Wisdom in Injury

I was on an extended hike recently and one mile from the finish, I rolled my ankle. I had been trail running, my muscles and body were tired and I took a misstep. It’s an injury I’ve never had before, and it wasn’t severe, but enough to slow me down. It’s such a potent reflection, anytime I have an injury or illness, I can experience feeling of weakness, fear and vulnerability. Even in the knowledge that it is temporary, the feelings still glide through.

This time as the tides ebbed and flowed, I sat with the emotions. I even rode the waves. If I am vulnerable, if for a time my body is weak, what is the fear? A fear that I will not be able to live my life in the way I have come to see as fulfilling, that I may lose some part of my identity or I may have to lean on others more. I know from traversing a wild life terrain, that our resiliency is much greater than we are aware, and that the complex tapestry that makes up the sum of me is stronger than only one thread being pulled. I also am intimately aware as a giver in my profession and in my community, how healing it is for all sides to both give and receive, but truthfully, there is more vulnerability in receiving than giving. Allowing myself to receive requires exposing my underbelly, running the illusory risk that without my strength, my value might be diminished. So beautiful and so humbling to be reminded of how much we all truly need one another and how priceless sincere and authentic connection, love really is.

Moving through the healing process, I chose to see the opportunity to apply attentive healing to myself. I used my essential oils liberally, applied castor oil packs, iced, elevated, increased all the anti-inflammatory foods and supplements in my routine and slept more. As I returned to movement, to yoga, to swimming, to cycling, hiking and ultimately running, I brought an element of gentleness, mindfulness and patience that I admittedly don’t always possess for my own body. I have a habit of pushing, wanting to increase my performance, often with expectation and a pointed focus. I had such a different experience, moving more slowly, truly attuning and listening to what was appropriate and what my body needed. Remarkably and surprisingly, some things were certainly modified, but for the most part, all my ways of moving and experiencing my body, felt easier, more aligned.

I have always found that movement and breath, if possible in Nature, are the clearest gateways to a return to Self, if we can only slow down enough to re-inhabit our physicality. In the past, when I had an injury, I confess, I cursed either my body for letting me down or my lack of presence for allowing it to happen. I feel tremendous gratitude to shift that story, to instead breathe into and appreciate all my body does for me every day, and to smile and have a sense of humor when presence slips. With delightful surprise, I couldn’t be happier, for the bittersweet gift and unexpected insights of a sprained ankle.