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Running Away With the Circus

What else would a menopausal, brain-injured woman do?

By Catherine KenwellPublished 2 years ago 4 min read
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The author, with photo by John MacMurchy

A few days before my 50th birthday, I received a traumatic brain injury. At the time, I was a long-distance runner, and sports had always helped me keep my life-long depression at bay. But depression after a brain injury is much more finicky and severe, and I needed something new in my life.

So at age 50, menopausal, depressed and brain-injured, I did what any woman would do: I joined the circus!

I was athletic as an adult but not as a kid, and I had never taken dance lessons or ballet or gymnastics. I was strong but neither very flexible nor graceful in the least.

Since the onset of my post-concussion depression and anxiety, I had been isolated. I took time away from work, my social circle dwindled, and I felt very alone. I was often afraid to leave the house. Even booking my first circus class was a huge leap of faith for me.

When I walked into my first aerial acrobatics class, I wasn’t surprised to find that I was the oldest student; in fact, even my teachers were young enough to be my daughters! But I was determined to stretch beyond my comfort zone, and the ‘kids’ welcomed me. One of my classmates said to me, “Wow, MY mom would never do this! I have to bring her here to see you!”

After a group stretch and warm up, my coach Katelyn asked which apparatus I’d like to learn. There were silks, trapeze, and hoop. I eyed the aerial hoop, also known as a lyra. Oh, how I wanted to sit up in the hoop and learn to fly like a bird!

Alas, I didn’t have the arm strength to lift myself up onto the hoop. I was deflated. My excitement was replaced with self-doubt and disappointment. When I expressed my frustration to my coach, she told me to just keep trying, and that many people can’t lift their body weight. At that point I realized, hey, I’m trying to lift my body weight! How cool is that!

So I kept trying. And trying. For three weeks I tried, and I got better and stronger. Then it happened. My hands gripped the bottom of the hoop, and I lifted my feet to touch the hoop. I hung, upside down, by my knees! And then, I pulled myself up so that I was sitting in the hoop. The entire class applauded!

Every week, I practiced. Every week, I listened to my coach. I took home the strangest bruises I’d ever had. I also took home the confidence I needed to start talking about my injury and its impact on my life. I also had a new group of friends, people who hadn’t known me before my accident, and they accepted and supported me.

Still, in the darkest throes of depression, I would drive to class feeling so depressed I flirted with self-harm. It was difficult to get motivated as much of the rest of my life seemed to be collapsing under the weight of my post-concussion syndrome.

But when I walked into the gym, my mood would immediately lighten. I was amongst some of the most caring, compassionate and fun people I had ever met. I started learning new tricks. I developed flexibility, even at age 50. I started to love hanging upside down in the air, and I wasn’t afraid of falling.

Several months later a sign-up sheet appeared. It was for an upcoming student showcase. Students were invited to perform a three-minute routine, illustrating what they’d learned in class.

I rather hesitantly asked my coach, do you think I could do something? Do I know enough? Am I good enough?

Absolutely, she said. Let’s work together to create some choreography. Choreography! Wow, things were about to get serious! Within a week, I’d chosen my music and started playing out some tricks and transitions. My coach agreed to spend one-to-one time with me, intense times when I would work non-stop for an hour, running routines over and over until I got them right. Now, I was going home with blisters and callouses on my hands, but with a spirit that soared beyond anything I’d ever imagined.

Then came the big event. The showcase. Several of us were performing, on silks, trapeze, and hoop. I was scheduled to go on stage about half way through the show. My heart was beating at a ridiculous rate. I was nervous and excited as I watched my classmates perform their routines, the ones I’d observe and applaud at practice week after week.

When my name was called, I stood up. As I waited for the first notes of my musical accompaniment, I surveyed the room. My beautiful and patient coach…my classmates…my brother, cousins and husband…this was where I needed to be.

I soared through my performance. Everything I’d practiced, the blisters, the bruises, everything was worth it!

A cloud lifted off me that day. I was now a 51-year-old, menopausal, brain-injured circus performer! Since that initial show, I’ve done several performances. My recovery has not been an easy road, but when I’m grieving the loss of my ‘old self’, or when I’m depressed, I remind myself that I am a survivor. And that when things became unbearable, I didn’t run away, I ran towards the circus.

success
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About the Creator

Catherine Kenwell

I live with a broken brain and PTSD--but that doesn't stop me! I'm an author, artist, and qualified mediator who loves life's detours.

I co-authored NOT CANCELLED: Canadian Kindness in the Face of COVID-19. I also publish horror stories.

Reader insights

Nice work

Very well written. Keep up the good work!

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  1. Heartfelt and relatable

    The story invoked strong personal emotions

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