What I was has been pulled apart and broken up. All of the parts of me are lying in bits all around, and I'm slowly picking them up as raw materials to build something new. Sometimes I miss the old me. She was pretty awesome. There is no point in mourning her. She's right here, all around me. In scarred pieces. At times I can't help but mourn anyway. Building is easily as hard as it is rewarding. It's painful. And at times when I try to go back and rebuild what once was, the denial, the inability to do so is startling and frustrating.
I run, but it doesn't feel the same. I go alone so that I can set my own pace. I go places where I probably wouldn't be able to go fast anyway and let the scenery distract me. It's much better than nothing. Sometimes I love it. I miss adventures with friends, but I'm afraid to even try to keep up.
I try to practice yoga, and find that I have shoulder issues from being on crutches for months. The way I practiced before doesn't feel good. My ankle doesn't move in the same way. An old neuroma, aggravated by my ankle therapy and compression, shoots tingling jolts into my forefoot and toes. I dare not go to a class, for fear I can't keep up. Even though I have begged my own students to come anyway in the past. I can't even fathom teaching one right now. I miss my little tribes.
So what happens when you have to learn to be a new you? Find what works all over again? Figure out what is right for you NOW? Well, I'll tell you one thing. You cry a lot. You bounce between strong and weak. Happy and devastated. Fine, and very not fine.
You try old things and you try new things, and when you are shut down again and again, you throw a tantrum, mope a little bit, give up, laugh some, cry more. And then you get back up, and you try again.
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| Courage is when that dragging weight in your chest says, "There is no point." And you reply, "I'll try anyway." |
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