When I Couldn't Stand, I Learned How to Lean

I'm no expert... just a humble student of life stumbling as gracefully I can through the challenges I'm presented each day. I like to share about these stumbling moments as a way of processing...making sense of them... integrating them.... which for me also starts the process of applying the lessons learned to my life.

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Speaking of stumbling.. that's actually how this story starts....with me falling.


I was walking my dog, like I normally do in the morning. The birds were chirping, the air was fresh, and the temperature was pleasant. I was savoring the sweetness of the early morning light and appreciating the beauty of the sunrise. The cotton candy swirls of color blended into thick, puffy clouds and spread wide across the sky...


Then, as if someone just snapped their fingers, all the colors seemed to dissolve in an instant... everything went white. Within seconds I was on the ground. I believe I had a low blood pressure moment that caused me to faint. The impact of the fall actually wasn't too bad.. some minor scrapes, bruising and soreness... it was what happened on the way down that did some damage. 


During the fall to the ground, my right knee was twisted and possibly hyperextended past it's normal range of motion - which caused a lot of swelling, pain, and lack of mobility. The first two weeks I was struggling just to walk around my house. I had a hard time completing normal daily tasks by myself. When I could do something on my own, it usually took a lot longer than normal and often included a huge re-learning curve lol.


It's kinda funny how the body has a way of teaching us what the mind resists. I had no idea that my mind was so resistant to asking for help until I was forced into a situation where I needed to ask for help to do almost everything. I didn’t realize how much of my identity was wrapped up in being strong, independent, or dependable.


This situation showed me I had to learn how to lean — on my community, my family, my team. And full transparency, it was a messy learning process.


In the first few weeks, I couldn’t drive, and simple tasks like getting around my house, buying groceries, or walking my dog became monumental challenges. Asking for help felt like pulling teeth... not other people's teeth, my own! I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone or add to their already full plates. I felt the weight of guilt crushing me anytime I thought about asking someone for help. There would be moments I sat on my couch debating for 30 minutes or more about whethre I should ask someone for help with something. I’d often talk myself out of it, telling myself, "They’re busy. You’ll figure it out."


And sometimes I did try to figure it out.... dragging a bag of dog food inside by myself, hopping around the kitchen while cooking, nearly falling more than once. Each time I would give in and end up asking for help anyway. But I realized that by denying it up front, I wasn’t just making things harder for myself. I was also denying others the chance to show up and help me. 


Still, the inner critic was strong: "You should be doing more. You should be bouncing back faster. You’re falling behind." There was this pressure to “heal quickly” so I could return to teaching full force, stay on top of everything, and keep things running smoothly. But healing has its own pace. And it doesn’t care about my calendar or my attachments.


The more I sat with my leg elevated and ice pack on rotation, I began to notice a resistance with stillness... not just the physical kind, but the stillness that comes when you’re not "producing", not leading, not helping others. I felt guilty for not doing more, even though my body was doing hard work and repairing itself. The whole time, knowing that the situation was out of my control, feeling the resistance that was there, surrendering to the process, then repeating that same cycle several times..


I watched myself many times go through this cycle and couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous my mind would get. Through the laughter and humor, I was able to shake off some of the weight of the guilt and stay focused on what was true - I have a lot of people in my life that are willing to help me if I can just get over the aversion of asking for help.


The more I surrendered, the more the aversion softened, and the more I leaned in to support. My family stepped in. My team at the studio supported me with such generosity. Our community showed up with patience, kindness, and compassion. I wasn’t a burden. I wasn't letting anyone down... I was just... human.


It's been about 6 weeks since my initial injury and my knee is feeling a lot better. While I'm still playing it safe and giving my body time to rest and heal - I'm pretty capable of doing most things by myself again. However, I noticed that when people ask me if I need help, my default response is still, “No, I’m okay.” It’s so automatic. Like a reflex. A knee jerk reaction (pun intended). And I'm playing with this by trying to say “yes, thank you” more often until it feels more natural.


Because one thing I've learned from this experience is that strength isn’t about doing it all alone. Strength is knowing when to be independent and when to collaborate or ask for help. I don't want to rob someone of the opportunity to offer and follow through with helping me. The opportunities to collaborate provide connection with others and remind me of how much that can be done when we join forces and do something together.


In the classes I teach, I often mention to listen to the body and honor it's needs. I've learned a lot more about what that means in the last 6 weeks. I'll continue to learn and grow as a student of life...  asking the hard questions, leaning into support, and sometimes even falling.


If you’re in a season of life where you feel stretched thin, where asking for help feels foreign or uncomfortable, I invite you to try leaning just a little. Maybe even before you’ve reached your edge. You might be surprised how much support is already there, waiting for the door to open.

If you have any stories or lessons learned from injuries or other times when you were forced into asking for help, I'd love to hear about your take aways too! Leave a comment below or email me at [email protected]


With humility,
Katie Beene
​Lotus Pond Co-Owner