On a Thursday evening at 10 pm, I found myself in urgent care with a throbbing arm and hip. It was definitely broken. How could this have happened again? A few hours ago, I was excited to take an Uber to meet my husband for date night after he finished work. From my upstairs balcony, I saw the car pull up in my driveway and knew I still had to find my shoes and jacket before I could walk out the door. Running down the stairs in a hurry, I turned a corner, slipped and landed on the wooden step, my forearm and hip taking the brunt of the force.
I sat there silently cursing myself. All of the names came flooding back. "You're such a klutz! You're so clumsy! You have no body awareness!" On and on and on the names blanketed my very soul with their oppressive cloak. Had this been the first time, then I could have pushed it aside. But this was probably the fourth time in the past year that I had fallen down the stairs. The names definitely fit! I've fallen holding a glass that inevitably shattered in a million pieces across the entry way. I fell while holding my leftover dinner, which flung all over the walls. I've even fallen holding a toddler whom I thankfully protected as I hit the stairs.
The Weight of the Label
As I sat waiting for the doctor, I chastised myself for what a failure I am at walking! My family was going to get a kick out of this when they find out. We have all joked that I'm like a panda bear falling out of trees, unable to even sit in a chair without falling over. I tried to laugh at myself, but my arm and my pride were both in excruciating pain. My husband sat silently by me knowing that nothing he could say would lessen the pain. A few x-rays later, I found out that it wasn't broken, just badly bruised and it would take months for the pain and bruising to heal. The pain in my soul and the hit to my self-esteem would probably take much longer though.
For days after the fall, I wouldn't hold anything in my hands as I walked down the stairs. I wouldn't wear socks in the house. I walked extremely slowly, holding onto the railing. I walked down the stairs repeating to myself over and over how clumsy I am. A few weeks later, I remember saying to myself that I was such a klutz when I slipped again. Thankfully, I was holding onto the railing and was able to catch myself.
The Turning Point
Then I had a thought. Over my 40+ years, I had let those names define me. I had used them to describe myself to other people. I might as well have said, "Hi, my name is Britt and I am a clumsy panda!" when introducing myself. Being clumsy had become my identity. Then I realized that being clumsy wasn't the problem. Being a victim to that identity was my problem. This story I told myself was dictating my thoughts and actions. I would never have any control or power over that description of myself as long as I was a victim to it.
I thought through all the times I had fallen down the stairs. What did they all have in common? In every single instance, I had been in a hurry. I was in a hurry to meet the Uber driver that night. Other times, I had been in a hurry to respond to my husband who was calling me from downstairs or in a hurry to get the food out of the oven as the timer was going off. The common theme was that the urgency of the moment took control over the basic fundamentals and mechanics of walking.
Taking Back Control
My next question was, "What can I control?" I can hold onto the hand rail. I can make sure that the floors are clean and not slippery. But most importantly I can SLOW DOWN! Nothing is that urgent. The Uber driver can wait. My husband can wait. The food can wait. I am not clumsy. That isn't my identity. It was only a story that I have told myself over and over since I was a kid. I felt like I couldn't control the identity of being clumsy, but I can control being in a hurry.
Rewriting the Narrative
Rewriting the narrative that I'm just a clumsy idiot didn't happen overnight, or even over the next month. As my arm healed slowly, so did my belief about myself. When I felt the urgency to respond quickly, I intentionally took deep breaths and told myself, "Slow down. There is no need to hurry." When my narrative changed, my belief about myself changed, and then my habits changed.
I am happy to report that my stair walking abilities have dramatically improved! I believe now that I am not clumsy and there is no reason to be in a hurry. My kids and I are even throwing around names of a new animal to relate to as I let go of the clumsy panda identity. The quokka is in first place given its smile and lack of urgency. I will happily take on the nature of the quokka over the clumsiness of the panda!
Your Turn
Consider scheduling a session with me if you want to explore the labels you live by and rewrite the stories that have kept you stuck for decades. It's time!
