Fragility

I never saw myself as fragile. Growing up with an older brother, I needed to be able to stand up for myself. Up until last year I was a first degree black belt in taekwondo, doing hundreds of kicks, burpees, and jumping jacks each class. I remember when I was 9 months pregnant with Eviana and single-handedly helping Matt get into the shower or the car because he herniated his disk, I felt unstoppable. But as I took a walk this afternoon with my grandmother, I couldn’t help but feel fragile. If she fell down, could I help her? I could barely muster the strength in my hands to open a cheese stick this morning, how could I possibly help a grown adult? 

I suddenly had this deluded bubble burst above my head - hey Laurie, remember when you thought you’d always be strong and you could one day take care of your own elderly parents? POP! 

That new voice is saying - hey Laurie, you’re not as strong as you once were, get over it, and learn to live a simple life by asking for help and using accommodations and modifications, and don’t be embarrassed, and take it easy, give yourself some rest breaks, and by the way, you’ll be fine.