When I read someone's work and connect to it, I want to share. Meet Maria. She is a college friend who suffered a pretty nasty concussion a little over a year ago. During her recovery she began blogging about the experience. Her writing is full of wisdom, humor, and sass. She's veered into other topics now and I find her voice to be fresh and authentic. You can visit her blog "Take Shape Detour - Learning to Embrace the Wild Ride of Life" at http://takeshapedetour.blogspot.com/ and follow her posts if you like what you find. Thanks Maria!
The title of the post was originally Surrender. But by the end of writing it, I added the sweet. Trying it on for size. You can decide.
The last few days have been frustrating for me. I should be better by now. Do I sound like a broken record yet? I mean c'mon...I took all that time off. I rested. I did nothing. But still my head is not right. I am easily fatigued, both physically and mentally. I want to will my brain to heal - to rush the process. But alas, I am reminded yet again that all I can do is surrender to this healing process. I can choose to respect the brain that has served me so well for the last 43 years and give it the time it needs to regrow the neurons. It will not be on my predetermined schedule, despite the fact that I have adjusted said schedule a few times already. It will be what it will be.
When I was first injured, I was in denial about the pain and the severity of the injury. I pushed past what my body was trying to tell me. I worked when my head hurt and when I was exhausted. After all, I’m tough. When I finally admitted I needed to rest in order to heal, I decided it should take two weeks (or a little less than two weeks after I attended to the last few client appointments I didn't want to cancel). Then I would be better. Not so fast, Maria. Still not myself. But when? Why not yet?
After my chiropractor stopped just shy of an outright eye-roll, he suggested I stop "yelling" at my brain to heal (which was likely doing exactly the opposite of what I wanted). To fully surrender means to give up control, to allow what needs to happen. Surrender is scary, but perhaps, in a way, freeing.
There is a striking parallel here to something that has been suggested to me about my life as a whole. Surrender. Surrender the plan. Surrender my tight hold on controlling the outcome. I do not know what the future will bring. I cannot control what happens. But then I think, why would I want to? At what point did I decide that my life would be better if I controlled everything?
No control, no plan. The wild and crazy ride strikes again.