In Four to Seven Weeks

Seven weeks ago, I tore a ligament in my ankle. (I was dancing, of course.) Immediately after I hurt it, I waited for the pain to dissipate as it often does soon after a tug on the muscles. This time, the pain did not go away and my ankle started to swell. Usually, I can shake off the hurt and go about my business. This time, I required crutches. For two days. Then, I had to wear a brace. For three weeks. Even now, my ankle is still tender and many movements are limited. From the outside, I look fine and no one can tell my ankle is hurt. But I can tell. If I try to move it a certain way, it yells at me. If I push it too hard, it swells again. I pay attention to what kind of pain it is and decide if it's something I need to stretch out and work through, or if it's something I need to rest. While it is annoying to have a hurt ankle and not be able to do all the things in all the ways, I also don't expect it to suddenly get all better. Immediately after I injured it, I didn't try to keep dancing on the injury. I knew that if I did that, I would increase the damage. I knew I needed to take care of it carefully in all the right ways in order for it to heal as quickly and completely as possible. I also understood that it was a bad enough injury it would not heal overnight or even in a few days (though a piece of me hoped that was the case at first). Each day it does get a little better. Each week has shown quite a bit of progress, but I am realistic about my physical limitations and don't push myself farther than I can go. That would only put me backwards in my healing, and it wouldn't be worth it.

Four weeks ago, I was betrayed in a shocking way. My heart broke. A break is worse than a tear. I knew I would need some time to recover. I gave myself one day in bed, and a couple of days of reaching out to friends and family and crying on shoulders and feeling frustrated and angry and sad. Then I decided that was enough time. I didn't want to give it anymore time or energy than that because I am a happy, energetic, hopeful, optimistic person, and this would not take that from me. I pasted on my smile and went out into the world again and wanted to be happy so badly. But the fog was still there. I went to a dance and smiled and laughed and hugged my friends. The fog wouldn't leave. I went to the lake and tried to laugh and smile and visit and make new friends. The fog got thicker. I pushed through it and didn't want it and did all the things as if it didn't exist. But people could see. "You looked so sad. Are you okay?" they message me. Blast. Why do they have to see? If they see it, then I have to face it, because that means it is real. Why can't I just dance on the broken pieces and they go away? Because breaks are worse than tears and they take time.

I recognize the physical pain from my ankle and listen to what it has to say. I smother the pain from my heart and deny its expression because I don't want it to be there even more than I don't want a hurt ankle. It feels like I am giving the one who betrayed me too much thought and energy and I don't want him to take anymore from me than he already has. But if I don't acknowledge the pain, it doesn't heal. If I don't face the heartbreak, it festers and grows. I thought I had done enough, given enough time, but the fog lets me know. The heart lets me know. The hurt lets me know. It gives me the signs. I need more time. If I listen to and follow the signs and stay with the safe people and in the safe places, I will completely heal in a healthy way...after some time.