Summer Setbacks
All was going well in my healing process until I decided I could lift and move our planted flower pots on my own. It was early morning, and I was outside with our dog, Leo. The anticipated storm of the previous night never manifested, and the pots my husband had moved for protection were under our fifty-foot Linden tree, Anya.
I can do this for him, I thought. I knew his back was bothering him so I wanted to offer him some relief from further lifting. At least, that is what I told myself at the time.
As I lifted each pot to the deck—about eight inches off the ground—and slid them back to their designated spots, I seemed to be managing beautifully until I came to the last one. As I squatted, put my hands on either side of the pot and lifted, my lower back seized. The excruciating pain was immediate, and I dropped the pot to the ground and grabbed the frame of our backyard swing for balance and support while taking deep breaths. I need to get into the house and get to a chair in the family room, I thought to myself. The distance was about fifteen feet. With a slight bend in my torso, I placed my hands on my thighs and took steps to get inside. My vision blurred. Fearing what might happen, I focused on getting to the chair without stopping.
As soon as I got seated, I saw stars floating in front of me. Try to bend forward and lower your head, I instructed internally, not having ever passed out before but knowing the drill from helping others. Within a few minutes, everything normalized—everything except my back, which had begun to spasm.
When my husband came downstairs, he found me lying on the couch.
“Please don’t be upset with me, but I did something stupid,” I said in as calm a voice as possible.
“What did you do?” he asked, his eyes reflecting the anxiety ramping up.
Only six and a half months earlier, he’d called 911 on my behalf when I fell, having heard the crash of me hitting the upper-level floor. That fall resulted in an ambulance ride to the ER, the diagnosis of a fractured pelvis, and surgery three days later. I’ve been recovering ever since, finally walking independently as of early May. I was certain I hadn’t reinjured the repair done to my pelvis, but I definitely hurt my lower back, and the pain has continued.
Rebuilding the Foundation
Since that morning in early June, I’m improving ever-so-slowly—with medication, rest, and PT. Each morning starts with sitting up in bed on a heating pad as I wait for the anti-inflammatory meds to kick in. Sadly, this is a full-blown setback in my physical recovery, which means my exercises have gone back to the most basic that allow my back to stay neutral. And at least one of my goals to achieve by my birthday hasn’t happened this month—paddle-boarding will remain on hold for a time. I’m hopeful to be on my outdoor bike by August, but that may even be delayed for a bit longer.
The truth is that after so many months of immobility, my muscles are still quite weak. I’ve been working with PT over the past few months, but our focus has been on my legs, thighs, and hips. The core and back work have been minimal. When I think of my early-morning endeavor to lift the flower pots, I admit that I felt some soreness, but I didn’t heed that warning. I allowed my mind to override my body’s messaging. I told myself I’m still strong enough to do what I was able to do in the past. I wanted to prove to myself that I am still capable. That thought was more unconscious than conscious, but I am certain it was driving my actions.
Tending to All Parts of Ourselves
I share of all of this with you because it’s another analogy to the writing process. When we write, it’s important that we tend to all parts of ourselves—our bodies, minds, and our hearts. If we let our mind run the show and override our other parts, we may become exhausted physically as we push ourselves toward arbitrary deadlines. Or we may find that our writing is flat or mechanical because we’ve not involved our heart in our work. Even writing fiction requires that our heart be involved. Otherwise, how will we discover the depths of our characters, including their pasts, their motivations, and their deepest truths that inform their actions?
My recent injuries have been another big wake-up call to consider how I am treating myself physically. They also point to how I’ve tried to set aside my need for self-compassion and patience as I’ve pushed for arbitrary goals physically.
And, aside from personal journaling, my writing has also taken a hit over these past many months. It’s been almost nonexistent. Recently, I’ve tried to push myself to write, but not much has come forth. A clear message of the importance to tend to my heart as well as my body during this time.
I hear the messaging I often share with other writers, messaging I’ve ignored, thinking I could override the writing process just as I tried to override my physical healing process:
We must tend to ourselves and our lives as we write. And sometimes our writing must be set aside for a while because of what our day-to-day lives require from us. We need to be gentle with ourselves. To be compassionate. To tend to our bodies and our hearts. To calm our minds. Our writing will be here when we are ready and able to get back to it. Our stories will not let us go. They will wait. They are here and won’t abandon us. We need to trust that the more we tend to ourselves in mind, body, and spirit, the more clarity we will find in our writing when we return to it.
I need to remember this message and practice patience and trust. If I listen to what my body needs, if I tend to it with gentle forward action rather than forceful pushing, it will get stronger. It will improve and heal. There is no need to rush or push. By taking the time necessary to truly heal, my body will serve me for a long time to come.
And by tending to my heart, along with healing my physical body, the writing I wish to create will also emerge.
In Flow with the Current of Life
When we stay committed to our deepest desires, we will arrive. Without pushing or fighting against the current, without ignoring any part of ourselves—mind, body, or spirit—we can allow ourselves to be in flow. And once we find that we have arrived, we will see that the timing was perfect.
May the recent Summer Solstice and the beginning of summer illuminate your path forward, offering you gentle support and nurturance.