This weekend I sustained a mild sprain on my right wrist. No big deal. Right?
I mean it’s annoying because it affects my yoga practice, my workout routine, adjusting students and clients and even writing this blog on my lap top.
But in a few days it will be healed and I will be good as new.
Except it was a big deal. Huge actually. Because I let my emotions take over.
This totally innocuous sprain is wrought with baggage so heavy you’d think I was carrying around bowling balls.
This tiny injury has managed to bring up my lovely eleven-year-old, ace bandage wearing, crutches toting self to take center stage in my life.
I’ve mentioned on more than one occasion in the blog that when I was younger I had an illness called Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy. It was painful and confusing and took over 13 weeks to diagnose.
So for that time I simply wore my pain like a badge of honor without any real understanding of where it was coming from.
In some ways I dangled my illness like a carrot to a horse temping those around me to give me attention. To see me. To love me.
And boy did I get attention. Mostly negative in the form of gossip and tales of me faking my injuries. Still I was topic of many discussions in the 5th and 6th grade.
While I healed a lot of the pain and twisted up emotions from that time, an injury like my little sprained wrist can bring it out like a match to a dry forrest.
Because when I was younger I simply woke up one morning with an achy foot. No clumsy tumble. No heroic rescue. Just a morning of my limping around my house in uncomfortable disarray.
And this is nothing like the past. I know how I injured myself. I know it’s a sprain. I know it will be healed most likely by the end of week. Thank you yoga for that.
But that didn’t stop me from freaking out on Monday. I felt myself overly cautious, not wanting to make a big deal of it but at the same time craving attention.
I could see the child coming out. That child that fed off of the attention she received, even though it did nothing but cut her deeply.
I could also see myself wanting to keep her in check and as a result over compensating and doing a workout like nothing happened and hurting myself further.
Refusing to sport an ace bandage because I didn’t want to bring any attention to myself whatsoever.
Finally I just called myself out and spoke to my support system. I asked for help. Not physical but emotional. And of course I got it.
Our history in some ways is always with us. It’s carved into our bones and etched onto our hearts. We can heal it but still there are moments when it’s essence may come up.
And yes this can be surprising and frustrating and even scary. It can make you feel like a failure or a mess because wait a second didn’t I already heal this shit? It’s this complete?
And yes I did heal it. And yes it popped it’s ugly little head back up into my world. But I think this is simply a reminder that I lived. That I got through it then and surely I can get through it now.
Now I am stronger. Now I am wiser. Now I have seen and felt and loved more than then.
Now I am more prepared.
And so are you.
I’m feeling much better today. Typing doesn’t hurt as much and more importantly my emotions are much more balanced.
Yes we are going to have days where our shit comes up. My advice is to take deep breaths and thank your consciousness for keeping you on your toes.
Like my blog?? Ready for Breakthroughs? Then join my mailing list and get deep, authentic inspiration in your inbox every week.