Learning to Walk Differently ~
This week did not go as planned. I fell again. This time, I broke my ankle.
Walking has become deeply therapeutic for me over the past several years. Long walks with my dogs, trails through the Sierra foothills, uneven ground beneath my feet, the quiet rhythm of movement and reflection. Nature has become one of the few places where I consistently feel grounded.
And now, once again, I am back in a boot.
A few years ago, another fall left me with torn ligaments, a damaged tendon, and a bone chip fracture. Surgery followed. Then a long recovery. I gained weight during that season, not just from inactivity, but from feeling disconnected from myself and the outdoors.
I have fallen several times since. So now I find myself asking harder questions. Why do I keep falling? Is it only weak ankles? Or is there something deeper happening?
I notice how often I walk close to the edge of the trail; almost as if I instinctively try to take up less room. To move out of the way. To leave space for everyone else first. That realization stopped me.
Lately I have been learning that I am allowed to take up space in my life. And yet, perhaps some part of me still physically moves through the world as though I should remain small, careful, hidden near the edge.
I recently revisited ideas connected to The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk. His work explores how trauma does not live only in memory or emotion. Rather, it also lives in the body. Trauma can shape posture, movement, tension, balance, nervous system responses, and the way a person physically occupies space in the world. Many people who have experienced long periods of fear, criticism, or emotional harm unconsciously shrink themselves physically; staying hyperaware of surroundings and prioritizing the comfort of others over their own sense of stability and presence.
That perspective lands deeply for me right now. Because perhaps this is not only about ankles. Perhaps this is also about years spent trying not to take up much room.
Right now, I am frustrated. I do not know what comes next. Maybe a stationary bike. Maybe slower movement. Maybe learning how to connect with nature differently for a while. Nature itself is teaching me something again.
Broken branches still remain part of the tree. Rivers blocked by fallen rocks do not stop existing; they simply find another course. So perhaps this season is not about learning how to stop moving. This thought makes me chuckle. Me? Stop moving??
Maybe it is about learning how to move differently, more steadily, more intentionally, and without apology for the space I occupy.
~ julie
If you feel so inclined, please reply with your thoughts.
Note: JM Lane is NOT a mental health professional, nor does she carry a license to practice medicine. Posts, blogs, and content are based on JM Lane’s personal experiences, perceptions, and reflections. By no means does any material convey what others should or should not do.
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