What my broken hand has taught me

I broke my hand, so I can't write.

Does that mean that I've lost who I am?

One thing has become clear, how alone I am.

Losing something as valuable as your mobility will open your eyes to your reality.

I've never felt so single, and yet you'll find my name in the definition.

Living alone meant freedom. It meant progression to me.

But being sick or injured highlights the darker side of solitude.

What lurks in the shadows is vulnerability.

The possibility of tragedy without a witness.

It dawned on me that if I fell, out of reach of my phone, nobody would know.

How long would I be alone?

Who would find me?

I now relate more than ever to my widowed grandparents.

Feeling alone is a challenge. One that is becoming increasingly common.

But add physical vulnerability, and that sense of loneliness becomes almost suffocating.

It's almost claustrophobic, the feeling of control, freedom, and opportunity diminishing by the day.

But there's something else that a broken hand has taught me…

I'm surprisingly resilient.

I always knew I was, but now I've been reminded once again.

Learning to brush your teeth, butter bread, or put your contact lenses in with your weaker hand is more empowering than you might think.

Yes, I'm alone. I have no one to help me with the heavy lifting or to comfort me when life kicks me... but I can cope.

My grandparents lost the love of their lives and their mobility too, but they haven’t lost their spirit.

I may not be as brave as them. I may never even find the love of my life, but I was raised by strong role models, and I carry their strength with me.

A broken hand has taught me… I'm never truly alone because I'm always with me. And I'm stronger than I know.