Recovery Isn’t Just Physical

Ten days ago, I had a cycling accident in Europe that landed me in the ER.

I injured my right arm and leg, and the bruising on my leg stretches from above my knee all the way to my foot. I’m very grateful that nothing is broken.

As I’ve been managing the pain and physical injuries, I’ve also needed to pay attention to my mental health.

I’ve been listening carefully to my self-talk.

What do I actually know?

What am I assuming?

Am I responding to facts, or creating stories about what might happen?

I’ve also deliberately looked for what I can be thankful for.

Still, over the long weekend, I could feel my mental health slipping.

Apart from traveling home and going to doctors’ appointments, I’ve spent most of the past ten days in bed or on the sofa. I can slowly move around the house, but I can’t go for a walk.

Walking and being outside are two things I know help my mental health.

So I started thinking: If I can’t walk, what can I do?

I decided it was time to get a wheelchair.

Under different circumstances, the thought of needing a wheelchair might have felt scary or deeply undesirable. Instead, it became a source of joy.

My husband could take me for a walk.

I could get outside. Feel the air. See something other than the inside of my house. Give my mind something it needed, even if my body couldn’t do it in the usual way.

We often think about listening to our bodies when we’re injured or sick. But our minds are sending us information too.

My body has needed rest, medical care, patience, and time.

My mind has needed fresh air, perspective, gratitude, connection, and a reminder not to turn uncertainty into frightening stories about the future.

As I ease back into work this week, I’m continuing to ask myself:

What do my body and my mind need to recover well from this?

It’s a question worth asking not only when we’re physically injured.

During difficult periods, we can become so focused on getting through them that we stop noticing what is happening inside us. We push through exhaustion. We let our thoughts run unchecked. Or we recognize what would help but dismiss it because we can’t do it the way we normally would.

Sometimes we can’t fix what’s difficult. But we can pay attention to what we need and look for the choices that are available to us.

As I write this, I’m looking forward to my husband taking me for a walk this afternoon.

I won’t be walking.

But I’ll be outside.

And right now, that’s what I can do, and exactly what I need.