Letting Go

There is a big difference between giving up and letting go. Giving up means selling yourself short. It means allowing fear and struggle toilet your opportunities and keep you stuck. Letting go means freeing yourself from something that is no longer serving you. Giving up reduces your life. Letting go expands it. giving up is imprisoning. Letting of is liberation. Giving up is self-defeat. Letting go is self-care.
So the next time you make the decision to release something or someone that is stifling your happiness and growth, and a person has the audacity to accuse you of giving up or being weak, remind yourself of the difference. Remind yourself that you don't need anyone's permission or approval to life your life in the way that feels right. No one has the authority to tell you who to be or how to live. No one gets to decide what your life should look like or who should be a part of it. No one, but you."   -Danielle Koepke- 

There really is a big difference between giving up and letting go. I'm not giving up, but I'm learning to let go of my life before, to let go of running, and to move forward. I'm not giving up on running I'm just refocusing my goals and being realistic, while still pushing myself. I remember my first reevaluation back at the Hospital six months after my accident. While inpatient, I had a very rigorous schedule, I was told every hour of the day where to be and what to be doing. And every week on my schedule I had an appointment with Dr. Lester Butt. Yes that's his real name, and you know what, he's even funnier than his name.

Dr. Lester Butt & I back at my reevaluation

I remember going to see him in during my reevaluation and he suggested that I say goodbye to running and find some way to find closure in that aspect of my life. I had expressed to him how much I missed it, and just how hard it was to be living without running. That was one of the most difficult aspects in my recovery at that time; I missed running terribly. Actually, terribly doesn't even begin to describe how much I missed it. And yet Les was suggesting that I find a way to say goodbye. I hated the idea of saying goodbye to running because that seemed to mean that I was giving up hope that I would ever run again. And as time has gone on, I've realized I may never run again ... in this life. But that doesn't mean I will never ever run again. As painful as it's been, I've let go of running and said goodbye, for now. Now I'll be honest, the first thing I'm going to do when I get to Heaven is run - and I can't wait. It makes me so excited to think about that sound my feet will make. Will there be gravel there? There has to be because one of the most beautiful sounds to my ears is the sound of my running shoes pounding against the gravel!

Some may have noticed in the past year or so my focus has shifted. Early on after my accident my focus was on walking and running again. As time has gone on, I've been forced to face the reality of my accident. I've plateaued significantly, and even gotten worse in some areas. It's difficult to explain all the technicalities and right now I won't dive into them, but I've learned there is a difference between giving up and letting go.

People always say, "never stop trying", "never give up", "keeping pushing yourself you'll walk one day" - they try to be all inspirational. And maybe what they say is true. But it's like during a cross-country race when you hear someone cheer "you're almost there" and then you find out you still have a mile to go. To everyone "almost there" means something different, but when you feel like you're losing steam or losing hope and someone says you're almost there you're thinking oh around the corner or a 1/4 mile - it can be frustrating and disappointing. People may think oh she's already walking with arm crutches, she's almost there. But I've been walking with arm crutches for years now - that's weird to say years, but yes years now. The finish line isn't right around the corner, and my arm crutches aren't going anywhere anytime soon. There is still much more that needs to come together to be running let alone walking without crutches.

Honestly, I'm all about not quitting, finishing what you've started, working hard, but I think those phrases of "never give up" are over used. I'm not quitting or giving up. But I've learned that there is a point where it isn't giving up - it's letting go. Letting go of this idea of a perfect body or my body before my accident, letting go of running, because it's just too painful and to heavy to carry. But I want to make it clear that I am not giving up, I've just decided to place my energies elsewhere. Three years of physical therapy is a long time and it takes a toll on you not only physically, but mentally and emotionally. This injury is just as much mental as it is physical. And I've found that it's been more beneficial for my overall health to take a break from physical therapy and do other things with my time, such as skiing and enjoying the outdoors again, rather than in a therapy gym. I'm not slowing down, I'm not stopping, but I want others to understand and respect why I've chosen to let go.

I don't have pictures of my burnt hand but I have this one.
Just me showing off my lovely hand brace for my burned hand. 

