A snapshot of right now: 

I’m here, lying on my bed, bruises under my armpits from using crutches (incorrectly?). Feet up, one in a big traction boot, listening to Britney Spears sing Toxic (song of the summer, doncha know). My son is making play-doh cats in the living room with his grandma. I’m wondering how I can continue my workout streak with a bum foot. 

Here’s what happened:

Hanging out at the in-laws house, I gently placed my son on a trampoline. Then I stepped off a little platform they’d made to help little ones get up onto the trampoline safely. My foot hit the ground and decided to flop over. I’m not sure what it thought it was doing, but I heard a POP! I said *#$&!! and I fell to the ground. I couldn’t get up, so I just wept in the grass. My dear Boychild was with a family friend on the trampoline and kept saying, “What happened to mama?” Folks came over. I think my husband offered me a seltzer? I don’t know why he did this. We do weird things when we’re trying to help. I was carried to a chair by my brother in law and tended to rather swiftly by my sister in law and surrounding family members. I was embarrassed about crying, which is really stupid, and now I’m embarrassed about being embarrassed about crying. I’m an actor, for crying out loud. I should be okay showing vulnerability! But that’s another post for another day. 

So now I’m in a boot for a while ‘til I can walk again. And so it goes. It’s a minor setback and this stuff happens. However, I didn’t expect having a sprained foot to make me so sad. I was surprised by my melancholy. Rationally, I know it’s temporary and I know that people are dealing with HUGE setbacks and injuries that absolutely pale in comparison to a little torn whatever. But emotionally, I felt like I’m not a part of the family funtimes and I can’t carry my child or toss him on the bed like a sack of potatoes. If I get down on the floor with him, I ain’t gettin’ up. I felt useless and it made me sad. It’s much better today. 

Also, I’m coming off of anti-depressants, so that may be part of it. About a year ago, I left a position in a place that I loved, with a group of talented and funny people. The one thing I didn’t love was my new boss.I spent a lot of energy trying to make it work, but it was never going to work. I felt useless and it made me sad. I was tired of crying in my car on lunch breaks, so I got on the anti-depressant train and I have to say, it saved my sanity. But now that it’s all in the rearview, I don’t feel like I need the meds anymore. 

It’s been fun, noticing the changes as the anti-depressants leave my system. I’m more sensitive to smells and touch. I’ve started grinding my teeth at night. I have more of an edge. I feel mentally sharper. I’m more self-conscious. I’ve got laser-focus. It’s a mixed bag, and sometimes I think, “Why the eff am I quitting anti-depressants during a pandemic and a period of social and political upheaval?” Well, why not? It’s nice having a woolly sock for the soul, which is how I think of anti-depressants. But it did put me at a remove from others and it made me super-duper nonchalant. 

So, for the next six weeks, I’ll be an edgy mother in a big ole monster boot, clomping around the house, possibly crying, but definitely making it work.