On January 10 2024 I shot out of the gate full of fire and resolve, the fabulous holidays behind me, a mighty suitcase full of essentials headed down the baggage carousel. Workshops and writing groups were ahead in Seattle. Two hours: that was all it took for my suitcase to destroy my left arm, deltoid and neck while pushing the heavy bag up the Bainbridge Island ferry ramp. Unbelievably I was faced with a change of plan.

I spent a long time setting up this particular winter/spring; dates in the calendar written in pen, submissions, sign-ups, advance emails for groups meetings. The Orthopedic took a picture a day later, stated there were no tears and I needed rest, massage and muscle relaxants. I had planned to be in a two-day immersive that first week, join a gym, walk five miles a day. I could not get dressed, lift my arms to brush/wash/clip my hair or look at a screen. Full stop.

I don’t do “change of plan” well in any condition so I persevered/struggled; propped books and my iPad on a large pillow. Slept upright. Took less meds be clear of mind. Tried walking smaller walks more often. Every had neck spasms? I do not wish them on anyone. Until my cousin in her ultimate wisdom, hearing me whimper getting out of a chair, put her hands out and barked “STOP!”

I stayed in my pajamas that day. Got refunds for the workshops. Called for a cortisone shot and advice. Sat in the steam room every day. Lifted nothing but a teacup. Who stops in January? Prior to leaving I had cleaned the garage for five days, lifting everything, tirelessly making room for the new. That was just the first five days. It never occurred to me to stop until my body spoke up, something like hey girl, hair on fire, enough.

It worked.

For a tangle of reasons I am moving fast, for one my goal to have the memoir collection outlined soon. I was crushed that I simply could not function. But here is what happened, mostly during the sleepless and uncomfortable nights; my mind engaged. I wrote some great lines. Solved some tricky transitions. Fleshed out some characters. And not a letter was written down. The big picture was just that — a picture that I actually needed to have in this process.

Here I sit typing (yeah) and thinking and finally back online with some update on my silences. Have I learned anything? Hopefully.

How do you stop? Did you know we need to?

Alexandra Dane writes what lies deep in the marrow of our bones: life, disease, memory and hope — always hope. Winner of the Annie Dillard Creative Non Fiction award from The Bellingham Review this year, Alexandra Dane is also published in River Teeth and San Fedele Press’s American Writers Review. Her manuscript-in-progress explores coming of age, twice, at the mercy of cancer; once as a young caregiver for her mother and then as a patient herself. Her blog, http://www.alexandradanewrites.com explores the tiny big things that happen. She knits to think.