Crutch

My ex-husband once bought a pair of crutches at a yard sale.

He was a frequenter of yard sales—it was his favorite way to spend Saturday mornings. But still, I was perplexed about this purchase. When he brought them home, I asked, rolling my eyes, “Why did you buy crutches?”

“They were only five bucks,” he said, “and who knows when we'll need them?”

I didn’t bother pointing out that the crutches were too tall for me—they were wooden and spindly. But he liked having them. And years later, when our son broke his foot playing football on the last day of high school, they were too tall for even him.

But I understood the appeal.

We all have crutches like that in our basement. There are things we all rely on to carry us.

Sometimes these crutches can be useful—if you have a ruptured Achilles tendon or a broken appendage. But some crutches don’t really serve us or help us move forward.

One of my crutches is Diet Coke.
I tell people it has no redeeming qualities, other than the fact that I love it.

It probably has adverse health effects (a naturopathic doctor once told me that NutraSweet is one of the few substances that can penetrate membranes to get to the brain). But it gets me through the afternoon and gives me something to look forward to late morning, when I'm a little bit hungry but can't reasonably have lunch yet. And it is a great pick-me-up when I make a pit stop on long trips for work.

But I have other crutches beyond Diet Coke.

My crutch to fall to sleep is watching Netflix for half an hour.

My crutch for getting through the pandemic is Pinot Grigio.

My crutch for all things weather-related is my partner, Dana Lavoie. I like to ask him what the weather will be or how hard it is going to snow, rather than looking it up for myself.

My crutch when I'm in the dumps is a chocolate peanut butter whoopie pie.

All those years I was single, my crutch was my son. Focusing on taking care of him and his world kept me grounded; it kept me sane. As he grew older, he had to wean me off of him like one might wean themselves off caffeine. When he went off to college, he slowly trained me to be used to not talking to him every day, or even every few days.

And that particular weaning off gave me more than just a caffeine headache.

Some people use exercise as a crutch. (Not me, but I know others do it.) Even exercise can become an addiction—a way to escape life.

Most crutches are ways that we buffer ourselves. They can serve as a barrier between ourselves and other people; or a safety net between us and whatever is happening out there. Crutches can be a way we cope.

What crutches do you have in your basement?

And do you know which are sustainable and healthy and which ones are not?

When I was 17, I was skiing Killington Mountain in VT, and I tweaked my knee—badly. It ended not just that run but my short-lived interest skiing.

I now have arthritis and scar tissue in that knee and I have tweaked the same one playing tennis as an adult. The first time I did this, I bought myself a Velcro knee brace just to give me some extra support.

I had to wear the brace every time I played tennis for a number of months. It helped me feel like my knee was stronger than it really was.

Eventually, my knee healed, and I could stop wearing it. But I still kept the brace in my tennis bag next to my shoes and racquets. I was afraid that I might tweak it again—that I might need it sometime during a tennis match when I was on the court.

I left the brace in my bag for a year. Yep, a year.

But the thing was heavy and took up space.

And I knew it wasn’t good for me to have it in there. Every time I felt it in my bag, I was reminded that “Remember, your knee is weak. Someday you may hurt it again.”

But I didn’t want to attract a hurt knee. I didn't want to invite that back into my life.

So, finally, I pulled the brace out of my bag one day and announced out loud, “I trust you, universe! I'm taking it out! I’m not going to need it!”

(I have Diet Coke, and Netflix, and peanut butter whoopie pies, and Pinot Grigio....)

And I promptly put the brace in the trunk of my car.

It was there a few more months—I didn't put it in the basement right away.

Just in case.