{"id":107262,"date":"2020-03-04T09:00:51","date_gmt":"2020-03-04T14:00:51","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.ucf.edu\/news\/?p=107262"},"modified":"2022-10-22T09:35:01","modified_gmt":"2022-10-22T13:35:01","slug":"not-all-healing-is-physical-recognizing-and-overcoming-grief","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.ucf.edu\/news\/not-all-healing-is-physical-recognizing-and-overcoming-grief\/","title":{"rendered":"Not All Healing is Physical \u2013 Recognizing and Overcoming Grief"},"content":{"rendered":"
Sports have always been a part of my life. As I grew older, I stopped seeing sport as competition and started seeing a source of community. Many of my closest friendships today were forged on the field. My husband and I played soccer together for a year before we began dating, and our biggest wedding-planning stress was making sure we could invite the entire team.<\/p>\n
When we abruptly moved to Florida, the loss of that tight-knit group was, in a word, devastating. After a long search, we had finally found a welcoming co-ed team here \u2013 when I was suddenly relegated to the sidelines.<\/p>\n
Just over two years ago, a routine, low-risk surgical procedure inexplicably resulted in a ruptured quadriceps tendon, leaving me unable to walk or extend my lower leg. Descriptions of this injury often include words like \u201cserious,\u201d \u201cuncommon,\u201d \u201cdisabling\u201d and, of course, \u201cdevastating.\u201d\u2019 I did not realize at the time just how fitting this term was.<\/p>\n
The months following another surgery to repair my tendon are mostly a blur to me now; taking care of my then 2-year-old and keeping up with school and work while on one leg was all-consuming. It wasn\u2019t until much later that I began to recognize signs of depression related to my injury, the cause of which remains unknown.<\/p>\n
\nI often felt myself blinking back tears at small, unexpected moments.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n
I used to enjoy watching soccer with my husband on Saturday mornings, but increasingly found myself avoiding our time together, unable to fully confront what I had lost. Frustration at once-simple tasks \u2013 walking the dog, playing on the floor with my daughter \u2013 often boiled over to anger. I stopped wearing shorts and skirts to avoid questions about my scar, and I deflected questions such as, \u201cHow\u2019s your leg doing?\u201d with humor. \u201cIt\u2019s still attached,\u201d I\u2019d reply with a laugh.<\/p>\n
Unfortunately, the repair failed to heal properly, and I often felt myself blinking back tears at small, unexpected moments, when other parents would kneel down to be eye-level with their children, for example. I was surprised to feel that these simple acts had been stolen from me. It took me a long time to finally label these feelings for what they were: grief.<\/p>\n
Despite loss being a nearly universal human experience, it seems that we are poorly equipped to address this sort of pain in both ourselves and in others.<\/p>\n
I recognized that the complexity and ambiguity of my injury often made people uncomfortable, so I was happy enough to let others think that I was on a normal path to healing and recovery. This facade worked so well that even I fell for it, chalking up my intense and erratic emotions to just being a tired, working mom.<\/p>\n
I\u2019ve since learned that grief is a normal reaction to any loss, not just loss of a loved one. Grief often follows traumatic injury or chronic illness, yet I never allowed myself to think my situation was \u201cthat bad.\u201d<\/p>\n
And truly, it\u2019s not. I continue to work to regain strength and hope that I will one day have more functionality. But I see now that returning to my former physical state is highly improbable and participating in the sports I once loved would be a huge risk to my livelihood. Admittedly, I lived for high-energy activities; downhill skiing and soccer aren\u2019t exactly low-impact. But they were an integral part of my identity and were the foundation of some of my most important relationships.<\/p>\n
The poet William Cowper said, \u201cGrief is itself a medicine.\u201d So finally, I\u2019ve started allowing myself to concede the magnitude of my loss.<\/p>\n
At a time in my life where much of my agency felt stripped from me, naming and embracing my grief has given me back some degree of control. There are days when I still feel the insult of this injury deeply. Other days, I cope. I acknowledge. I accept.<\/p>\n
Perhaps grieving really is another step on the path to healing after injury.<\/p>\n
Katie Philp<\/em><\/strong> is the research and evaluation manager for the Parramore Education and Innovation District, a project of UCF\u2019s Center for Higher Education Innovation<\/em>. She can be reached at <\/em>Katherine.Philp@ucf.edu<\/em><\/a>.<\/em><\/p>\n
The\u00a0UCF Forum<\/strong>\u00a0is a weekly series of opinion columns from faculty, staff and students who serve on a panel for a year. A new column is posted each Wednesday on <\/em>UCF Today<\/em><\/a> and then broadcast on WUCF-FM (89.9) between 7:50 and 8 a.m. Sunday. (<\/em>A podcast of this column is available on the radio station\u2019s website.<\/em><\/a>) Opinions expressed are those of the columnists, and are not necessarily shared by the 海角直播.<\/em><\/p>\n