Story time. Part 1 :)

California Redwoods, looking up.

On August 15th of 2020, one day after I ended the most complicated and toxic relationship of my life I crashed on a bike and shattered my ankle. 

Just moments before falling I was planning to go to Idaho and fly planes, an escape from the fresh brokenness of my heart.

And to escape the much deeper loss of my son moving away to college in just a few weeks.

I was prepped and ready to follow my most familiar pattern;  running from things that sucked.

Pop. 

Pop. 

Pop.  

My bike came down hard on my ankle.

It was so weird hearing 3 bones break inside my body like a little chain of tiny fire crackers.  

I knew instantly I was not going to be in Idaho any time soon. It took a much longer time to realize a broken ankle would start a chain of events that eventually set me free.

One of my woo woo friends called as I lay on my back with my swollen, aching leg propped up high towards the ceiling.

“Spirt comes” she cooed “with a whisper, a roar or a two by four.”

I nodded silently and let the tears slide down my cheeks and into my hair.  I knew I had finally been bested by the universe.

I have always been able to outsmart my hardships. I am a GENIUS at finding wild distractions and an over-achiever when it comes to disassociation and co-dependancy.  For the entirety of my life until that very moment I chased chaos instead of dealing with the haunting emotions that were right there, touchable and tangible, hovering in front of me.   

I had just spent more than a year caring for a man with severe mental illnesses (and of course, trying to fix all of him) because I couldn’t face the impending and desperate loneliness of my son growing up and moving away. 

I took on a GIANT PROJECT BOYFRIEND instead of focusing on time with Miles and our last 15 months together. My exes mental health became my priority. I buried myself and Miles at times to take care of project boyfriend, shoving my needs under the bed; left, forgotten and collecting dust.

And! The moment after we broke up, the second I had access to myself, room to slow down, ask the hard questions (why do I keep doing these things?) I chose to run again.

Until BAM!  The universe or gravity or carelessness knocked me off my feet and planted me on my back for almost an entire year.

And for the first time ever, I listened.

I’m a stubborn fuck, but even the fiercest fighters have a breaking point.

I couldn’t run physically and I was so tired of running mentally.

So I gave in.

I slowly, timidly, gingerly, started listening, a there was my voice, screaming for attention.

I became curious, open and raw.

The more I listened, asked, discovered, the easier it was to see and acknowledge my wildly self-deprecating habits and my horribly self-deprecating thinking patterns. 

I met the woman behind the complicated choices I had been making and let her speak for the first time.

It is a slow, uncomfortable and arduous process when you decide to ask yourself who you are. 

When I began to unpack what I had been avoiding and what I needed, I started on a life altering and endless journey. 

Today I have both feet on the self-discovery treadmill. 

I make mistakes, I regroup, change course, ask why, again and again. 

This growth stuff, its not at all easy, but I am better at it. And it is not comfortable but there is respite and reward and lots and lots of joy. 

Most of all, taking the time to listen to me has become REVOLUTIONARY. I am forever changed for the better, forever accepting of my humanness and forever working in my growth.

And I am so absolutely grateful for my broken ankle and the road it started me on.