When the One Thing That Helps You Is Taken Away

How injury, loss, and a forced pause led me back to meditation

Here in New York, I see signs of spring everywhere: birds singing their early morning songs, daffodil buds pushing up through the soil, bugs returning in the evenings, and days stretching longer and longer.

These changes call us outside. After months of cold and snow, we’re ready to emerge, to push up and out, just like everything else waking up this time of year.

But I’m held back because I can barely walk without discomfort and pain.

Two years ago, I suffered a hip injury. After 30 years of running, I was suddenly stopped in my tracks. I later learned I have hip impingement, a condition that, for me, led to a cartilage tear and eventually surgery on my right side. Because it affects both hips, running is no longer part of my life.

So I adapted. I started walking instead and getting outside with my dog and friends. I wasn’t running, but I was still moving.

And movement has always been my go-to. My mood booster. My way to clear my head, regulate my nervous system, and shift my thinking.

But seven months after surgery, I’m still limited. Some days, nerve pain shoots through my hip and leg, making each step feel like a bolt of lightning.

I’m working with my surgeon and physical therapist to figure it out. But in the meantime, I’m missing spring. I’m missing my mental health pill. I’m having a harder time quieting negative thoughts. I’m not getting that morning dose of sunlight and movement that used to change everything.

And when we rely so heavily on one thing for all of that, it raises a question: Am I putting all of my eggs in one basket?

Because this happens: We get injured. We get sick. We get older. And suddenly, something we depended on is no longer available to us in the same way.

So what then?

After a stretch of “why me?” thinking—frustration, anger, disbelief—I felt my mood start to slip. And when I noticed that, I knew I needed to do something.

Not being able to move the way I used to freed up time in my mornings. At first, I thought about returning to meditation, a practice that had supported me deeply in the past, especially in my recovery from food addiction.

But I resisted. I was physically uncomfortable sitting still. 

And then I caught it… the same kind of thinking I hear from my clients all the time. The roadblocks. The reasons we tell ourselves we can’t have what we want or know we need. But roadblocks don’t mean we stop. When we hit one, we figure out how to move through it, around it, or find a different way forward altogether.

So I asked myself: was not being able to sit a certain way really going to stop me from meditating? Or could I find another way in?

With the help of a friend, I did. I learned a short, gentle yoga practice to prepare my body in a way that works with my current limitations, breathing techniques to settle my mind, and simple mantras to focus my attention. It wasn’t what I had done before so it gave me a fresh way back in.

I started with 10 minutes, then 15. And slowly, I began to notice a shift, not just in my mood, but in my ability to be with myself without needing to escape or distract. I still feel frustrated. I’m still in pain. But I’m also taking care of myself again.

This is what I teach inside the Real Forking Success Path. The SOOTHE step isn’t about doing things perfectly or relying on one strategy to carry you through. It’s about building a toolkit, so that when one thing isn’t available, you’re not left with nothing. Sometimes it’s a reminder of tools that have helped before, and sometimes it’s an invitation to try something new. It’s part of the ongoing practice of learning how to take care of ourselves in ways that actually support us, instead of automatically reaching for the things that don’t.

Because there will always be roadblocks: bodies change and life happens. The path isn’t linear. But if we’re willing to stay with it, to move through, around, or find a new way, we can keep going.

I still wish this hadn’t happened.

But I’m learning that taking care of myself can’t depend on just one thing…because sometimes, that one thing gets taken away.