On December 8th, I broke my ankle. Again. I broke it the first time on August 12, 2016 in a black-out drunk in an Adobe Abode in New Mexico. I have only one moment of clarity that night. As I fell, fully overtaken by the sickening feeling of losing all control as my bone snapped and body crumpled, I saw in physical form for the first and last time in my life, my angels and guides. They were standing in the corner of that dark hallway, showering me with love and concern, and told me that it was, “this, or something worse”.

I am more grateful for that fall than for any other single moment in my life. It was a huge gift. It was the Call to Adventure, which is such a nice way to describe initiation into the Hero’s Journey. In reality the Call is often a shock, a disaster, a death, a chaos, a rug being pulled away, a devastation. I make sure and hammer that point home when facilitating Hero Archetype discussion groups. Call to Adventure sounds like skipping down a path with a sword in one hand, and then skipping home with a maiden in the other. Nope. It is often painful and hard, uncomfortable and jolting. It can change everything in a heartbeat. The rub is that ignoring the Call, which I had done for so long, eventually becomes even more painful. Best to pick up after just a couple of rings, or it becomes, as we say in my family, the Two By Four of Love that whaps you over the head when nothing else is getting through.

I can’t overstate the difficulty and redemption that came about through the journey that followed.

I don’t have a single regret, other than the hurt I inevitable caused to others along the way. My painful, dramatic and chaotic life was rich. It was exciting, and often felt important. I did big meaningful things. I had magical, miraculous, rapturous experiences. My past and present are not separate (although I do carry a big sense of Before and After), and they are not now wrapped up in a neat little bow. I’m still afraid, a lot. I still forget to lean into my life, and I forget to trust it’s innate intelligence.

When I broke my ankle again December 8th this year, happy, healthy, over 3 years sober, having a great time picking piñons with my boyfriend, and my sis, niece and brother-in-law, I still had that sickening feeling as I fell. But this time there were no angels-in-waiting cheering me on. It was flesh-and-blood loved ones who became my crutches for the next hour and half as we worked our way off the ridge and back home. (Granted, my sister laughed really hard when she saw me go ass over teakettle, but then her first responder training kicked in, and later she even felt kind of bad about laughing.)

I’m almost 5 weeks post-break now. While the experience did bring back some painful memories - and don’t get me wrong, I’ve cried and struggled and lost my shit a few times through this healing process - I mostly have been grateful that after years of addiction, codependency, anxiety, depression and fear, my life has changed so completely. Talk therapy, trauma therapy, EMDR, yoga, meditation, friends, family, and humbling Grace, have given me a completely different life. I’m still trying to figure out what to do with it, but I have a blueprint now for how to meet life’s challenges, and for that, the word gratitude is too small.

If you want to connect for any reason (we can talk about addiction, sobriety, moderation, excess, consciousness, ascension, spirituality, yoga, art, storytelling, your struggles, your triumphs, whatever), please reach out. I don’t have the answers, but you do, and sometimes it helps to talk about things. honeyheartllc@gmail.com