A curious case of unlearning to learn
Kay Buckby
Developing Managers into Leaders. I coach, mentor and train Compassionate Leadership, People Centred Managers and Mindful Staff. Qualified mindfulness teacher, coach and mentor. Interested? Then let's chat
The past two weeks have been a fascinating case of unlearning, and learning, for me.
I often see how difficult it is to unlearn - for example, on recruitment interviewing skills courses, the learners who are completely new to interviewing often have an easier time than those having to unlearn old habits.
For me, the process of unlearning has involved physical, mental, and emotional, unlearning. I had an operation on my heel bone/bursa/achilles on 7th November, and came out of hospital on 8th November. I was in a cast for the first time in my life, weight bearing on my left (unfavoured) leg, hopping on my right leg, and using crutches.
I live in an old fashioned, Victorian cottage, with no downstairs toilet, and the sheer effort of getting up, and downstairs, on my bottom used muscles in my upper body that mean I am certainly without ‘bingo wings’ for Christmas this year. Getting myself to stand up at the top of the stairs, from seated, with only one weight bearing leg – try it, and see how you work out how to do it!
I was also mindful of creepy crawlies on the stairs – I’ve previously jumped out of my having noticed a spider on the stair! So I had to adorn my bravery, and feel the fear and do it anyway. I’m most proud of myself, even though I did have a few scary dreams about it – showing my unconscious was whirring away on the problem as I rested!
The physical ‘unlearning’ was vast, and it was a completely fascinating process. Yes, on crutches, I could get to the kitchen to attempt to make a cup of tea. But how do I fill up the kettle? I learned really quickly that my competence in carrying things was limited, and a bag slung around me gave me the option to at least move some items up and downstairs.
If I fell, I couldn't put out my arms and hands to save myself, like in my usual life. Because, in crutches, those rules are void. The risk is breaking my arms because they’re stuck in my crutches! I learned really quickly that my yoga balance was of no use, when I attempted a daring (and stupid) ‘lift the vase of flowers to the floor’ move, and fell onto my ribs in the process! But better than breaking my right arm, that was in the crutch.
Learning patience. I wasn’t being looked after by someone who’s only role was to be my carer. In fact, this person is also my business partner, so they had even more stuff to do than usual! So putting aside my own desires – “I’d love a coffee”, “I’d love to get up and get a cup of tea” (when I was awake but my husband was sleeping), or “My book is just out of reach” – was interesting to observe. The annoyance of not being able to settle every whim made me realise how spoiled, indulgent, and lucky I am usually.
Being mindful was taken to a deeper level. I practice mindfulness, yet the highs and lows brought an intensity to every moment. I was sometimes awash with emotions: highs, lows, confusion, and found comfort simply observing and resting in this sea of emotion. Going with the flow was essential.
Learning involved an effort and intensity in everyday actions that only a few days ago were effortless, automatic processes. An example of just one action of a huge task, is my first shower. It became a full mornings’ project, with both of us brainstorming ways to ‘hop’ over the metal threshold of the shower, without hurting my weight bearing leg. The joy of working out new ways is wonderful, but it did show me how every learner needs to keep going, even when the ‘new’ way or approach seems such hard work.
The emotional vulnerability was sometimes unbearable. I relied on people around me for every glass of water, help with every trip to the toilet, help dressing, and all my meals. Loneliness, helplessness, and almost a child like vulnerability gripped me some times, like when I was desperate for the toilet.
The adventure was huge, and it will take some time to process. I hope I have greater empathy and understanding for my learners during their unlearning, and learning journey. My gratitude and joy to be in a surgical boot is joyful, and I am eternally grateful for this life opportunity.