Let me ask you:

Have you ever had something show up in your life out of nowhere and there you are, right in the middle of it, scared to death and no clue what to do?

That was me last week.

An out-of-the-blue incident left me terribly shaken and tearful. My inner world was already in a precarious state for other reasons that impacted my life, health and circumstances in general. It was about to take a turn for the worse.

As the situation was unfolding, there were several points at which I wanted to turn back but I didn’t. I had to press on; I was trying to do the right thing for myself — until I was caught offguard in one particular moment. In an instant, I was immersed in fear and panic.

It all started when I wanted to do a little errand for myself. These have been impossible for me over the past 3–4 months, as I’m still dealing with this not-fully-functional leg 15 months after my injury. After many months being trapped in my home, last autumn I had just begun to manage an occasional hobble across the street to a shop. But then — relapses of pain kept me at home again, closely followed by miserable weather.

We’ve had temps in the -40s (C and F) with -50s wind chills, and tons of snow. It’s icy out there, treacherous even for those who are steady on their feet and whose balance is good. That is SO not me. Yet!

And especially when the very cause of this vicious injury was a fall on the ice that tore muscle from bone and made a hell of a mess. My kneecap was in pieces and required surgical repair, along with reattaching the muscle. So I’ve been stuck indoors for months. Little errands were insurmountable obstacles.

But yay! Since last week, we’ve been having chinooks (that’s “shin-OOK” — like “look”) — incredibly strong, dry, warm winds that give us spring weather for a while. Temperatures rise dramatically (e.g. -40°F to +70°F in a matter of hours) and snow disappears.

So last week, a few days into this chinook period and fed up with being stuck in my home for so long, this little errand seemed a good opportunity to get out for a while. I thought, “Surely enough snow will have melted by now that it’ll be safe on the sidewalks!” I set myself a target to get to a shop 1 km away (about half a mile).

I could have gone to the shop across the street, but I’d been cooped up for so long!! I wanted to enjoy a little excursion. Plus I wanted to challenge myself. Somehow, I have to get past this fear of falling again. It’s more than just fear. It’s abject terror. Every time I remember lying on that sidewalk with a badly deformed knee, screaming for help and no one was coming, I feel adrenalin pour through my veins. Every time I allow myself a glimpse into the pain and awfulness that lay ahead, I feel sick. I can’t stand to remember.

Anyhoo … I had been struggling for days, feeling quite vulnerable and fragile because of a personal matter that had left me reeling. My head was pounding from a terribly emotional week with too many tears and too little sleep. I’d hardly eaten anything. I needed a major reset. Something to lift me from that awful place and help me restore balance in my inner world.

It was a lovely, sunny day under a bright, blue, clear Alberta winter sky. A bit of a “walk” on such a pretty day seemed a good idea. I put on my boots and coat, grabbed my cane, and off I hobbled!

As soon as I stepped outside, I realised this would be much more of a challenge than I’d anticipated. Sure, the sidewalks were fairly clear of snow, but they were also damp. Or they appeared to be damp. But did they look like that because of traces of melted snow? Or were those areas cleverly disguised thin sheets of black ice — like the ice that was under a bit of water the day I fell?

But it felt wonderful to be outside, to feel the warmth of the sun, to see the snow sparkling like millions of tiny diamonds. I wasn’t going to give up without giving it the ol’ college try!

I attempted to cross the road. Thick accumulations of snow and ice left a treacherous patch that stretched a few feet out from the sidewalk. Finding a safe place to cross was impossible. Finally, wearing the same boots I wore the day I’d fallen … I had to step out on that ice — and pray …

With my heart pounding in my ears, I made it to the other side where I found a similar patch between the road and the sidewalk. I stopped, taking a few deep breaths and waiting for my heart to settle, although there was no fooling this body. I was scared.

I glanced ahead. As far as I could see, the sidewalk appeared to be mostly clear of snow but it looked damp. Was it melted snow? Or was it black ice?

I trusted that I’d find ways across or around those scary patches and off I went. But it wasn’t long before I could see the sidewalks weren’t nearly as clear of ice as I’d thought. Anxiety rose in my chest. My mouth was dry. My heart pounded hard in my ears again. Anxiety quickly morphed into fear, I stopped. Inside myself, I heard, “Turn back. It’s not safe. Turn back!!”

I looked over my shoulder. I had only gone about 100 yards from the end of the driveway. I felt like a scared little kid, all alone and away from the safety of home for the first time. Tears stung my eyes but I drew in a deep breath and fought them back. I wasn’t gonna let my fear win. I told myself I could do this and carefully picked my way along the sidewalk again.

There was plenty of ice, reminding me that those “damp” patches might not be at all as innocent as they wanted me to believe. Despite the warmer weather, there was still way more snow than I’d expected. But I couldn’t have known; I’d been indoors for months.

It felt unsafe. I can’t even tell you how many times I wanted to turn back but I ignored that urge. The further I went, the greater the fear. I reached a point where I was afraid to turn back and afraid to go ahead. Tears welled up again and again. But with one deep breath after another, I kept beating the damned things off and began moving forward again.

Until I couldn’t.

