The Ditch Dilemma

Choosing not to go numb

After my knee injury, something unexpected (maybe expected?) happened.

As frustrating as it was, it gave me more time. Time I 100000% didn’t ask for, but time I have been using.

I’ve been thinking a lot about rock bottom.

I want to say this clearly: my rock bottom is not universal. It’s not comparative. It’s not a competition. I’m not ignorant to the good in my life, I have a loving husband, a safe home, family who shows up for me, the ability to take care of myself, and so much more. I’m deeply aware of that.

Rather rock bottom is personal.

It’s defined by the deepest, most difficult challenges, it is where you have never been before.

And for me, that moment on the concrete felt unbearable not because it was the hardest thing anyone has ever endured, but because I had never been there. I didn’t yet have a framework for it. I didn’t know what was going to happen, solely that I was already suffering, and in the moment the universe said, you’re not done yet here is more suffering.

I’m aware that I am a problem-solver by nature. I recognize patterns. I replicate what works. I build systems. I adapt. That’s how I’ve lived and built my life, and it’s how I’ve trained as an athlete.

And this stretch has bent, broken, and overturned that model.

It has been relentlessly hit after hit after hit, without enough time in between to stabilize. Every time I thought I’d found my footing, something else gave way. And eventually, I found myself in a place I didn’t recognize, not only physically, but internally.

Recently while recording my own thoughts I self authored a metaphor that worked for me : the ditch dilemma.

I don’t think the ditch is unique to me. I think everyone finds themselves in one at some point. What’s different is how deep it is, how often we get thrown back in, and what we do once we realize where we are.

For me, over these past 15-16 months, I think I’ve been thrown into ditches, over and over again. Sometimes shallow. Sometimes familiar. Sometimes deep enough that I could still see the edge.

And sometimes so deep and dark it felt as though there was no light in sight.

That darkest one, the one where I felt like giving up, may not have been “rock bottom” in the grand sense, but it was the deepest ditch I’d ever been thrown into. I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know how to get out. And that scared me more than the raw pain itself.

What I’ve been learning, through therapy, reflection, sharing, and honestly just trying my best to listen these past 16 months, is that it’s okay to grieve those moments. It’s okay to let them feel heavy and let out a howling deep cry. Grief doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re open to orienting yourself to new terrain.

Of course this felt overwhelming. Of course I didn’t know how to handle it at first. I’d never had to before.

Strength isn’t something you’re born knowing how to use in every scenario. It’s something that’s built and refined—slowly, painfully—when theory turns into lived experience.

And while this season of life has asked more of me than I wanted to give, it’s also reminded me of who I am.

I love life. I love love. I love optimism. I love the underdog. And so much more.

But above all of that comes hope.

And while the Dani-hope-a-meter has been running low, I’ve realized I’d rather feel the ache of hope slipping than the emptiness of no hope at all. Hope is a vulnerability I’m choosing to keep — not because it’s comfortable, but because it keeps me awake to my life.

I also decided I don’t want to go numb.

I don’t want to bypass the sadness or rush the process just to feel “better.” I want to feel what’s here, grieve what’s been lost, and still believe this isn’t the end of the story, even if I don’t yet know how the next chapter reads.

Later this morning, I’ll get my next round of X-rays to see if my surgery was a success.

I don’t know what they’ll show. I don’t know whether I’ll start climbing out of the ditch, or whether I’ll find myself back in it again, reaching for different tools.

What I do know is this: I’m going to try my best to sit with uncertainty rather than shut myself off from it. And while it hurts, I’ll also try to keep feeling deeply instead of being scared of it.

So, even if this ends up being the longest climb out of a ditch I’ve ever faced, it doesn’t mean I can’t do it. t just means I’ll have to learn as I go.

And that ladies and gentleman, is life.