#127. Well, That Sucked

It has been a rough month.

Health issues. A medical procedure. Recovery that took considerably longer than I thought it should. A body and brain operating according to their own timetable rather than mine.

Then, just as I was beginning to feel the ground firming beneath my feet, I stepped straight into a sinkhole.

Fraud. Money stolen. More than $30,000 in attempted transactions. Days spent securing accounts, scrubbing computers, changing passwords, freezing credit, and wondering whether the people calling to “help” were actually helping.

Seriously? One more thing?

Maybe you know that feeling.

Maybe your mother’s dementia arrived just as work became unbearable. A divorce was followed by the furnace dying. A frightening diagnosis landed while an adult child was already in crisis. You retired and discovered the money isn’t going to stretch quite as far as you thought.

Maybe there was no dramatic collapse at all. You’ve been caring for a spouse. Living with financial uncertainty. Managing chronic illness. Carrying grief that stubbornly refuses to follow anyone’s timetable. Trying to repair a relationship with someone you love.

Sometimes the ground collapses suddenly. Sometimes it erodes beneath us one clod at a time.

We don’t need to search for silver linings to make us feel better when the bottom drops out. Everything does not have to happen for a reason. We don’t have to be grateful for adversity. And please don’t tell the woman sitting at the bottom of a sinkhole that she’s “got this.”

She may emphatically does not got this. At least not in the moment.

What do we do when modern life suddenly gives way beneath our feet?

First, stabilize. Breathe. Look around. What is actually happening? What needs immediate attention? What can wait? What resources do you have? Who knows something you don’t?

Next, find a handhold. Not the entire route out. Just the next place to put your hand.

Sometimes the next handhold is information. Sometimes it’s sleep. A doctor. A lawyer. A financial advisor. A friend. A meal. A good cry. Someone saying, “Give me that. I’ll handle this piece.”

Then another handhold. And another.

You may need to rest on a ledge for a while. You may slide backward. You may swear. I know I did. Eventually, though, you realize you’re no longer where you started.

Resilience isn’t the heroic act we sometimes make it out to be. It might be a sequence of small acts of agency performed while tired, frightened, grieving, hurting, disgusted or simply fed up.

And while we’re climbing, there’s something else we can put down. Shame.

Shame that we didn’t see it coming. That we couldn’t cope better. That we needed help. That the smart, capable woman we know ourselves to be somehow ended up down here.

Falling into a sinkhole isn’t a character flaw. And neither is being tired while climbing out.

We can learn without shaming ourselves. Take responsibility without punishing ourselves. Accept help without diminishing ourselves.

When we finally haul ourselves over the edge, scraped up, filthy, and exhausted, we can look back and decide what—if anything—we want to carry forward. A lesson. A little more wisdom. Maybe even some hard-earned strength.

Sometimes it is enough to look back at the hole and say: Well. That sucked.

Then get up. Carry on. Head high.