This piece is part of our series “Transforming in the Mud: Finding Hope and Perseverance During Tough Times.” 

As a physical therapist, it is my honor to work with people “in the mud.”

I can see their potential, but being in physical pain with functional limitations is wildly exhausting and frustrating for people.

I can see their potential, but being in physical pain with functional limitations is wildly exhausting and frustrating for people. Our hope in sharing the not-so-perfect stories is to create a community where people feel less alone. Please welcome back guest blogger Nova who courageously shares her rehabilitation process with us. This piece was written Jan 2016, two months after her toe fusion.

For 30 years, I danced. It was the love of my life.

Being a dancer was what I did and who I was for the majority of my lifetime. Expectations of perfection were delivered to me within the mantras of “Practice makes perfect” and “No pain, no gain.”

I lived my life this way, never truly able to embrace what I saw in the mirror. Never feeling I was perfect enough. When a painful foot injury took away my ability to dance, those mantras continued to play on in my mind.

Upon my injury diagnosis three years ago, I was motivated by the fear of “not doing and not achieving.” I sought out nearly every possible alternative exercise program to stay in shape and every type of therapy to heal my foot. Living in New York City, I was understandably exhausted and in even more pain by the time I returned home at the end of each day! I was also overextending my help to friends around the city because I had a new supply of time I could give them.

All the while, I was in severe physical pain. I was in a walking boot and crutches for nine months. I began to experience debilitating lower back pain due to continual compensation. I knew I had to cut back, but I fought against the thought of doing less for a year and a half. I thought that if I am not “doing,” I am not enough. I am failing myself and others.

This continuous thought pattern was only working against me and the proof was in the worsening of the physical pain. My ability to walk even five steps became too difficult to bear.

In the months of recuperating from one surgery and realizing I would need yet another (a current grand total of three), I started to explore a change in my thinking with the help of weekly phone sessions with a wonderful therapist and the gentle guidance of Tara Brach’s podcasts. Both resources entered my life just when I needed it most, thanks to one of my most treasured friends.

I began allowing myself to acknowledge the pain and loss of a dance career that had completely defined me. I asked myself who I was if I could no longer “do.” I didn’t know—and I still don’t. As terrifying as that truth feels at times, the answer continues to be gently investigated and explored.

I slowly started to hold myself in compassion, as I would do for a child. I began to re-examine what achievement meant and started to fully embrace little feel good moments during my day, like drinking coffee out of my favorite mug while petting my sweet dog Lilu.

I cut back on daily treks to multiple appointments around the city, only scheduling one appointment in a day and giving myself a day of rest in between.

I also started saying “no, thank you” instead of always saying “yes,” creating healthy and necessary boundaries. For me, this was the ultimate act of self-compassion, and the most challenging one.

Once I allowed that reality of pain, loss and “not doing” set in, the emotional aspects quickly followed suit. Feelings of shame, unworthiness, anger, sadness, despair, and guilt flooded in over the next several months. These were all of the feelings I was trying to avoid by continuing to “do.” It is not easy to invite this raw vulnerability into life and simply sit with it. In fact, it is the most difficult and courageous thing I have done in my life thus far.

At this very apex of emotion and allowance, healing, self-compassion and forgiveness truly begins to unfold.

It does not occur overnight—it is ongoing, moment-by-moment life work. It is non-linear and not always sunshine and rainbows, but it has provided me with a certain kind of strength and self-compassion that was not available in the “doing” days. It makes this very long and painful journey worth every single step. You are not alone in this quest…

With compassion, love, and hope—
Nova Bergeron Santana