Kintsugi is the Japanese art of repairing broken pieces of pottery with gold. It’s a clear metaphor for embracing flaws and accepting imperfections. Don’t panic. This isn’t a sneaky art history seminar (although I encourage you to check out some Kintsugi pieces. It’s stunning.) Kintsugi is part of the wabi-sabi lifestyle in Japan. Wabi-sabi is a Japanese term referring to the appreciation of the beauty of imperfection, impermanence, and simplicity as the natural state of things in the world.
So, why am I, an epilepsy veteran whose seizures remain uncontrolled, rambling about a Japanese philosophy that embraces simplicity, when my life is far from simple?
Not A Great Friday Night
I was sitting on my couch and realised that I was wet. Not the ‘oh my god, I’m gonna have to steam clean the couch cushions’ kinda wet. It was more a ‘why is my back and right shoulder’ wet. I then realised I had been wearing dungarees but now had on PJs. Something had happened. It was time to start reverse engineering the previous 20 minutes or so. First, I needed to find out where and how I got wet.
Epilepsy Jo had taken me to the bathroom to change (it’s where my PJs were). I found my dungarees and the top I was wearing, soaking wet from the waist up, balled up in the laundry basket. But it’s not where I got wet.
The detective in me deduced that the seizure had hit while I was standing at the kitchen counter. How, you ask? Well, let me tell you. Water was all over the kitchen floor, and the cat’s bowl was empty. The fridge, which the cat’s bowl butts up against, usually sits perpendicular to the window. It was now turned to look out the window. I must have fallen back into the corner, shifted the fridge, which spilled the cat’s water, and then laid in it.
After The Fall
It was at this point that I burst into tears. I wasn’t hurt (really). I hadn’t been incontinent (my most hated thing). I cried because my brain started running through the ‘what-if’ scenarios. I would have fallen out the window if I had fallen one metre to my right. If I had dropped one metre to my left, I’d have come down not on the cat bowl but on a glass shelf in a recess in the wall. I still don’t understand how I didn’t hit my head falling where I did. I believe it’s this instinctive and incessant ‘what-if’ processing that compels me to let someone else know whenever I fall. It’s a need that overcomes me.
There are several reasons for it. Firstly, it halves the burden. If, like on Friday, I’m not hurt, just shaken, I want to talk it out. Literally. Secondly (and more so when I’ve hit my head), I’m very aware that ‘something more sinister’ is increasingly likely in the next few hours, and I want someone to have the whole picture. It’s about not feeling like I’m on my own.
But You Want Your Independence, Don’t You?
I’ve written a lot about maintaining my independence and living alone. I stand by it all. I do not want that situation to change. It’s not my living alone that causes me to fall. It’s epilepsy. I’m not speculating. I know this to be true. I stayed with Big Sis, a nurse, for three months while looking for a place. While staying there, I fell twice and, on one occasion, poured a kettle full of freshly boiled water over my arm. Big Sis was right there. The only advantage was that she treated the burn quickly and correctly while I was still post-ictal (no mean feat). The only way not to fall or get hurt is to be sedated or do nothing but sit on the couch encased in bubble wrap. Which is not a life and therefore, not an option.
Although epilepsy does not define me, it does limit me. To forget that is reckless. Every fall, every blip is a big, fat reminder of this condition’s unpredictable and life-limiting nature. However, I must acknowledge that it’s becoming tougher to recover as I get older, even just in the few years since my Goldilocks series; the bounce back isn’t quite what it was.
So, is This Your Japanese Pottery Analogy?
What I’m saying is not even new and insightful information. It’s information that my brain (our brains?) conveniently pushes to one side the more extended the stretch between seizures or between falls: it’s not about ‘the falling down’. It’s about ‘the getting up’. I’m starting to find my ‘getting up’ takes a little longer and is a little messier every time. And that’s okay. It’s about giving myself time. The shell that covers my vulnerable and frightened self is shattered when I fall. I need time. It used to be about 24 hours, but now it’s taking longer. I had a significant fall in the summer that took almost two weeks.
I must accept that imperfection, embrace that reality.
I must take all the time I need to gather the broken shards of the shell, tuck in the exposed ‘vulnerable’ and ‘frightened’ and repair the cracks with gold. Everyone’s gold is different. My ‘gold’ is things like posh tea and dark chocolate HobNobs, a walk around the botanical gardens on a sunny day, or new and probably expensive yarn; in short, it’s self-care. I appreciate that my shell will shatter again, but for now, it’s tough, and it’s magnificent. I make that shell stronger and more beautiful.
© 2023 Jo Mackenzie All Rights Reserved
