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Falling, and Getting Up

It was this time two years ago, just about.

I fell in my flat. In my tiny little bathroom in my little flat.

I was stepping out of it, my little bathroom, when I slipped and fell, falling backward with such force that I split the back of my head (read scalp) open on the raised edge of the bathroom floor.

I blacked out, and came around about a minute later, bleeding (a trickle really, because my hair clumped around the wound and stemmed the bleeding significantly), dazed, and feeling very tired all of a sudden.

I had to get that part of my head shaved, and stitches sewn in.
I’d been caring for my hair with a lot of love and attention, and it’d really helped me relate better with myself.

It may read silly, but I cried when they shaved my head at the hospital. I was shaken, frightened, and SO angry.
It was so unfair. Why did I fall? Why did this sort of thing happen to me?

Life is like this sometimes.

You slip and take a bad fall.

Wildfires ravage settlements and property, but then, a tiny little plant shoots out from the scorched ground. Hopeful, strong. A sign of life, restoration, new beginnings, second chances.

Hurricanes whirl past in the form of rainstorms leaving devastation in their wake, but they settle into small winds and eventually die out.

People bury their dead, rebuild their lives, move on.

You lose a job, and after a while, another offer comes. A chance to begin again. To continue working at improving your career. To work. To do good. To do better.

You start a business, tend it carefully, watch it grow like a well-fed child, feel pride at its successes. Then, without any warning, things go south, and it is all but buried under myriad challenges. But then you get a lifeline. You trudge on. One day at a time. And it begins to rally.

You attempt an examination. Fail it. Attempt it a second time. Fail it again.

You try again. Success. Third time’s the charm: didn’t you know?

People — and things — fall over. There’s no reason why. They just do.

You didn’t do anything wrong.

You’re not being punished for a sin.

Curveballs come at you from far out, blindside you on a bright, sunny day. No reason at all.

You’re frightened, angry, frustrated, sad. Like nighttime, a black cloud descends.

But then after a while, like morning, the darkness lifts and you see clearly again. You breathe a little easier.

You fall, and you get up. Somehow. You become whole again. You carry on.

You dust yourself off, you heal, you rebuild, you carry on living.

That day at the hospital, the matron (she was very kind), said, “I understand… but it’s hair… it’ll grow again.”

And grow it did. I mean, you should see the size of my puff.
That patch of shaved scalp has grown out in beautiful five-inch curls at the back of my head — and I’m glad.

I fell. I got up again. I’ll probably fall again. And get up.

So will you.

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Isioma is a legal practitioner, who also works in Human Resources. She loves books, shoes, music, and running/brisk walking.

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