The Lesson Unlearned

I came home from the urgent care with CD images of my broken rib. As I eased into a chair, my 3 year old son bounded toward me. My husband ran to catch him: “No DON’T JUMP on Mommy!”

He was confused, as I’m clearly his personal gym. So, I pulled him slowly into my lap on my left side. I said: “we have to be careful because mommy has a broken bone over here.”

He looked at my right side, which clearly looked as it always does. “Looks fine, mommy,” he said.

“Yes, but mommy has a broken bone here under the skin.”

“Oh,” he said as his eyes brightened. “That’s because under our skin, we’re just skeletons made of bonnnnnnes.”

He’s right in more ways than he knows. For aren’t we all just skeletons, masking our brokenness with our skin and smiles?

I’ve felt that more than ever this Fall as my family has had a rough few months. It started Labor Day weekend when an X-ray revealed that the sharp pain I’d had for a week was indeed a broken rib. A week later, my son was in the ER with severe dehydration from COVID (he’s doing well!) 3 weeks later, after continuing to work and parent through the rib pain, I ended up in the ER with shallow, rough breathing. The lack of rest for the rib had caused atelectasis (a portion of my lung was sticking to itself). After more meds, breathing treatments, weeks off, and countless tears (from all members of our family), I can finally say I’m feeling better… at this moment in time.

Yet, it’s been a long 8 weeks of pretending I’m fine, but not actually being fine, and then finally admitting that I’m not fine.  For, no matter what mask or makeup or clothes we put on our skin, we can’t deny the broken skeleton beneath.      

I have frequent conversations with friends and parishioners about caring for yourself: Take time for you. You matter. Your pain matters. Rest is the most important thing you can do for yourself, your family, and your co-workers. In fact, I told someone that just the other day… hoping they’d heed the advice that I was 100% not following myself.

This is the lesson I have learned and unlearned hundreds (thousands?) of times. I do not ask for help or grace when I need it. Case in point, I wrote this blog in 2021 where I promised you I’d ask for help next time, after hanging a giant Goliath on a ladder alone. I’ve broken that promise countless times in the last two years (I’m sorry.) And I guarantee you, if it happened today, I’d still be up on that ladder alone taping a giant Goliath to the wall. Sometimes it’s easier to just do it yourself. So I do it alone — over and over again.

I firmly know that I’m not alone in attempting to go it alone. For I have been the recipient of advice from those who tell me to rest while not actually resting themselves. We as a people, a culture, are not good at taking care of ourselves or allowing others to care for us. I wonder if its deep seated in our independent Americanism: Pull yourself up by your bootstraps … Just do it … Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. We encourage “self-care” in the form of consumerism – massage, mani/pedi, tropical vacation. Yet at the same time, we look down on those who take extended leaves. … Self-care in the form of a massage is notable. Self-care in the form of sick days is selfish.

This is particularly prevalent in helping professions (in others too, I simply write from a pastor’s perspective). For pastors, it’s easy to downplay our own selves because that is precisely what we’re called to do as Christians. We die to self and live in Christ. In doing so, we often find it hard to take care ourselves because we hold the pain of others close to our hearts. Personally, I rationalize my pain: I don’t have cancer or major surgery or a terminal diagnosis… it’s only 1 little rib; my pain pales in comparison. That old adage to be grateful because someone always has it worse than you tends to backfire on folks like me. Since I daily experience folks having it worse than me, I minimize my own pain … which almost always makes it worse. Not acknowledging or dealing with our pain (be it physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual) only results it in bubbling to the surface in other ways.

Which is exactly what happened to me. It might be possible that the real broken bone wasn’t even my rib, but my brain. Instead of resting, I did things like set up tables for a meeting, pick up my 45lb kid, park a block away so as to leave space for others with health conditions. Why, you ask? Because life goes on, and you can’t let a broken rib get you down … until it does.

As the rib issue turned into the breathing issue, I did finally wave the white flag. I took 2 weeks and 2 Sundays off. I stayed in bed, while my amazing staff and elders led worship and my loving husband held down all the forts at home. As I laid, feeling completely useless to society, I finally allowed my physical ailments to heal. Yet, that’s when my emotional, mental, and spiritual broken bones emerged. I was riddled with guilt. (Not in any way from family or church, who all encouraged – nay ordered! – me to rest). It was from within. I counted the days, feeling like each one wore away my “being sick grace period.” My guilt grew stronger as the days inched closer to the start of our much anticipated Disney vacation (If you know anything about my family, know that Minnie and Mickey bring us great joy). So, I set two goals for recovery: 1. That I could be physically capable of walking WDW with small children. 2. That I would have at least 3 Sundays back in the pulpit before being gone on vacation for 2 more.

My broken spirit believed compassion only extended that far; that the world only gives you so many weeks of compassion and anything after that (including that pre-planned, pre-paid for vacation) is selfish. For some reason I – and maybe even you – have confused self-care for selfishness. For the truth is, I do not believe compassion extends only so far. I believe compassion extends to the ends of the earth. If any one of you asked me what to do in this same circumstance, I would say: take the time off, stay in bed, see your doctor, advocate for your health, take the vacation, seek the joy and care you need for mind, body, and soul. Yet, I struggle with extending that same compassion to myself.

The lesson still unlearned is: my health and well-being matter; my pain matters; my rest matters … and so does yours.

In Jesus’ most famous commandment, he instructs: “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Mt. 22:39). Which means that loving others must (it must!) include love, respect, and care of your own, made in God’s own image, self.

For the last 8 weeks, every time my son runs to jump in my lap, he comes to a halt at my knee and asks: “Mommy, which side of you isn’t broken?” I point to my left side and draw him into a hug, which helps makes those other parts of me less broken.

How about we make a deal: I’ll make sure you show yourself more compassion, if you help do the same for me. Maybe someday we’ll learn this lesson together. As for me, I’m going to Disney World. What about you?