Today is day 6 of #operationwalkagain. And my response to today is far too complicated for me to type it in 120 characters. But I believe in the power of telling your story. I believe we are put on this Earth to make our mark, to share our lessons so that others can learn from them, to feel a little less lonely, a little less crazy, and a little more connected.
And I share my story in the hopes that someone, somewhere in the abyss known as their own catastrophe, wont feel so alone and crazy. I feel as though the more true gut wrenching stories I would have heard during this journey, the more normal and less trapped I would have felt. Because honestly, if there was one thing I needed most, it was to hear a story that would validate my feelings so I would have not felt so isolated, angry, afraid, and crazy.
The past 8 months have been the toughest since high school when I watched my father slowly start to deteriorate, had 4 failed shoulder surgeries, and did not feel the support of any adult in my life. And as I barely came out of that unscathed, this is breaking me too. However, as an adult, it’s different. It’s more about the internal and external pressure from 8 months of immobility. The pressure to be ok. The pressure to not get angry and break things. The pressure to hold myself together, to always smile, be positive, and make others laugh. The pressure to still be what everyone needs me to be when I am clearly not ok physically or emotionally. And that pressure is breaking me from the inside out. This is the loneliest, scariest, and hardest thing I have ever done. It has brought betrayal and invasion of privacy. It has brought shame and humiliation and frustration and fear. And I will do everything in my power to make sure that nobody ever feels as alone as I have. And so, I will tell my story.
I believe we all walk around here pretending to be ok one hundred percent of the time. We stitch up our physical and emotional scars by the best professional plastic surgeons in the hopes that nobody could ever tell they even happened. After my last shoulder surgery, my surgeon made a comment about how I could never be a swimsuit model and apologized for all scars. And I was surprised because the visible scars were (and still are)the last thing I cared about. Those scars gave me my life back. Those scars represented a hard, long 15 years, from which I finished victoriously, of which I’m super proud- proud of my tenacity, my perseverance.
And I’m proud that it is part of my life story. I’ve met some awesome people along the way and have some great stories. I learned what I could overcome. It taught me to appreciate the little things in life that I couldn’t do before my surgeries. And so, I’m proud of those scars. Why would I ever try to hide them- the physical or the emotional?
And today. Well, today is day 6 of #operationwalkagain. And I suppose I should have called this week something different because honestly, #operationwalkagain will not end until I actually do, in fact, walk again. Because I will indeed, walk again. Not today, not tomorrow, nor next week, perhaps not even next month. But, it’s not about a timeline anymore. It’s not about making x amount of progress in x amount of time. It’s about patience, perseverance and regaining the tenacious, fiery spirit.
And so, perhaps I should have called this week #operstionwalkagainextreme. Because this week I put everything else about my life aside. I put my students aside. I put my own 3 kids at home aside. I put my husband, the laundry, groceries, bills, etc. aside. I focused solely on learning how to walk again.
And today, I feel a myriad of emotions. Some I expected, and some I didn’t. I am proud of the small victories I have found. I am proud that I wasn’t discouraged. I was proud that I went into this week without any agenda or grandiose plan. I didn’t seek the perfection I usually do. I didn’t set predetermined goals. I jumped in the water and said, “let’s see what I can accomplish this week.” I’m proud that I perserveared, even when I tried things I couldn’t do. I’m proud that I reflected, took risks and experimented. I’m proud that I made the decision to use my voice to ask for this opportunity to try, even when it wasn’t well-received.
And I know that my progress is not enough. Not enough for a reveal for PT. It will not be enough for the doctor who thinks that this is all in my head. It is not enough to get off crutches. It is not enough for those around me to really notice.
But it is enough for me. I know I have a long way to go before I take a real step (with or without crutches) and even longer before I can bike, run, or do burpees. But the small victories I found has reignited my tenacious spirit that I lost somewhere in... probably January... when the first doctor told me that this was in my head.
And I’m scared. I’m still scared to walk anywhere without my crutches. I’m scared that I won’t maintain this progress. I’m scared to go back to my life. I’m scared to fall. I’m scared that I’ve done irreparable damage. I’m scared to go see another doctor (or one of the ones I have already seen.) I’m scared because I am truly alone in this after a few weeks. I’m scared that my tenacity will run out again. I’m scared that this might still break me.
And there is a part of me that is disappointed. I am disappointed that there wasn’t a miracle. I am disappointed that this was so hard. I am disappointed that my PT sessions will run out. I am disappointed that I’ve only just survived Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, etc. I am disappointed that I can’t manage my emotions well enough so that this didn’t get the best of me.
And I’m angry. I’m angry that I’ve tried so hard and have only gotten this far. I’m angry that doctors have given me reasons to doubt myself. I’m angry that I’ve spent 8 months being so trapped without a solution and those same doctors can write it off with such an easy cop out.
I’m angry because this week was supposed to be my week to take my time and experiment. I was so excited because I truly believed I would make progress. I wasn’t sure what that progress would be, but I knew I would be proud. And instead, it turned into something else. It turned into me fighting back the demons of vindication. I tried to hard to not make it into an effort just prove them wrong, to make progress to show that I made the right decision, to prove that I would come out victorious. I’m angry that in one way the doctor was right-I do want some more time to keep trying. I still have one more day, if I choose to use it. But a promise is a promise, and a week is a week. And whether it is tomorrow or Monday, I will return to my life and try to hold on until my progress is equivalent to the demands of my life.
Because I spent all week fighting the feeling of anger, resentment, and vindication, I’m angry that I feel like I’m not allowed to be disappointed. I feel the pressure to only show how proud I am. That feeling anger and disappointment on top of the positive ones is in some way proves that they are right, that I am crazy.
Because I truly am proud. There’s no question that I am proud. But if you walk around only trying to portray and feel the positive, you are only fooling yourself and miss the point of life- that we were put here to be real humans that others can connect with and learn from. You miss the opportunity to show vulnerability- that hey, my unique situation sucks right now and I’m going to show that. You miss the freeing opportunity to be 100 percent real. Because pretending to keep it together and fake the positive comes with its own harsh pressure.
And being real and honest? That’s where the true beauty lies. It’s not just about trying to convince yourself and others that it’s all about the lesson- that positivity is your only solution. Sometimes you just need to face the truth, even when that truth stings. And sometimes in facing the truth you fail. You fail physically and you fail emotionally, but that’s ok too. There’s always room to get back up and try again. And there’s lessons in that too.
But to deny that sometimes your journey is not positive or lesson-infused is unfair- to you and to others. It denies you the ability to feel real feelings. It hinders your ability to connect with others, to build honest relationships. It denies the opportunity for someone to see your situation and think, “wow, me too,” or “wow, that sucks.” It denies the opportunity for someone to reach out and help.
And so, #operationwalkagainextreme will come to a close either today or tomorrow, and at the end of the day, I am proud. Proud that I tried. Proud of my progress. Proud that I found it in me to fight again.