Don’t Call Me a Widow  – Part 68–

Sitting at my Desk

Twelve days may not sound like much, but for me — twelve days after falling in my shower, four days in the hospital, and now home recuperating from broken ribs — it feels monumental. I’m almost 100% again, short of the bones that still need time to mend, but they are healing. What remains isn’t pain so much as discomfort, and I’m learning how to move with intention, adjusting my positions with care. Today, I can finally say I am truly on the mend.

This morning I took a long, hot shower to loosen the tightness in my neck and shoulders, a tension born from the limits I’ve had to place on my movements. I even walked out to the mailbox — a small act, but a meaningful one. My TENS unit has become a welcome distraction, and I’m doing my best not to use the word pain. Pain feels too absolute, too heavy, too final. What I’m experiencing is discomfort, and discomfort is something that shifts, softens, and eventually fades.

The day I fell, I had just read a message from a dear friend who had taken a bad fall himself. Thankfully, he escaped without broken bones, though he endured his own round of tests. It’s interesting — once you reach a certain age, the medical world can make assumptions before the results even come in. But a fall does not mean we are suddenly fragile or incapable of living fully. Most falls are simply accidents: unexpected, unplanned moments that catch us off guard. My friend walked away bruised and sore; I walked away bruised with broken ribs that are now healing. Neither of us is defined by what happened.

If you’ve been following my journey, you know I handled my accident independently. I called 911, followed the hospital’s protocol, and since returning home last week, I’ve been slowly reintroducing normal activities into my days. I’m moving at a gentle pace, honoring the process so I can recover fully.

Today’s milestone is a special one: I’m sitting in my office — my happy place — writing this blog.

My life coaching experience carried me through this ordeal. From the first jolt of discomfort, I chose mindfulness over panic. If you’ve known me for years, you may recognize this as a new version of me. In the past, I might have reacted with frustration or fear, which would have only intensified everything. I might have felt abandoned because I was alone. Instead, I reached out, and I carried Rich’s energy with me, just as I do every day. I showed up for myself, and I will continue to show up.

We all have the ability to be our best, and it is equally human not to be. We must give ourselves permission to feel the physical and emotional jabs that come with life’s unexpected turns. And we must find our support system — the person or people who show up when we ask. It may not be the spouse, partner, or family member we assumed it would be, but someone will show up. The key is that we must show up for ourselves first.

Each day I write this blog; I invite you to walk alongside me. Share your journey, follow mine, and together let’s build a community rooted in kindness — one that helps us live our lives fully.

Please join me at #yesican Coaching with Karen

Kh.yesican1@gmail.com