“You have got to stand up and go to bed,” my husband said, standing outside the bathroom door.
“No. Just let me sit here. I can’t get up,” I replied as I sniffled between tears.
I heard him sigh before cracking open the bathroom door. He was clearly treading carefully to avoid furthering my meltdown. “You seriously can’t sit here crying on the toilet all night,” he said softly.
“My foot is broken, I have no friends, nobody loves me, and I’m going to end up on My 600 lb Life since I can’t work out for weeks now.”
*Meltdown status fully engaged. We were in dangerous territory.*
“Maybe if you just get some sleep, things won’t seem so bad. When it isn’t the middle of the night and you can call your friends, who yes, do actually exist. And you just ran a marathon three weeks ago, so I don’t think you’re about to be on reality TV because you don’t work out.”
He cracked open the bathroom door a smidge further, leaned in, and gently pulled on my left arm to help me off the toilet while I shifted all my weight toward him so that I could hobble away from the toilet and restore an ounce of my dignity.
Breaking an ankle sucks.
In fact, any injury to a parent should be strictly outlawed, especially if those parents have a kiddo in a wheelchair.
We’re 4000 miles away from family, and our nine-year-old daughter has an undiagnosed genetic condition. She depends on us for everything, and suddenly, I couldn’t use my right leg.
If I had a cool story, the situation might have at least been bearable. But, I didn’t.
We had been at the food trucks on the North Shore of Hawaii while we had friends in town visiting. It had poured and poured the four days prior, so there was mud and standing water everywhere. The kiddos had just finished lunch and wanted shaved ice, so I popped up from the table to go walk across the lawn to avoid the muddy walk with four kids.
I took three steps, and then my right foot slid in the mud. That was fine until it hit a grassy patch, and it stopped sliding. Abruptly.
In a split second, I went from grabbing my kids a snack to depending on everyone around me for help. This was a hard pill to swallow for a fiercely independent military spouse and momma of four kids – hence the middle of the night meltdown.
I despise asking other people for help. Adulting is hard enough when you’re caring for your own family, and no one needs the extra stress of making sure another family can function. However, everyone needs a village. Everyone needs help.
Life is absurdly unpredictable, and sometimes things take such a wild swing that it knocks you off your feet – literally.
So, rather than sitting on the toilet and having a meltdown in the middle of the night, ask for help. Remind yourself that you are human and also prone to accidents, hiccups, and setbacks. You will not lose everything if you are not at your best for a bit. Your children, even those that depend so heavily on you, will adapt with you. Take the help.