Catching Myself Cold
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Seda stands in the entry, hunched, her rain gear dripping. She looks pale.
"You okay?" I ask.
"I fell," she says. "And my shoulder's not right."
Her story winds its way out between gasps and winces. She fell just before getting onto our favorite trail almost an hour ago. The "atmospheric river" of rain that's whooshed our way in the past 24 hours had formed a floating island. Seda had stepped and skidded, landing hard on her right elbow.
I carefully remove her coat. Leo runs to the back door, dripping and panting. He wants his Wubba, the after-walk ritual toy. He shoves his nose in my face as I bend to remove Seda's boots.
I hear the pasta water boiling for lunch. My laptop stands open to an email I've not yet sent. Half-chopped broccoli lies scattered on the counter.
"I think I need to go to Urgent Care," Seda says.
We text our friend Julie Staub, an exceptional physical therapist, for advice. She calls immediately, though entertaining guests. Julie hears the story and guesses that Seda's subluxated her shoulder, which has now moved back into place. They both imagine there's nothing broken. Julie instructs Seda to ice her shoulder regularly for 48 hours. I feel grateful for her help with Seda's comfort and our combined fear.
I lead Seda to her room. The shock is wearing off. My brain now runs like ticker tape, redistributing the tasks of the day. They move like blocks of time in my mind, bouncing hard off deadlines. I feel light-headed. How will I manage the housework and my own business through this? I shut the heat off the boiling water.
My words land in staccato, as I tell Seda the plan. I'll bring her arnica later, I say, after the ice and sling are sorted. I'm in get-things-done mode. I turn the oven off and on again, coordinating a later lunch. I make a sling from a scarf.
I move quickly, not kindly. I catch myself cold.
My brain assures me that what I'm doing makes sense. Shuttling Seda around like a piece of furniture while I'm sweeping is reasonable in these circumstances, it says. There is a LOT to consider just now.
But my heart says no. No.
Kristin, it says. Honey. This is is the love of your life. You get this moment once. Now. Show up. I feel chagrined. And I'm grateful to have rescued myself from the electrical storm of my thoughts.
I'm hungry. I'm worried. But I have my Seda. She's alive, and she's made it home.
I rest my hand gently on the small of her back. "I'll get some topical arnica at the store after lunch."
"Oh no," she says. "You're already doing the cooking. I was supposed to do that. I'm so sorry this is messing up your work day."
"It's fine," I tell her.
I'm not lying. I thank God that my joy practice helps me to notice how I feel, find self-compassion, and shift my perspective. Nothing has changed except that, but now I'm breathing easy.
I lower my expectations. That feels better yet. I'm more understanding about the emails that won't get out today. Seda and our relationship come first.
Crisis makes for clarity.
We eat together. Seda meets a client by phone in the middle of our lunch. It's all good. She can still type at certain angles, and her pain is manageable with the sling.
I go for supplies, and we keep on keeping on. Monitoring. Managing.
These small catastrophes are woven like beads of light into the tapestry of our lives. They shine a beam on who we are and what our relationships can be.
What a gift, when we pause to receive their light.
I feel grateful, not only for Seda, but for all of you, my accountability buddies. I'm stronger for our connection. I see more. I hope you feel the same. Thank you.
Who helps you to be your best self when the going gets rough? Do you ever catch yourself cold and readjust?
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The free Introduction to Joyful Communication Workshop is next weekend. It just comes once a year. Pick one of 4 workshop times here. And bring a friend!
You can pass the link below on to friends or family. It has all 4 workshop times, if you head to the bottom:
https://www. collierconnections.com/free- workshop-registration-699-1-1