I fixed my bathroom sink this weekend. It's been slowly building up a clogging mechanism for the past couple of months. Typically I just try to use low water pressure with it and scrub the dried up toothpaste after the water finally drains. I hate it and simultaneously pretend it's fine.
Until this weekend. When I fixed it. I bent a wire hanger, mimicked a plumbing-esq movement for a while, put my pink rubber gloves on, and gave it my all. Eventually, the water got suckled down the drain, and everything seemed right again. I fixed my sink. It was a bigger victory than it might sound like.
I smiled to myself once the water swirled down and the porcelain showed through instead of accumulating the normal gunk and soap bubbles. I've never fixed a sink before. Honestly, I've never even tried. I call my dad when something goes terribly wrong. My best friend's fiance is my go-to "tools" guy. I leave things broken. Somebody else takes care of it.
But who? I looked at the sink over the weekend, recognizing I would rather wash my hands in my downstairs kitchen than fill it up. I was avoiding it altogether rather than dealing with its shortcomings. Who was going to fix this? It's just me. Something breaks. And it's just me. I watched the bubbles simmer and pop and I thought...
How did I get here?
When did I stop taking responsibility for getting certain things done? When did I begin relying on other people's knowledge to take care of things for me? When did I give up?
Here I am - shuffling out advice for torn ACLs and the mental blocks for a lengthy injury recovery, yet I'm stagnant in my abilities and efforts. It's true. I work hard to improve my knee because I'm good at it. I'm good at having a torn ACL and I'm good at sports and physical activity that motivate me to have a successful recovery.
I "can't" fix a sink. I "can't" change a spare tire. I "can't" properly use a drill (or any electric tool). They just aren't my thing. I can YouTube a music video, but I have never looked up a video for leveling a shelf. I just put it up crookedly. Because that's more than not putting it up. What if I said that I "can't" recover from a torn ACL? I'd kick myself. I'd learn how to. I'd rise to the occasion. I would challenge myself.
So why haven't I? How did I get here? To this point of being spoiled with others' kind, helping hands in order to mask my laziness and fear of failure. That's what this is right? Being scared to do something on my own.
That's crap. I don't want that for myself.
Until this weekend. When I fixed it. I bent a wire hanger, mimicked a plumbing-esq movement for a while, put my pink rubber gloves on, and gave it my all. Eventually, the water got suckled down the drain, and everything seemed right again. I fixed my sink. It was a bigger victory than it might sound like.
I smiled to myself once the water swirled down and the porcelain showed through instead of accumulating the normal gunk and soap bubbles. I've never fixed a sink before. Honestly, I've never even tried. I call my dad when something goes terribly wrong. My best friend's fiance is my go-to "tools" guy. I leave things broken. Somebody else takes care of it.
But who? I looked at the sink over the weekend, recognizing I would rather wash my hands in my downstairs kitchen than fill it up. I was avoiding it altogether rather than dealing with its shortcomings. Who was going to fix this? It's just me. Something breaks. And it's just me. I watched the bubbles simmer and pop and I thought...
How did I get here?
When did I stop taking responsibility for getting certain things done? When did I begin relying on other people's knowledge to take care of things for me? When did I give up?
Here I am - shuffling out advice for torn ACLs and the mental blocks for a lengthy injury recovery, yet I'm stagnant in my abilities and efforts. It's true. I work hard to improve my knee because I'm good at it. I'm good at having a torn ACL and I'm good at sports and physical activity that motivate me to have a successful recovery.
I "can't" fix a sink. I "can't" change a spare tire. I "can't" properly use a drill (or any electric tool). They just aren't my thing. I can YouTube a music video, but I have never looked up a video for leveling a shelf. I just put it up crookedly. Because that's more than not putting it up. What if I said that I "can't" recover from a torn ACL? I'd kick myself. I'd learn how to. I'd rise to the occasion. I would challenge myself.
So why haven't I? How did I get here? To this point of being spoiled with others' kind, helping hands in order to mask my laziness and fear of failure. That's what this is right? Being scared to do something on my own.
That's crap. I don't want that for myself.
I want to try and fail and try and succeed and try and fail and so on and so forth. I've been pushing my body and knee and mind to the limit since last July to get through this ugly, but familiar situation. I've been happy and frustrated and scared and successful.
I still have a dull ache. I still have fears. No one is fixing sh*t for me. It's just me. I ran outdoors today, marking another milestone in this triad of tears. I asked myself the same question.
How did I get here?
I worked! And continue to! I made mistakes, fell short, overcame, and had a lot of help. I lied about how I was feeling at times. I learned new things. I felt my heart break and struggle for air in more ways than one. I set goals, adjusted them, and readjusted again. I celebrated. I sulked and got back up.
Trial and error, I suppose. Trial being the operative word. I don't want to be the girl who picks her challenges based on the most likely successes. I want to fix sinks. I want to change tires. I want to hang level shelves.
This concept of not being good at things or claiming that I "can't" do things is really just another way to drive myself towards believing that I'm incapable of fully thriving. Those notgoodenoughs and cants are just crutches for maintaining contentment rather than reaching for greater things.
Playing it safe.
I owe it to myself to utilize my leg and knee and body in a way that makes me feel good, while challenging myself at the same time. Similarly, I owe it to myself to have a sink that drains.
My knee feels good. Not great. But good. It's been a bumpy road, and it continues to present new ups and downs. I can learn a lot from my knee and the desire to face its shortcoming rather than pretend that they don't exist. Full health and recovery aren't just going to fall in my lap, and my sink isn't going to fix itself.
How did I get here?
Where the hell is here? Busted knees and busted sinks - I've got a long ways to go until here is a final destination.
I still have a dull ache. I still have fears. No one is fixing sh*t for me. It's just me. I ran outdoors today, marking another milestone in this triad of tears. I asked myself the same question.
How did I get here?
I worked! And continue to! I made mistakes, fell short, overcame, and had a lot of help. I lied about how I was feeling at times. I learned new things. I felt my heart break and struggle for air in more ways than one. I set goals, adjusted them, and readjusted again. I celebrated. I sulked and got back up.
Trial and error, I suppose. Trial being the operative word. I don't want to be the girl who picks her challenges based on the most likely successes. I want to fix sinks. I want to change tires. I want to hang level shelves.
This concept of not being good at things or claiming that I "can't" do things is really just another way to drive myself towards believing that I'm incapable of fully thriving. Those notgoodenoughs and cants are just crutches for maintaining contentment rather than reaching for greater things.
Playing it safe.
I owe it to myself to utilize my leg and knee and body in a way that makes me feel good, while challenging myself at the same time. Similarly, I owe it to myself to have a sink that drains.
My knee feels good. Not great. But good. It's been a bumpy road, and it continues to present new ups and downs. I can learn a lot from my knee and the desire to face its shortcoming rather than pretend that they don't exist. Full health and recovery aren't just going to fall in my lap, and my sink isn't going to fix itself.
How did I get here?
Where the hell is here? Busted knees and busted sinks - I've got a long ways to go until here is a final destination.