Falling Into Body Love, Part 1

Not H's staircase. Though its layout is the same as H's.
(Source: PC Photography / iStock / Getty Images Plus / Getty Images via angi.com)

The first thing you need to know is: I am fine.

And I'm telling you that because a couple weeks ago, while at my friend H's house, I slipped and fell off the last two steps on my way back down from the bathroom. Like the staircase in the above photo, a) H's turns 90 degrees at the bottom, and b) the railing ends with a large newell post above the bottom two steps. So I wasn't holding onto anything while on the 2nd-to-last step.

Unlike the staircase in the photo, H's does not have carpeting. And the flimsy knee-high nylons on my feet made it all too easy to slip on the wooden step. (I'd removed my shoes right after I entered, to honor the request for same that's affixed to her front door.) 

As I was falling, I put out my (left) hand to break my fall. As a result, the "heel" of my hand swelled up a bit and began showing a little bruising. Fortunately, the pain was not unbearable, I put ice on it right away, and nothing was broken.

Two days later, I saw my therapist, C. I told him about the fall just by way of sharing. He said that falls can be "a lot, somatically," and he used it as a starting point to see what we could discover in terms what was happening with my body. (I'm getting a type of therapy called somatic experiencing, which is "a body-oriented approach to healing trauma and other stress disorders" [source]).

We realized that when I fell, I had put my hand out instinctually, to protect my core and my head. My hand took the brunt of the fall, against the wooden floor.

At one point he asked me what would it be like if I thanked my hand for protecting me. I didn't say anything for a bit because the prospect of thanking my hand aloud felt weird. But he didn't comment on the fact that I wasn't saying anything. I was thinking the "thank you," though. 

And in that moment, tears came, quite unexpectedly. I didn't know where they were coming from, but also in that moment, I realized that throughout my life, society, other people (socially), and even I had given my body a lot of shit (mostly for what it does—and does not—look like). However, my body has always been there for me. And—I can thank it for being there for me. 

This might be the best kind of body positivity. In other words, rather than thinking my way into loving what my body looks like or even putting undue focus on that at all, I can thank my body for doing what it does for me and for what it continues to do for me every moment of my life. C asserted that my body is not judging me for judging it. It is there for me regardless. Which is such a lovely thought.

Side note: I'm so excited that something that felt (mostly) good while it was happening, that was noticeable, that's even memorable and actionable happened in a session. (There've been too many therapy sessions—mostly before C—where that wasn't true.) I'm even motivated to make it actionable. Who even am I right now?!?

Anyway, I knew immediately that I'd want to make this epiphany into a practice. I know from experience that if I didn't make it a practice, the epiphany would recede into my memory, and I'd never actually gain much from it. 

More on that in Part 2.