December 2, 2023

The morning after I fell, I lay in mattress assessing the harm. My knees had been banged up. The appropriate one was painful and swollen. I felt for the bandage my husband had secured round my chin the evening earlier than. It was nonetheless in place, sticky with blood. My jaw ached. I ran my tongue alongside my tooth; none appeared to be damaged. A close to miss, I believed. Disparate verses from considered one of my favourite poems, by Wislawa Szymborska, looped via my thoughts: It might have occurred. It needed to occur. It occurred, however to not you.

We had been strolling again to our automotive after dinner with mates. The evening was clear. The sidewalk clean. As a result of it was raining. Due to the shade. As a result of the day was sunny. What had I been interested by the second earlier than? Plans, in all probability: my conferences the next day or whether or not we had been operating low on espresso. I wasn’t taking note of my toes on the pavement or my physique shifting via house, till each knees and my chin hit the bottom. I shot up immediately. “I’m OK,” I stated to my horrified husband and mates. “I’m-OK-I’m-OK-I’m-OK.” I virtually chanted it, like a prayer, as if saying it’d one way or the other make it true.

The factor is, I wasn’t OK. I swung my legs off the bed and examined my weight. I made my strategy to the highest of the steps, grabbed the banister and took them one after the other. Every step felt treacherous, as if the world had tilted on its axis and I alone had been about to slip off. It was a well-known feeling, by which I don’t imply that I skilled accidents like these earlier than however somewhat {that a} shadow had revealed itself, a strong reminder that life is uncontrollable and unpredictable and we’re fragile. She all the time had the sensation that it was very, very harmful to reside even in the future. Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway knew the rating.

Right here’s what they don’t let you know about falls: You retain falling repeatedly. You fall off curbs. You fall down the steps. You fall within the bathe. You’re an astronaut, floating and flailing via house, whereas everybody surrounding you appears to be on terra firma. Life reveals itself as that childhood sport, Chutes and Ladders, wherein you spin the arrow and land on an unlucky sq. and down you go.

Your thoughts does this to you, and it does one thing else, too.

After we fall, we’re consumed with embarrassment and its extra poisonous cousin, disgrace. Mortified by our fragility and its accompanying whisper of getting old and dying.

Most days, we are able to faux that we’re in management. We provide narratives when one thing occurs that doesn’t make rapid sense or threatens our phantasm of security. We like nothing higher than a motive. Within the case of a fall, we’d first look outward: a crack within the sidewalk, a gap within the pavement, these silly footwear. (My mom as soon as tripped and fell on West 86th Road and thought of suing the Metropolis of New York.) However quickly, a extra insistent voice seeps in: It was my fault. Now they’ll see me for who I actually am: weak, frail, alone.

A fall is totally different from an accident or an act of violence. It isn’t one thing completed to you however one thing you’ve gotten completed. I had been an agent of my very own close to disaster. My belief in myself had been damaged, together with (as I quickly discovered) my jaw.

That is what disgrace does: It isolates us by telling us we’re bizarre and unsuitable. That’s the one approach it will probably do its work on us.

As phrase of my fall circulated, I needed to cover. I’m-OK-I’m-OK-I’m-OK. After I did converse with folks, I emphasised how fortunate I used to be, how a lot worse it might have been. I reframed myself as lucky, regardless that my toes had been curled across the fringe of the abyss.

However then I posted about my fall on social media, and the feedback flooded in. There have been beautiful effectively needs and loads of prayers and lightweight and affords of soup being despatched my approach, however what shocked me had been the tales. For some time, the feedback part of my Instagram account grew to become a group of individuals, principally ladies, not solely commiserating however relating, figuring out and providing the main points of their very own falls: fell off a horse, at a marriage, after tripping over our canine, carrying my toddler daughter, flat on the sidewalk, breaking my sacrum, from my racing bike, right into a ditch, in my own residence doing nothing however the very odd, whereas getting right into a rocky boat, hitting my forehead bone, exhausting within the bathe, displacing a tailbone, passing out, down the steps, breaking my neck and face, shaken to the core.

Shaken to the core. After we’re injured, we’re instantly separated from the herd of the wholesome. However now I noticed that I wasn’t alone. Difficulties befall (that phrase!) each considered one of us, so what’s the usage of self-blame and disgrace? The chutes are only a spin of the dial away. We might select to see that as petrifying and unacceptable, or we might perceive it as tender and exquisite. Acknowledgment of this elementary human reality may simply save us.

A season has handed since that night I lay facedown on the pavement. I’ve stopped reliving the second throughout each waking hour, although it nonetheless haunts my goals. My physique is recovering, however I think the therapeutic I must do goes deeper than fractured bones. Within the waterfall of feedback made by strangers who reached out their palms to understand mine and pull me again to my toes — of their willingness to say me, too ­— there’s a lesson to be discovered. If all of us might acknowledge our shared fragility, disgrace would disappear.

Dani Shapiro, the creator of 11 books, is the host of the podcast “Household Secrets and techniques.” Her most up-to-date novel is “Sign Fires.” Her different books embrace the memoir “Inheritance: A Memoir of Family tree, Paternity, and Love.”

Supply photos by LordRunar, Roberto Westbrook, Colours Hunter – Chasseur de Couleurs, John Keeble, Angel Santana, Flashpop and Ekaterina Demidova/Getty Photos

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