In life, we often find ourselves stumbling, falling, and facing moments where it feels like all hope is lost. C’est la vie, right? While being aware of such things (theoretically) can be useful, those theories take a back seat when we find ourselves in the midst of a challenging experience. That’s when we’re called into action. One such moment happened to me last week (I would have written about it sooner, but my right wrist was black and blue and swollen from trying to break my fall). It was a fall, a shift, and a new perspective on staying in the present moment.
Clinical psychologist and author Dicken Bettinger says, “We can’t be present and be thinking at the same time,” as he discusses the impact of observing young children. When children experience extreme emotions, like crying or sobbing, for example, if they get hurt during playtime. In one moment, they are crying, and the next moment, they are happy and playing again. Children are present-centered, and that way their thoughts do not linger, they flow. Adults tend to innocently hold on to our thoughts, and those thoughts create our feelings. This was my experience around the fall.
In the middle of a normal day, while doing what I thought was just a ‘normal’ activity—walking to my car—I stumbled and fell face-first onto the pavement. I felt hopeless. The moment I slipped on the ice and felt my face crash onto the ground, I heard my own voice, full of hopelessness: “I broke my glasses!”
As I struggled to push myself off the ground, I began to shake uncontrollably, repeating, “I broke my glasses, I broke my glasses.” Moments later, my friend was holding my hand, guiding me back inside the house I had left only moments before, as I kept fixating on my broken glasses. They applied ice to my bruised cheek and swollen knee and cleaned the blood from my scraped hands as I stared, silent and scared. What was I afraid of?
And then something remarkable happened. While still shaken and mortified, I heard the words: breathe. It felt like the voice of an angel. The feel of my breath started the process of slowing down. I slowed down my thoughts: What if I pass out? What if I broke my hand or my knee? What if I need an ambulance? As I continued to breathe, I knew I was safe. It felt as though time slowed down, and with each breath, I felt strength from something much bigger than me. It was as though the old, fearful thoughts floated away like clouds in the sky.
And then, I heard my voice say something new: “It’s just a fall. I am safe. I can walk. I looked in the mirror; I looked at my body. My teeth, my hands, my feet… are intact. Nothing is broken. All is well. It will pass.” Falling was not the end. Getting back up was so powerful that I no longer remembered the old thoughts.
This moment revealed to me something profound about how our thinking shapes our experience of pain, recovery, and healing. The act of falling offered me the opportunity to look in the same direction. This means that while I knew something in theory, I needed to go deeper, “allowing my patience to expand beyond what I thought possible,” as Gary Stine says in his blog post “What Does Pain Have to Teach Me This Time Around?” By extending compassion and patience to ourselves, we discover a new level of resilience. I loved how he explains, “All it took was a curiosity and willingness to look at what lesson pain had to offer me this time around.”
Thoughts can either hinder or accelerate our healing process. My thoughts were creating my experience. When I shifted my focus toward the present moment and trusted the ability to heal, I connected with the inner peace, love, and strength that has always been there. My mind is not the enemy; it’s the power that guides me toward emotional and physical healing. Falling is not the end. It’s a part of the journey. Getting back up isn’t about avoiding falls—it’s about recognizing the power within to rise again, to stay in the present moment one day at a time.