This First Person column is the experience of Isobel Cunningham, who lives in Montreal. For more information about CBC’s First Person stories, please see the FAQ.
When I opened the door of my small condo building to head to the gym, I saw tree branches coated with ice and the sidewalk stretched out like an endless narrow skating track.
At 76, I still enjoy walking, hiking and taking on different physical challenges, so the unpredictability of a Montreal winter wasn’t going to stop me from hitting my daily goal of 10,000 steps.
I pulled on a pair of boots with built-in crampons, armed myself with one of my trusty hiking poles and plunged into the thick crust covering the snow. It reminded me of icing on a cake.
I managed to get halfway to the boulevard where I had hoped to hop a bus when suddenly, my boot didn’t punch through the crust.
Instead, I slithered on the icy surface for a terrifying moment, then recovered and assessed the situation. Was it possible my daily routine had turned into a dangerous endeavor?
In that moment, I realized I was afraid to walk to the corner.
I, a senior who not so long ago hiked the almost 800 kilometres of the Camino de Santiago in Spain — sleeping in communal dormitories and starting off in the pitch dark of early mornings to get a jump on the long days of solo walking ahead — was scared of walking to the end of my street.
Prudence won over my normally stubborn character that day and I turned back home.
But as I put the key into my door lock, unexpected tears welled up in my eyes.
A feeling of physical fragility swept over me. It was strange, unfamiliar and something I wasn’t yet prepared to face.
Anxiety of aging
The next few days presented challenges — both material and mental.
Confined to my home with a depleting supply of milk and bread, my mind started jumping from one sad idea to the next.
Simply walking down the street at my age was a risk that could land me with a broken bone or worse. What if I could never go out in the winter again without asking for help?
I hate asking people for favours. Others have their own preoccupations and duties. Why should they have to take care of me? And given my long career as a teacher and in social service as the one providing help, it felt odd and almost alien to ask for help.
This forced isolation hammered home the fact that I am no longer young — something I’d never really felt before given my active lifestyle.
I tried to block out my depressing thoughts with an inordinate number of half-watched Netflix films and endless Facebook scrolling. Eventually I turned off the devices in disgust. Was this what they called cabin fever?
By the third day stuck at home, the sidewalks still an icy hazard, I had run out of milk and bread. I was dying for a cup of milky coffee. I tried to imagine what the hundreds or thousands of other seniors like me were doing to solve similar problems.
Dejected, I turned to my phone. That’s when I discovered it had been on silent.
The device lit up with a slew of text and voice messages from various friends and a grandchild who were concerned about me.
I was touched to see that people were thinking about me, hoping I was OK. I returned a few calls to reassure my dear ones.
And the truth is: I was OK.
Logic tells us anxiety comes with aging. But logic hides so skillfully when we are faced with unexpected barriers. That’s when gumption and ingenuity must be coaxed out.
I searched the internet, found a local grocery store that did grocery deliveries and, with some difficulty, managed to place my online order. There was even a first time discount code. Like magic, the groceries were in my kitchen within the hour.
My spirits lifted. My panicked fantasies were calmed.
That experience taught me I can find solutions to my problems if I put my mind to it rather than ruminating on the very real limitations of a frankly old woman.
After four days, the temperature rose to just above freezing and the main risk of falling on icy sidewalks had temporarily passed. I took my hiking pole and gingerly walked to the gym. I came home tired but triumphant.
It seems it’s now my turn to ask for help when I need it — an idea I’m still working to make peace with.
Change is hard at this age and yet it is vital if I am to survive and thrive — although I’m finding changing my self-image is much harder than placing an online food delivery order.
Do you have a compelling personal story that can bring understanding or help others? We want to hear from you. Here’s more info on how to pitch to us.
