constant in my head (and to notice that she wasn’t very kind). I thought about how I was not physically strong enough to get off the ground that day the motorcycle fell on me. And I thought about how I shaped my days.
And I realized I could change these things. I could use this leg break and forced stillness as a catalyst to do things differently.
So I googled compassionate self talk and found my way to Kristin Neff’s work. (She’s wonderful! And her self-compassion workbook is a great guide.) With that instruction, I started practicing talking to myself like I would talk to a friend. (It’s a game-changer.)
I was also on pain meds, so I couldn’t have a glass of wine without potential damage to my liver. So I used that window of opportunity to stop all intake of alcohol. (I realized didn’t really need it and it wasn’t bringing me closer to my highest self.)
I also made a decision to get stronger physically. Once I could start putting weight on my leg, the doctor recommended I do something low impact and gentle to help strengthen it. It was July by this time, and the outdoor pool where we are members was open and in full swing. So my daughter and I packed our towels, I found some goggles, and I tried out those lap lanes for the first time. I felt intimidated at first because I’d never swam laps before, and I really didn’t know anything about it other than the basics: Breathe. Don’t drown. I was sure I looked like a fool and felt I had no right to be there.
But I did it anyway.
And I loved it. I found a deep peace in swimming (even if it was a swim where I got some water up my nose and struggled to swim smoothly). Just being focused on breath and form somehow made my mind super relaxed. After swimming it felt easier to be kind to myself. And I found I was more relaxed with my people, too.
So I started changing the way my day was shaped - I decided to start each day with some movement instead of jumping straight into work or homeschool stuff. I wanted to take care of my mind and body first before taking care of everyone, and everything, else. It’s become non-negotiable self-care.
Most of the time my movement is swimming, because of the wonderful effect on my mind, but once I was strong enough, I added in hiking (I’ve always loved hiking so much), weight-lifting and biking at the gym. And yoga on days I feel my body needs to rest. I find changing up the movement keeps me from getting bored, and I look forward to it every day. Oh, and I hold myself to only 20 minutes of movement each morning, because I’ve found that to be the amount of time it takes for my mind to chill out.
Also, I have to get up early to fit that movement in, so my night routine changed to accommodate it. I go to bed early (like, really early). I skip the glass of wine. And I pack all my stuff up in the evening so it’s easy to just grab it and go in the morning.
It’s been eight months since I broke my leg. And I’m better for it. I’m actually happy it happened - if you can believe that - because it gave me a way to grow that I don’t think I would have done on my own. Of course, I don’t wish anyone to break their leg or to have to go through a hard experience in order to change if they want to. I just wish you time to sit and listen to yourself. It’s incredible the wisdom we have inside ourselves already if we are still enough to hear it.
