The Worst and The Best
One week after the traumatic memories of my abusive college relationship resurfaced, my husband and I went on a camping trip to celebrate my 26th birthday. I love the outdoors and I love camping, but he did not. And I knew the occasion of my birthday was the only way to get him to join me.
Looking back, I think I hoped that inviting him to do something I loved so much would help us connect. He didn’t have to fall in love with the outdoors, but maybe he could grow to understand why I loved it. I realize now that I just wanted to be seen and understood.
Upon arrival, we set up camp. And because the forecast reported blue skies, I skipped adding the rain fly to the tent so we could look up at the stars as we slept. Everything seemed to be going according to plan when we set out on a short hike.
Until… a quarter mile in big, fat, globs of rain started pelting us and my mind immediately went to all of the gear that was laying unprotected. Sleeping bags, packs, socks, and jackets…. all of it was about to be soaked!
Freeze frame this moment, and let’s take an inventory of my emotional state at this time. I was newly haunted by the horrific abuse that I suffered years prior. I had no idea how to process the fact that I had amnesia for five years and was even questioning my sanity. A chasm of disconnect laid between my husband and I as I wasn’t receiving any extra support or care from him during this very scary time in my life. It is safe to say that mentally and emotionally, I was very unwell.
There I was, frozen in my tracks, juicy globs of rain soaking the top of my head. Being that control was (and is) one of my favorite ways to cope with discomfort when I’m not at my best, I was unable to accept that I was powerless to the weather. I turned on my heels and took off back to camp. I was running full speed to save our gear from the rain (a hilariously futile mission) I was in an all-out sprint to get back to camp and *SNAP!
My ankle rolled and I felt the reverberation of the “snap” run all the way up to my knee. I tried to shake it off and keep running but a shock of pain shot through me like a hot jolt. I screamed in agony and hit the ground. I had broken my foot. I was desperately trying to hoist myself to my feet when my husband caught up to me.
Covered in mud, crying in pain and anger, I had no control. Our gear was soaked. My foot was broken. My birthday was ruined. My husband awkwardly helped me hobble my way back to camp, grab our gear, and get to a clinic.
I spent the next six weeks recovering the broken bone - unable to move, unable to exercise, unable to do nearly anything for myself. Stuck. I was stripped of my default coping mechanisms while trying to survive the terror of the traumatic memories haunting me. It threw me into a rage filled depression. The forced stillness brought me to my knees.
And this, my friends, is where I believe the messy and beautiful journey of Reclaiming Lacy began. This is where I cut the bullshit, started therapy, and stopped trying to be the “perfect Christian woman.” Also, being trapped on that damn couch is where I began to appreciate how deeply important our living spaces are for our mental health.
It wasn’t pretty. In fact, it was one of the messiest seasons of my life. But looking back, I can now see it as one of the most important. Being physically, spiritually, and emotionally broken for those months was horrible. But I had to break down (literally and figuratively) in order to rebuild myself with a stronger foundation. There was no quick fix. It took years to build the foundation that I stand on today. But, it was worth it. That broken foot was one of the worst and best things that ever happened to me.