Second Chance Series: 7/2
Day 4: Fear of Reinjury
Welcome to The Second Chances Series, my 23-day writing experiment capturing the joy, mess, beauty, and meaning of my midlife wedding.
I recently got remarried at 57…
…to a widower….
…on a dangerously hot Midwestern summer day…
…surrounded by our seven grown kids and more second-chance energy than I could’ve imagined.
Every day from June 29 to July 21, I’ll post one unfiltered reflection based on moments and photos from our wedding day. I’m doing this to capture all the memories while they’re still fresh in my mind, and to reflect on all that I’m learning about love, grief, joy, and reinvention. And, you’re invited, as always, to share your own reflections on the day’s theme.
This series will also provide a behind-the-scenes look at how I think about and draft material for my upcoming book, co-edited with my husband, Eric, called We Began Again: Collected Essays on Second Chances.
Some portions of these wedding reflection posts will be free. Most will live behind the paywall to support this work. Thank you for being here.
SCHEDULE OF POSTS
6/29: We’ll Always Have To Start Somewhere
6/30: Beginning Again After Loss
7/1: Starting Over After Heartache
7/2: Fear of Reinjury
7/3: Courage to Start Anew
7/4: When Others’ Renewal Timelines Are Unlike Our Own
7/5: Looking More Forward Than Backward
7/6: The Importance of Acknowledging Loss
7/7: The Surprises of Starting Over
7/8: The Beauty of Beginning Again
7/9: Losing Black & White Thinking While Starting Over
7/10: The Magic of Embracing Stillness When Making a Comeback
7/11: Permission to Be Imperfect When Starting Anew
7/12: How a Community Grows When We Begin Again
7/13: Shock, Surprise, and the Hidden Impact of Starting Over
7/14: Hanging On When All Is Shattered, When All Your Hope Is Gone
7/15: Dealing With Disarray and Disharmony When Starting Over
7/16: Discomfort When Others Aren’t Ready to Begin Again
7/17: Allowing for New Dreams to Come True
7/18: Welcoming Unexpected Joy
7/19: Redefining Success the Second Time Around
7/20: Forgiving Yourself for the First Try
7/21: Final Reflection: Why We Begin Again
Day 4, July 2
Fear of Reinjury
Today’s Reflection
I’ve been an instructor at Northwestern University’s Norris Center for less than a year now, teaching a workshop I designed called Expressive Writing for Emotional Healing. It’s based on Dr. James Pennebaker’s pioneering research on the expressive writing method, which urges us to write about the most painful, difficult, upsetting experiences in order to heal.
Now, why on EARTH would we want to go back and revisit times of distress, upset, and agony? Why would we choose to reopen a trauma box and go digging through it? Why would we ever elect to scratch wounds that scarred over long ago?
The research shows that when we use the expressive writing method to write about these experiences — particularly those that bring us deep shame or that we just can’t bring ourselves to discuss with anyone — something incredible happens. By following the expressive writing methodology, we end up with improved physical health, mental health, and interpersonal health.
YES.
I know it sounds too good to be true, but as someone who’s been (unknowingly) practicing a form of expressive writing my whole life, I’m living proof that it works. But why am I telling you this?
HERE’S WHY.
After heartbreak, it’s a natural instinct to protect ourselves. Heartbreak of any sort — be it the end of a relationship… or a job… or a phase of life… or physical safety… or a dream — is devastating and deeply humbling. Heartbreak leaves us feeling vulnerable.
So, let’s talk about vulnerability for a second. What do you think of when you think of being vulnerable? Being exposed? Susceptible? Weak? Me, too…until I didn’t.
I’ve come to understand vulnerability as a true superpower, not because it’s easy, but because it’s authentic.
We live in a world that too often rewards curation and polish, but I choose truth. Vulnerability has always been how I connect, how I write, and how I help others tell their stories. It’s the thread that runs through every essay, every coaching session, every workshop I lead, and every relationship I have.
When I’ve allowed myself to be seen, I’ve opened the door to trust, to transformation, and even to healing. I’ve come to understand that vulnerability isn’t weakness. It’s the raw material of human connection, and I’ve tried to build a life around honoring it.
I don’t always get vulnerability right. In fact, when I’m most afraid, I often slip into performance mode — projecting strength, cracking jokes, keeping it light — anything to avoid the unbearable discomfort of being pitied. It’s a reflex and a kind of emotional armor I’ve worn for years. But little by little, I’ve been learning to set it down… to let the cracks show… and to be seen even when I feel messy or unsure.
And, it was that slow, shaky practice of showing up as my real self that made it possible to take the biggest risk of all: opening my heart again. When I started dating Eric, the fear of being hurt and reinjured was right there alongside the hope. But something was different this time.
Eric was different.
From our very first date, it was clear that he wasn’t out to impress, and that he was also in touch with his own vulnerability. Kindness and curiosity were the overriding vibes during our first date. Neither one of us were trying to show off or win anyone over. After months of trying out the dating scene and dealing with WAY TOO MUCH ICK, being in Eric’s presence felt comfortable, safe, and positive.
To be sure, there were many moments during our eight years of dating that I totally freaked out with Eric. I wasn’t used to someone being so patient and attentive and interested in my views. Having previously been through a painful divorce that I hadn’t initiated, I often considered myself leave-able. I sometimes imagined Eric following in my first husband’s footsteps, announcing one day that he had one foot out the door, that he just didn’t want to be with me anymore.
It would be years before I finally admitted these thoughts to Eric. I’ll never forget the day it all came out. I was on the phone with him (we lived an hour apart), and I’d reached a point where I was tired of the FaceTime calls and the distance and the uncertainty about where we were going. I longed for a sense of permanence and assurance, and I began to doubt that I’d ever have it again.
“This isn’t working,” I remember saying, more to myself than to Eric.
“What do you mean?” he asked, clearly confounded by my declaration.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I said with sincerity.
“I don’t understand,” Eric said. “Where is this coming from?”
I could hear the hurt and confusion in his voice, and it forced a reckoning in me: I was trying to be tough, to protect myself, but in reality, I was scared. And in that moment, I took a leap.
“I’m afraid,” I blurted, crying now. I think I was walking down Sherman Avenue in Evanston, unable to hide my emotions.
“Of what?” he asked. His voice was soft, not admonishing, and this allowed me to continue.
“I’m afraid that you’ll leave me, too,” I said.
There it was, and there I was, out in the open, for everyone to see. My anxiety had taken over, and I was petrified of the very thing that no one can control: the future. Deep down, I wanted to know that Eric wouldn’t leave me, but how pathetic was that? In that moment, I felt so ashamed, so out of control, so clearly leave-able.
“I am not leaving you,” Eric said.
I couldn’t speak.
“Do you hear me?” he asked. “Take that worry out of your head. I’m not going anywhere.”
I swallowed hard and nodded.
“Okay, he said. “Now that that’s cleared up, I have a question. Have you eaten today?”
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Your Turn
Describe a time when you’ve feared reinjury. How did it make you feel? Were you able to move forward despite the concern? If not, what happened? If you could redo it all again, how would you change things?
What I Learned About Second Chances:
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