Perception
One of the hardest part about recovery? The self-consciousness of what you are doing compared to what you usually do.What you can do is huge part of identity - and it's no different for me. I'm the crazy one running four laps of the neighborhood in the mornings before work. Or the runner who heads up into the hills with a full pack and doesn't return until hours later. I'm the one at work who climbs up the stairs every time, without fail. Or the perfect metronome in the pool, gliding from wall to wall without ever stopping. All of that - part of who I am and how I define myself.
Until the 13th of November. In the time between the 13th and when I went to the hospital on the 21st, those identities I've created felt like they were slipping away. I felt like I should have been improving, but wasn't to the degree I normally do. Granted, I now why now, but still... To go to the pool and not even be able to swim 25 yards or be able to kick because I'm gasping for air and my entire right side is hurting? Or to try pedaling, but not even be able to get on or off the bike comfortably. I didn't even try running because walking was a challenge. I've had other setbacks where I've had to alter my perceptions, but none such as drastic as this one. The risk of losing vision is life changing for sure, but nothing like the risk of losing everything.
I have to learn to shake off the idea that people are watching and judging - that the person driving down the road noticed that I started walking right when the road turned up. I know realistically that nobody cares. I'm just a pedestrian strolling down the sidewalk, sometimes running sometimes walking. Pushing myself to run more then I should or maintain a pace that I can't handle will set the recovery back by weeks. Only through being honest with myself and what I am capable of doing in the moment can I respect the processes. If that means walking up every hill because my HR is through the roof, then so be it. If it means keeping the pace nice and easy so I can breath, even better. I have to honor how my body is recovering, both from the broken ribs and then everything else that happened. Worrying about what everyone else thinks is counterproductive. Even for someone as comfortable in my skin was I am, it's a challenge.
Then comes the next question. If I have that sense of embarrassment that I've stopped to walk or that my pace isn't as fast as usual, how do others handle it? How many people don't ever try taking that first step because they are afraid of the silent (and sometimes not so silent) judgement from others? And how can I be more welcoming to everyone when I am back to 100%? Something to ponder while I work towards health.
Until the 13th of November. In the time between the 13th and when I went to the hospital on the 21st, those identities I've created felt like they were slipping away. I felt like I should have been improving, but wasn't to the degree I normally do. Granted, I now why now, but still... To go to the pool and not even be able to swim 25 yards or be able to kick because I'm gasping for air and my entire right side is hurting? Or to try pedaling, but not even be able to get on or off the bike comfortably. I didn't even try running because walking was a challenge. I've had other setbacks where I've had to alter my perceptions, but none such as drastic as this one. The risk of losing vision is life changing for sure, but nothing like the risk of losing everything.
I have to learn to shake off the idea that people are watching and judging - that the person driving down the road noticed that I started walking right when the road turned up. I know realistically that nobody cares. I'm just a pedestrian strolling down the sidewalk, sometimes running sometimes walking. Pushing myself to run more then I should or maintain a pace that I can't handle will set the recovery back by weeks. Only through being honest with myself and what I am capable of doing in the moment can I respect the processes. If that means walking up every hill because my HR is through the roof, then so be it. If it means keeping the pace nice and easy so I can breath, even better. I have to honor how my body is recovering, both from the broken ribs and then everything else that happened. Worrying about what everyone else thinks is counterproductive. Even for someone as comfortable in my skin was I am, it's a challenge.
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| Trying not to worry about what the neighbors think! |
Then comes the next question. If I have that sense of embarrassment that I've stopped to walk or that my pace isn't as fast as usual, how do others handle it? How many people don't ever try taking that first step because they are afraid of the silent (and sometimes not so silent) judgement from others? And how can I be more welcoming to everyone when I am back to 100%? Something to ponder while I work towards health.
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