Thrive wherever life takes you #8
Learning how to start again
In 2020, I broke my sacrum. It happened when I was training for my first 100 mile race. On a Friday I went for one of those runs where the stars align- I felt strong and capable in my body, the miles flowed easily, and I could see the fitness coming together. On Saturday I fell from 15 feet in the air and couldn’t walk. Sitting hurt. Standing hurt. Even shifting in bed at night was painful. An MRI showed a coccyx fracture, and the prescription was blunt: no running, no walking. For how long? I remember asking, the words coming out as a whisper, my vocal cords seeming to sense the amount of emotion I was trying to contain. The response? Hard to say.
What followed wasn’t just a physical injury, but a slow unraveling of the story I told myself about who I was. I’ve always been a runner, not just in practice, but in identity. It’s how I move through the world, how I process stress, how I connect with joy, with nature, with my own body. Without it, I felt unmoored.
It had been a while since I struggled with anxious and negative self-talk, but those thoughts rushed back in.
What if I can never run the same again?
What if the best version of me is already behind me?
It took months to work through the physical healing. But it took even longer to quiet those mental whispers. I remember the first time I ran 5k again. My pace was laughably slow. My gait felt clunky. I was aware I was doing little more than shuffling. Not like before. Not like me. But still… doing it.
It’s been five years. And the me from back then couldn’t have imagined all that the current me would be doing. I’m running stronger, faster, farther, and more joyfully than ever before. All because I gave myself permission to begin again- with patience, curiosity, and a commitment to the long game.
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We don’t talk enough about the process of beginning again. It’s not glamorous. It’s not quick. It often lacks the celebratory milestones we post online. But if we stick with it, it can be the most powerful kind of transformation. Not simply a return to who we were, but an evolution into who we’re capable of becoming.
Starting again is a concept that shows up in nearly every aspect of life. Maybe you’re picking up the pieces after an injury, a breakup, a career change, or a dream that didn’t pan out. Maybe you’re returning to therapy after a long break. Or sitting with a journal, staring down the page, trying to write your way back into clarity. Wherever you are, the same truth applies: with time and patience, you can build- or rebuild- almost anything.
From a psychological perspective, the ability to start again is deeply tied to two key processes: resilience and neuroplasticity.
Resilience isn’t about never struggling. It’s about being able to adapt and recover when things don’t go as planned. Research shows that people who view setbacks as temporary and changeable are more likely to persist and succeed in the long run. This mindset, sometimes called a growth mindset, is something we can nurture through practice.
Neuroplasticity is the brain’s ability to reorganize itself by forming new neural connections. In practical terms, it means we’re capable of change. Even after injury. Even after failure. Even after long periods of inactivity or disconnection. Our brains and bodies are wired for renewal, if we give them the time and tools they need.
If you find yourself standing at the edge of something new, or something old you’re attempting to return to, consider:
What old stories am I telling myself about who I am and what I can or can’t do?
What would it mean to start small and stay consistent, even if the progress feels invisible at first?
What version of success am I willing to let go of, so that something more sustainable or joyful can emerge?
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This blog- this actual entry- is a form of starting again for me. After a two year break, I’m returning to writing. Like running after injury, it feels a bit stiff and uncertain. But I’ve learned not to confuse rustiness with wrongness.
If you’re reading this at your own threshold of starting again, I want to remind you:
You are not behind. You are not broken. You are building. You are capable of getting “back” to where you were, but you are also capable of becoming someone even more whole, wise, and resilient than before.
Let it be slow. Let it be messy.
Don’t be afraid to begin again.
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