When the Universe Trips You Up: A Birthday, A Broken Zoom, and An Unexpected Sidewalk Lesson

Some weeks are perfectly designed to test your recovery. Not in a cruel way, but in that divinely orchestrated manner that helps you see just how far you've come – and maybe delivers a lesson you didn't know you still needed.

Swimming in an Ocean of Birthday Memories

My birthday week arrived like a tidal wave of joy. Hundreds of messages poured in, each one a testament to connections built over years. I found myself swimming in an ocean of memories, overwhelmed in the most beautiful way possible.

The neuroscience geek in me knows that positive emotions can trigger old neural pathways just as effectively as negative ones. Our brains don't always distinguish between "good stress" and "bad stress" – they just register the intensity and reach for familiar coping mechanisms.

When Technology Has Other Plans

As if the emotional richness of birthday week wasn't enough, the universe decided to add a plot twist. Right before my small group meeting – on my actual birthday – Zoom crashed. Not just for me, but apparently for users worldwide.

Picture this: a birthday girl trying to connect with one of her small group coaching sessions with no ZOOM!  We were able to hop on Messenger, but I had no idea what I was going to do with the other two! There were just as critically important meetings that couldn't be rescheduled. The app designer I'd been waiting weeks to speak with. The book club I'd committed to leading. All on the same day that hundreds of messages were pulling on me.

Perfect storm doesn't begin to describe it.

The Parts That Help Us Along

In the early days of my recovery journey, I used to hear those helpful inner voices. "Turn your head away from that table," they'd whisper as I passed temptation. "Hold your breath as you walk past that smell," they'd advise when a familiar aroma threatened to pull me back.

I didn't recognize it then, but these were my protective parts helping me navigate a new landscape. They understood what my conscious mind was still learning – that my health required new pathways, and they stepped in as guides when I needed them most. (Perhaps your Indulger, Rebel, Inner Critic could change jobs? Mine did without me overtly asking.  Maybe you could read them this blogpost?)

During my birthday week, with emotions running high and technology testing my patience, those old neural pathways of coping in the foody way started humming with electricity again. Not loudly, not demandingly, but present nonetheless.

The Sidewalk Intervention

Then came Saturday. After a week of celebration and technology challenges, our beloved dogs had a scuffle that required a vet visit. Everyone was fine, but the stress meter ticked up another notch.

When my daughter asked me to pick up her dinner so she could stay with our pup, I happily headed out for the short 1.4-mile trip. And something strange happened.

Without conscious thought, I found myself pulling into a Walgreens parking lot. My feet carried me toward the entrance as if on autopilot. I was halfway up the sidewalk before I even registered what was happening.

And then – WHAM! – I tripped over... nothing. Absolutely nothing. I fell hard enough that my smart watch prepared to call emergency services, breaking my fall with my right arm.

Looking back at the smooth, empty sidewalk, the message couldn't have been clearer: my parts, my guides, my higher self–whatever you want to call that protective force–had orchestrated the most dramatic pattern interruption possible. It doesn't really matter if this isn't logical...

When Your Insula Creates New Associations

Our brains are miraculous learning machines. The insula – that part of your brain that will forever associate a specific food with the food poisoning it once gave you – works both ways.

In that moment of picking myself up from the sidewalk, I saw with crystal clarity the automatic connection between driving past a convenience store and "getting a bag of something." A connection I didn't even know still existed in my neural wiring.

And just like that, the circuit broke.

I didn't go inside. I dusted myself off, returned to my car, and completed my original mission. My nose remained intact, even if my pride was slightly bruised.

The Freedom of Compassionate Understanding

Here's the most important part of this story: I didn't beat myself up. Not even for a moment.

Years ago, finding myself on autopilot heading toward old behavior would have triggered shame and self-criticism. Instead, I felt fascination. I understood how deeply these pathways are etched, how automatically they can fire under the right circumstances, and how wonderfully protective my system is in creating dramatic interventions when needed.

The connection between location and behavior is now forever broken. Like food poisoning creating an aversion, my brain now associates that particular automatic behavior with a face-plant on concrete. (I'm not suggesting you try to mimic this... )

Sometimes healing comes in unexpected packages. Sometimes the universe trips you up because you need to fall. And sometimes the most powerful moments of recovery happen not when we're perfect, but when we're beautifully, compassionately human.

For those still on the journey: the triggers do heal. The pathways do rewire. The work you're doing matters. And sometimes, the universe will quite literally trip you up to show you just how far you've come.

And that deserves celebration – scraped knees and all.