Learning How to Walk
Letter from the Editor as published in the December 2021 issue
During a Thanksgiving mishap, I severely sprained my ankle and spent a full month off my feet. I fluctuated between grief and anger and self-pity; way too much Netflix and not enough productivity.
My first steps following the accident were timid and ugly. After a CT scan showed I had no broken bones, the doctor cut off my cast and held my hands as he guided me in a slow circle around a tiny room. I told him I forgot how my legs were supposed to work. I couldn’t put together the process of taking a step: do I lead with a toe or do I set down my heel first? I’d never thought about it before, and thinking about it in that moment felt painful and embarrassing.
It’s true when people say you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone and it’s so unfortunate that it often takes loss to remind us what we take for granted.
Forty days after the injury, it began to rain as I made my way from the car to the grocery store. My hurried walk turned into a sprint and my youngest son and daughter came barrelling after me, laughing because I am not the kind of woman who runs. In that moment I was struck by the beauty of the simple act of moving my body, and if I hadn’t been giggling along with my children, I might have wept with relief.
How many times during that month of immobility did I lament my lack of independence? How often did I psych myself up or take long deep breaths just to be able to move myself from the couch to my bed? A woman in her forties should not have to slide down the stairs on her bottom like a toddler. I even announced to my family over dinner one night that I would take on another two years of quarantine if it meant I could earn back my ability to walk. Of course, upon reflection, I realize how dramatic I was being and that one month, though hard, is not worth two years. We all lost time over Covid one way or another, but this was different. I felt like I had lost myself.
When you’re in the midst of hardship, it’s almost impossible to see beyond your own pain.
The encouragement of the on-call doctor pulled me out. “You know how to do this. Trust yourself. Trust your body.” And he was right. I did know. I gave in to the healing process, accepted the missed deadlines and made promises for new ones. The world kept turning, I got a little stronger every day, and I came out the other side with a little more grace and a little less haste.
What about you? Are you feeling lame? Has something stunted your drive? Are you planted on the couch, wanting to move forward, but you just… can’t? Losing momentum is heartbreaking. During a time it was imperative that I met goals, my autonomy was stripped from me and I was cast loose—damned to wander the plane of missed deadlines and three day hair. My best self was lounging in the memory of when I was whole and I didn’t know how to force progress in my brokenness until a few simple words snapped me out of it: you know how to do this.
Experiencing ‘lameness’ has sharpened me for my next steps. It has taught me to breathe, to be flexible, to accept the things I cannot change. It reminded me that asking for help is okay and that strength can be found by embracing vulnerability. That’s a lesson I plan to carry forward and one I hope might help you if you feel stuck.
Because you know how to do this. It’s been within you all along.
Alanna Rusnak
Editor in Chief, Blank Spaces
