I fell in the gym today… twice? Maybe three times. It didn’t matter to me. Big awkward collapses with various noises and grunting and absolutely zero care about who was watching or judging. I smiled, wiped off my sweat, and got back on the machine to try again until burnout, which means literally falling out of the isolated squat machine at the end. No worries, I was supervised.
I can’t be mad or feel any sort of shame or embarrassment at all! All I have to do is remember where I came from to feel so proud to have made it this far. Yep, I fell. Again. And I’ll likely fall again! Oh well! I was giving it my all to the brink and beyond. It’s nothing to fear or be ashamed of. It’s a symptom of trying. Falling is part of the journey.
I used to be terrified of falling in the gym, especially at first when I was just beginning my journey to being able to walk and run again following a disabling Multiple Sclerosis episode that knocked out my left side from the neck down. Balance was a serious issue, along with coordination and random bouts of dizziness.
It was a battle against my brain/body disconnection and chronic exhaustion from my disease. I cried often, and especially in the gym. I remember sobbing through my first yoga class following the hospital because I couldn’t even stand still in mountain pose with both feet planted on the floor without tipping over.
It wasn’t just sniffling and tearing… it was ugly crying to release all that anger, pain, frustration, and embarrassment. I was mad at my disease. I was mad at myself for not preventing my situation even though I thought I had been doing all the right things by being a high raw (yet unhealthy) vegan. I was so embarrassed and felt humiliated. I couldn’t even watch myself in the mirror.
I knew I had to keep trying to move in order to heal my brain damage and/or rewire around the old damage, however that actually worked out. I’d do little exercises that exhausted me like focusing on my left side finger poking the same spot repeatedly or lifting an object or standing still without holding on or walking consciously without a limp.
I have to say, even looking back, I worked through all of this like a champ. I kept pushing and pushing through exhaustion until I willed myself to be able to do things again. I was not accepting disability at all, and I even refused to get a handicap sticker for my car.
As the diet helped my body heal herself, I supported this process in every other way that I could. I kept visualizing the life and body (my own) that I wanted, and I kept taking those conscious steps (yep, that was intentional) towards my goals. Honestly, I don’t know how I had such extreme tunnel vision to heal by any means necessary, but I am grateful for it.