The Messages Are Loud and Clear (Part 1: Falling)

Posted: June 11, 2025 by Mary Oluonye

You know, sometimes life sends you messages. Or maybe it’s your body. Or your brain. Or God. Or something deep in the earth that says: “Hey… watch yourself.”

At 69, I’ve learned to listen. I have to listen.

Because the consequences of ignoring the signs are bigger now. They hit harder. They take longer to heal. And sometimes, they knock you flat. Literally.

I’ve Been Falling for Decades

I mean physically. I’ve fallen more times in my life than I care to count. Yet somehow, I’m always surprised when it happens.

This last time, a few days ago, was different. It made me stop and say, “Okay, young lady. This is a message. And it is loud and clear.”

A Walk, a Fall, and a Wake-Up Call

I was out walking the dogs, minding my business like I do every day. There’s a stretch of sidewalk I’ve walked a hundred times. But on this particular day, I missed the uplifted pavement. I didn’t see it in time.

I tripped. And when I say I went down, I went down. The kind of fall that feels like slow motion and instant impact all at once. The dogs scattered. Poop bags flew. Leashes slipped from my hands. One dog jumped back; the other looked at me like, “What just happened?”

I landed hard. My wrists took the brunt, my knees got scraped up. I did manage to protect my head—thank goodness, because I was wearing glasses, and if I’d hit my head, that could have been the end of me.

And that’s the message right there: If I fall and hit my head when I’m alone, there may not be anyone there to help.

Awareness Comes With Age

I’m not saying this to scare myself or anyone else. I’m sharing it because it’s true. That’s what this stage of life is teaching me. It’s not just about being cautious; it’s about being aware. Fully present. Smart about how I move in the world.

The Risk Feels More Real When I am Abroad

I live part-time in Ghana, in a lovely apartment with four bedrooms and three bathrooms. The space is airy, the neighbors are lovely, and the neighborhood is calm—exactly my vibe. But the property has one thing that makes me pause: stairs.

Outdoor stairs. The kind that turn slick in the rain. And in Ghana, when it rains, it doesn’t drizzle—it pours like the sky cracked open. The stairs become slippery, and risky. Every time I go up or down, I feel a flicker of unease. That inner voice whispers again: “You know if you fall here, it might not go well.”

That whisper is getting louder, and I’m learning to listen.

Every Fall Has Taught Me Something

There have been plenty of falls. I remember slipping in the kitchen once and slamming my head on the floor tiles, not once but twice. That fall gave me a concussion, a swollen, traumatized black eye, a little memory loss, and days of dizziness. It shook me deeply.

Then there was the time at Kakum National Park in Ghana. The canopy walk? No problem. But on the way down, I fell, twisted my ankle badly, and had to limp out before sunset. I love adventure, but I have no interest in getting stuck in a rainforest after dark.

Or the time I fell in the bathtub as a child. That was after already falling off a table and hitting the back of my head so hard that it bled and never grew hair in that spot again. Like I said, falling and I go way back.

The Lesson Behind the Message

Now, though, it all feels more urgent. The stakes are higher. Now that I am older, the recovery time is longer. Maybe that’s part of the message. It’s not just, “Be careful.” It’s “Be present. Be intentional. Pay attention. Take your time. You don’t bounce back like you used to.”

And you know what? I’m okay with that.

I Don’t Need to Prove Anything

These days, I don’t need to be the fastest, the strongest, or the most agile. I just need to be mindful. I need to stay aware. And I need to be grateful that, for now, I can still get up when I fall.

That’s Part One of the message. There’s more to come.

Stay tuned for Part Two: Sickness.

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