I went out running with our dog, Jax. I planned to run about four blocks. I don’t really run and certainly not long distances, but I was trying something new and running for pure fun and the joy of it. Silly running to feel my body and release energy.
We ran out the door and into the front yard when Jax spotted a yellow dog across the street. I thought we could ignore the dog and keep running without Jax needing to run toward the dog and bark to protect me. I was wrong. I also thought that running faster would get us out of the situation faster. Again, I was wrong.
As I took off at full speed to sprint down the sidewalk, Jax crossed in front of me to run across the street to the other dog. He took all my momentum with him as I fell flat on the concrete and slid into the grass along the sidewalk. My knee, palm, and ego were scrapped up and badly bruised as I adamantly refused help from the yellow dog’s owner. I got up, shaken to my core, and turned around to run the same route home—all 400 feet of it.
While I was falling face first into the ground, I was in denial. “I’m a healer. Healers don’t get hurt. I’ll be fine. This can’t happen to me.”
Reflecting on that thought is amusing to me. It’s like a doctor saying, “I’m not hurt, I’m a doctor.” Just because I know how energy works and how to avoid a lot of painful situations, doesn’t mean I will. I’m not perfect. I’m human. And that’s okay. Not only is it okay, but it’s critical to being a great healer. What a great lesson in having compassion for oneself!
Running back to my house, I was shaking and pumped full of adrenaline. Once inside, I yelled for my husband to help me assess the damage as I ran a bath. I peeled the clothing off my body to see how badly I’d been hurt and was pleasantly surprised to see relatively minor scrapes and bruises.
From the comfort of my bath, I shook, cried, and struggled to get my breathing under control. I haven’t fallen like that in many years and can’t remember the last time I really wiped out. Up came all sorts of fears and beliefs that were ready to be unended and overturned. It was that moment that I was grateful to be a healer. Not just for the physical pain I was in, but to process the mental trauma of the fall and the deeper lessons and meanings it was giving me. I often explain these as the gems that come from the piles of crap we sift through disguised as life experiences.
Underlying the fall was a fear of being hurt. And the shame of being a hurt healer. The belief that healers shouldn’t get hurt. I noticed an elitism in my subconscious. A story that I don’t need help because I’m a powerful being who can get through this on my own. By understanding how the human mind and body work, I can help heal many ailments and work through challenges, but that doesn’t mean I won’t have my own ailments and challenges. And while I might feel like I’m in on some big secret way of healing faster and preventing dis-ease, that doesn’t mean I’m immune to everything. My ego wants the attention and to feel special as a really powerful healer. But I’m no different than a person experiencing homelessness on a journey with addiction. They are different paths in the same world. We’re both humans on epic journeys. What right do I have to judge him? What benefit does it serve? Those are his life choices and these are mine. Is my life easier in comparison? It’s all relative. I don’t have all of the answers. I’m human, and you are too.
I was embarrassed that I fell, that my dog was not better trained, that I pushed through the situation instead of slowing down and using the treats in my pocket to get the situation under control, that I didn’t follow the plan to prevent this from happening.
On one hand, I could thank my dog for sparking my fall and offering me this beautiful healing journey. But I’d have to forgive him first. He was a dog, not a malicious creature out to harm me. And yet, that forgiveness felt raw and out of reach. I didn’t want to go running with him anymore. Interestingly, that brought up two areas of healing for me – efficiency and safety.
Efficiency came up because running together was an efficient practice. The dog and I both benefited from the exercise and release of energy, it was faster than a walk, and we’d benefit from being in nature with fresh air with running as a form of meditation helping us both. That checked off a lot of boxes on my to-do list each day.
Then there was the safety factor. As a woman, I’ve been told it’s not safe to go out alone in the dark or at dawn so as not to be assaulted. Jax acted as my bodyguard so I could safely go outside during those otherwise dangerous times.
So what if I didn’t need to take Jax with me on a run? What if I could be safe running without a dog? What if I could just be safe? What if I was safe no matter what?
There was a newfound freedom in that thought and that reality. There was additional freedom in having permission to not always be efficient. What if I didn’t check off six boxes on my list by running with my dog? If this was meant to be a silly running fun time, taking the dog and accomplishing all those things wasn’t really the point.
What if I was safer running alone because the dog wouldn’t trip me, I wouldn’t have to constantly scan the area for other dogs, and I could focus on my running form or meditation?
I found myself on autopilot powering through moments to get to the finish line, the moment when I could check the box and say a task was completed. There’s a saying that the journey matters more than the destination, but what if they could both be amazing?
Falling taught me so many lessons as I pondered my actions, my tendency to power through situations instead of being an observer and considering a slower pace or gentler path.
As I realized that healers are also humans, and humans fall, make mistakes, learn from them and … HEAL – it dawned on me that to be a great healer, I need to be able to HEAL MYSELF too. It was in healing myself that I gained understanding of others’ pain and suffering, their experiences and struggles. I became more compassionate, less judgmental, and took myself to an even more powerful level of healing abilities. Just like any other profession, when we made a mistake, we learned how to do things differently for a more desirable result.
My kids wanted to be sure I was alright and offered me advice on how to prevent falling again. I realized what I really wanted was for someone to give me a hug and say, “It’s okay. You’re human. We all fall down. Take the time you need to heal yourself. You’re going to be fine.”
Seeing that perspective allowed me space to be that voice of compassion for myself better than ever before, and for my clients going forward. Being a great healer didn’t mean being perfect or godly. It meant being human and knowing first-hand how to move through pain, suffering, and trauma because you’ve been through it and can guide others through their own experiences.
One of my favorite quotes is from the movie Batman Begins, when a young boy named Bruce Wayne falls into a dry well and his father Thomas says, “And why do we fall, Bruce? So we can learn to pick ourselves up.”
My wish is that you have the courage to fall, the strength to pick yourself up, and the humility to ask for the support on this imperfect human journey.
Let the healing, growth, gratitude, and love continue!