The phrase "letting go" can be particularly painful for me, since that was a contributing factor to my accident. I don't remember consciously "letting go" of the rope,  but my hand was so severely burnt that it was just too painful to hold on.  At the time of my accident, laying at the bottom of the cliff, my hand was one of the greatest sources of pain. I had held on to the rope for so long that it had left a third-degree burn on my right hand. As I look down at my hand now it's amazing to think that it ever was burnt down to my tendons. There is a little scar tissue, but there is no more pain.

I think sometimes we hold on to ropes, or in another sense, we hold on to people, places, times in our lives etc. These people or things may be burning or hurting us, and it would be best for us to let go. But it's human nature to resist change, we fight it and try to hold on to the rope that is burning us. It's not until we let go of that rope that we can begin to heal. Now I'm not saying that the pain will go away or heal the moment you let go of the painful rope - my hand sure took awhile to heal. It even took some bracing and magic cream - I think call silvadine or something -  to help with the healing process. But with time the pain eased and I could slowly start using my hand again, as the burn healed. Initially, when you let go, it may hurt like hell. I know my hand did, but with time and sometimes some extra help, it will heal and all you will be left with is a scar and the memory. Although it's a memory of pain, it's a good memory. It reminds me how far I've come and what I've gone through.

Our society and culture has placed these negative stigmas and weak feelings with many topics. A few of those topics being grief, sadness and depression. "Letting go" seems to have that same negative connotation that is associated with weakness, but once again that is not the case.  Letting go is not weakness. When you give up, perhaps that is displaying weakness, but "letting go" is powerful. Letting go may be one of the bravest things you can do in your life.

Letting go of unrealistic expectations for yourself, letting go of your past, letting go of toxic relationships, letting go of a stage in your life that has passed, a person or place, the list could go on and on.

I love what C.S. Lewis says on the topic of letting go and the role it plays in moving forward:

Now I'm so grateful for every inch of movement and all the function I do have, but what so many don't see is how I'm stuck in the middle. No matter how hard I try, I'm not high-functioning enough to keep up with friends and family who are able-bodied. But I'm also too high-functioning to sit in my wheelchair all the time. While I'm grateful for every ounce of function and movement I have, it's exhausting and physically painful. Constantly fighting between walking and the wheelchair is truly exhausting. In the wheelchair I feel trapped and cooped up, but in my arm crutches I feel slow and behind the crowd, unable to do or carry much for myself and truly disabled.

Me and my hilariously obnoxious best friend & sister.

I'm not writing this for sympathy or empathy, I just want this perspective to be out there. I don't think it's talked about in the medical field much. I  want others to recognize that even though I am so extremely blessed and that I can walk with arm crutches - it's not all sunshine and roses - I'm not going to wake up one day and suddenly get rid of my wheelchair. People tell me how blessed or how lucky I am all the time to be walking, and I agree. I wouldn't want anything less and I truly appreciate every single muscle that moves - every. single. muscle. But since I can walk some with arm crutches, there is this added pressure to keep going because I'm so close to the finish line. What many don't realize is that this is a marathon, and a painful one at that. Walking is painful for me a much as I love it, the aching and throbbing makes it almost unbearable at times. In this earthly race I don't just have a 1/4 mile left to go in a 5k. I've got 22 of the 26.2 miles left, remember how slow my mile pace is? It's like almost an hour - haha.

During my inpatient stay, and as I continued to rehab after, my sister would love to stand in front of me while walking and hold a chapstick or food in her hand and taunting me to "come and get it, I know you want it, come and get it". And of course the location she was standing was directly the way I needed to walk. All I wanted to do is punch her for being so hilariously obnoxious. In a way, being able to stand and walk with assistive devices is like someone holding a giant piece of chocolate cake right in front of me, but just barely out of reach. Yes I can see it, I can imagine it, but I can't reach it, I can't actually obtain it. That is how the task of walking is, I can stand and take small steps, but it's just out of my grasp and not quite obtainable.  Although I don't feel like I fit into either world of wheelchairs or walking, I'm learning to take one step at a time and continue to progress, but I'm also learning the art of letting go.

To wrap up this post I wanted to include a few of my favorite quotes by Jeffery R. Holland about quitting, or should I say not quitting:

"No one has failed who keeps trying and keeps praying."

This time I've also got a song that actually goes along with my post about "Letting Go" by one of my favorite artists, Francesca Battistelli. Just be grateful I didn't put a rendition of Frozen's "Let if Go". Happy Sunday homies!