I Fell Down Last January
Or as my toddler says "I FALLED"
Note: No audio for the coming weeks, technology has not been my friend lately. I will continue to troubleshoot with the audio equipment and will be returning with that feature in the new year.
Some of you who have been reading here since last year will be familiar with the story below. It’s an essay I wrote about when I fell down (physically and emotionally) at the beginning of 2024. I am sharing it again today for several reasons.
First, this story may tell you little about my problem with wool socks, but it is really about sitting with your feelings…especially the uncomfortable ones. I imagine that everyone in the United States may be experiencing some type of feelings this week no matter what happens. And let this be a reminder it’s okay to sit with those pesky feelings.
Second, I bring an update to this story. So as you will read below, I fell down in January and hurt my shoulder. After follow-up with doctors, X-rays, an MRI, and physical therapy I have arrived at surgery. If all goes as planned, it will happen in the coming weeks. Some of what transpired in my shoulder has healed, and some things have not. And although I was not eager to have surgery, I was also not ready to give up a whole lot of different movement possibilities while only in my forties.
Third, along with this update, I wanted to share the plans for the newsletter over the coming months. I had just settled into a nice, organized publishing schedule when I learned that I was indeed going to have surgery. And oh, yeah the doctor explained it was a long and painful recovery, especially for those in their “third decade”. Since I am in my fourth decade, that can’t bode well. But alas there has been an opportunity because I am getting to do some things I had wanted to do with this space like:
Bring in new voices. Stories that I can not tell or do justice to because they are not my own
I am partnering with my brilliant writer friends to launch an online discussion thread
And I’ve got some pieces that needed a place to fit and now they have one
You can check out what is coming at the bottom of this essay. And it’s good…really good.
I would love to say I am signing off and going to catch you in a few months, but I will hiding in the wings. That does sound a little creepy. With the help of others, I have got a lot prepared and I will be dropping in to say hello from my couch from time to time. I have so much gratitude for those who are helping with the newsletter.
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 the 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 dislocations. 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 into my career. “HAHAHAHAHA,” said the universe. I am sure many of us started that year with feelings of joy, and hope or that we were going to crush it. No, I take a sharp turn toward humor instead of interpreting events as foreshadowing doom.
The next day, I marched in the direction of 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 dropping 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 is lost at the moment, and 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 a while.
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 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 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 knowing what “working out” is. Moments like this, however, are a spark. Maybe we’re doing okay. And I am grateful I was moving slowly enough to be there for it.
Coming in November and December…
One change, not solely due to surgery, is that there will be no monthly roundups for November and December given the holidays. However, I will have a whammy of one in January after a couple of months of culture consumption from my couch (I mean healing and resting).
November 11th- Guest Essay from
who writesNovember 18th- A “Not A Holiday Toy Guide”
November 25th- It’s that time of year—Revisiting Gratitude
The first week of December- Community discussion thread co-hosted with the amazing
and (Don’t worry more information will come ahead of that party)December 9th- Guest Essay from
who writesDecember 16th- Pearls of Preschool Wisdom, Part 1—because they know stuff
December 23rd-For the Love of Books—reviewing my year in reading
December 30th- Guest Essay from
2025- Will bring several more guest essays, interviews, and more navigating the mess of parenthood
But we all know what happens to plans…
Thank you for sharing what's going on, Kathryn. Sending you my best in your recovery. As for TV recs, if you haven't seen it already, you MUST watch Girls 5Eva! The funniest!!!
Take care of yourself. We will all be here when you recover and feel better. Great essay on how to move through feeling bummed. Thanks!❤️