Until I was faced with at least 100 yards of damp sidewalk with deep puddles and a huge potential for black ice under that water. Until I was faced with 2-foot mounds of snow on either side of that sidewalk that stretched for hundreds of yards in both directions.

I was almost at my destination; to my left was the car park. The only way to get there was to get over the mound of snow.

Well, snow is safer than ice, I thought. At least there’s something for boots to grip. I took a few steps up onto the mound, my cane suddenly disappearing into it and almost causing me to fall over. I was terrified. In an instant, my only bit of stability had vanished.

At the top of the mound, I tried to find the next safe place for my foot. But there wasn’t one. There was only a slippery slope and a lot of thick ice as it merged onto the car park. It was the same behind me as the packed snow became ice as it met the sidewalk. I was trapped.

And we’re only talking about 2 feet of snow here, folks. Sure, it went all the way up and down the sidewalk so there was no way for me to avoid it. But it’s not like I was climbing bloody Everest. Or even a decent snowbank like we used to have when I was a kid on the Saskatchewan prairies. We’re talking about 2 feet. That’s 60 cm for you younguns who only know metric.

But heck. I’d slipped on hidden ice on a completely flat sidewalk bare of snow and trashed my leg and my life for a good long while. That 2-foot-high mound of snow might as well have been Everest.

I stood there, staring at the area surrounding my feet. There was nothing but slippery packed snow and ice everywhere I could put a foot. With my balance issues and a suddenly-useless cane, I would only be able to take the tiniest steps, but they would all be on dangerous surfaces. If I were completely well and had two fully functioning legs, I could have taken one large step and been on safer ground.

But I don’t have two fully functioning legs. And I had nothing to hold onto so I could steady myself. It was not safe for me to take a single step.

Absolutely paralysed by fear, I could not move.

Already feeling beaten and bruised by my emotional week, and without much food or sleep for days, I had no reserves. I was utterly depleted and stood there, panic rising in my chest, every muscle in my body taut, every nerve on fire. I was terrified to make even the slightest movement in case I lost my balance and fell.

WhatamIgonnadowhatamIgonnadowhatamIgonnado????

My head was spinning. A wave of dizziness threatened to send me tumbling. As I stood frozen in fear and silently pleading for help, a soft voice came out of nowhere.

“Do you need help?”

I dared glance to my right and there was a woman, obviously a good deal older than I am (and I’m no spring chicken). With short, white hair and plenty of wrinkles, her blue eyes had that faded look that comes with considerable age, yet they were bright and kind.

As I began to explain my plight, she climbed over the mound like a goat (okay, like an uninjured person, but in that moment I felt like it required the skills of a mountain goat). Extending an elbow, she offered, “Here, take my arm!”

I did as I was told and the tears began to flow. Carefully, she guided each of my steps while providing the stability I needed to get off that little Everest Hell and back to safety.

I’m weepy again remembering how that one simple question, that little act of kindness saved me from an utterly terrifying experience. I don’t know what I would have done if she hadn’t come along — or rather, come along and offered to help. It had simply not been safe for me to take a step without even the minimal support of my cane. I had been unable to move without the substantial risk of further injury. And as unsteady as I am on my feet, I could have simply lost my balance and fallen without even taking a step.

I’d like to say I was brave enough to walk home. But as I was already in rough shape after an emotional week, this experience finished me. I was only too happy to get in and out of the shop, and summon an Uber driver (and wept with relief when I was safely back in my cosy home).

I’d pushed myself far enough that day. Actually, it was too far. All the way along that journey, that Little Voice — my inner wisdom — was telling me it was too soon. Go back, go back, go back. I thought it was just my fear talking, but it was my Higher Self. If I’m not able to navigate my own way off a 2-foot mound of snow without risking yet another serious injury, I have no business being outside by myself in these conditions.

This wasn’t about my inner strength or my ability to problem-solve or figure it out, or find a solution. This wasn’t about being resilient, or proving something to myself or sticking to my plan because I said I would. This was purely and simply about being sensible. About taking the best care of myself, honouring my body, my experience, the trauma I’ve already endured throughout my life and with this injury, and from which I have not yet recovered. Hence, the diagnosis of Complex PTSD a while ago.

I should have turned back at one of those many earlier points along the way. In fact, I shouldn’t have gone out at all. I’m supposed to be taking care of myself, not forcing myself into situations that cause further emotional upset just because I used to be so much stronger and resilient — and younger — than I am right now.

Self-care, Liberty. Self. Care. Remember???

This whole experience echoed a painful decision I had to make recently. My scary snow day was an in-my-face metaphor for a situation that I didn’t want to see — tried not to see. I’ve had a lifetime of stress and pushing myself and needing to be “strong.” A lifetime of overcoming and being brave, and “pushing through,” the consequences be damned! And I’m still paying the hefty price it cost over all those years.

No more frightening mounds of snow with unexpected dangers. No more putting myself in positions where my support might disappear into that snowbank. No more unstable ground beneath my feet. No more situations that knock me off balance.

Fear, instability and “off balance” have been the story of my life since I came out of the chute. It is time now to rest. To be still. To find and maintain balance. Peace. Calm. I must take care of myself, first and foremost. Otherwise, the rest of my life — my health — everything — will suffer for it. I know, because I’ve lived there for decades.

I’m not doing it anymore.

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