We All Fall Down

Today I want to write about falling down.

I fell down ten days ago, struck with a sudden and severe case of vertigo that brought me to the floor, then kept me in bed, unable to lift my head.

When I was able to open my eyes, I scrolled through Facebook and watched a few videos. One was of a woman talking about giving herself permission to fall apart. Another was a Ted Talk about allowing girls to fail.

Hmmm. Was there a theme here? In my case, there was no “permission” or “allowing.” I was abruptly laid low in a way that felt frightening and unfair.

But we all fall down. And we don’t always get to choose how.

My book, The Buddha at my Table, begins with another time I fell down. It was the night my husband said, Can you come sit at the table? Then he read three things from a list in his hand—words that made me slide to the floor, shattered my world, and destroyed every assumption I’d ever made about love, friendship, and faithfulness.

On that night I stayed on the floor, feeling helpless, until, eventually, I got up.

I eventually got up this time too, thanks to plenty of love and support. I have two friends of 30+ years who live in different states; miraculously, one of them was with me during my divorce crisis and the other was with me during this illness.

That was one of the comforting thoughts I had over ten days of doing mostly nothing. I also noticed that I am often being challenged to have a deeper relationship with the present moment. My friend Danny shared a wonderful guided meditation from Dr. Janette Freeman, in which she says:

“There is nothing to do, nothing to change or fix, right here in this moment.”

Really? Considering how I felt, that was hard to believe.

Then there was this:

“I let go of my attachment to anything being different and I accept life as it is, right here and right now. The minute I do this, I feel peace.”

I know she’s right. I just can’t always do it.

What I can do is accept the care and concern from family and friends, and appreciate moments like the one when my daughter sat on the end of my bed and sang me this song, called You Will Be Found, from the musical Dear Evan Hansen:

Have you ever felt like nobody was there?
Have you ever felt forgotten in the middle of nowhere?
Have you ever felt like you could disappear?
Like you could fall, and no one would hear?

Well, let that lonely feeling wash away
Maybe there’s a reason to believe you’ll be okay
‘Cause when you don’t feel strong enough to stand
You can reach, reach out your hand

And oh, someone will come running
And I know, they’ll take you home

Even when the dark comes crashing through
When you need a friend to carry you
And when you’re broken on the ground
You will be found

The last line struck me; it had such a familiar sound. I realized it’s similar to the subtitle of my memoir: How I Found Peace in Betrayal and Divorce.

What does it mean to find peace? Or support, or connection? For me, it’s the practice of trusting that the present moment is safe and all is well.

It’s remembering all the ways I’m lifted up. And being grateful for every small step I’m able to take.

What inspires you to get up when you’ve fallen down? I’d love to hear….