Close dialogue 1/3 Next image Previous image Toggle caption

Support the Guardian

Fund the free press with $5 per month

Support us Support us

Print subscriptions

Newsletters

The Guardian - Back to home The Guardian

Show more Hide expanded menu

- News
- View all News
- US news
- US politics
- World Cup 2026
- World news
- Climate crisis
- Middle East
- Ukraine
- US immigration
- Business
- Environment
- Tech
- Science
- Newsletters
- The Filter
- Wellness
- Opinion
- Sport
- View all Sport
- World Cup 2026
- Soccer
- NFL
- Tennis
- MLB
- MLS
- NBA
- WNBA
- NHL
- F1
- Golf
- Culture
- View all Culture
- Film
- Books
- Music
- Art & design
- TV & radio
- Stage
- Classical
- Games
- Lifestyle
- View all Lifestyle
- The Filter
- Wellness
- Fashion
- Food
- Recipes
- Love & sex
- Home & garden
- Health & fitness
- Family
- Travel
- Money
Search input google-search Search
```
  *   [Search jobs](https://jobs.theguardian.com/)
```
Search input google-search Search
The Filter
Wellness
Fashion
Food
Recipes
Love & sex
Home & garden
Health & fitness
Family
Travel
Money

Break number one … Jonathan, aged eight, in Thailand in 2002. Photograph: Courtesy of Jonathan Oldfield

View image in fullscreen

Break number one … Jonathan, aged eight, in Thailand in 2002. Photograph: Courtesy of Jonathan Oldfield

A moment that changed me Psychology

A moment that changed me: I broke my arm seven times – and finally listened to what my body was telling me

As a child, enduring break after break, I thought of myself as simply unlucky. Truth was, I needed to tune in to my aches, pains and well-founded fears

Jonathan Oldfield

Wed 8 Jul 2026 01.45 EDT

Prefer the Guardian on Google

I t was the first day of spring this year. I was topless, face-down on a foldaway travel table, as the masseuse uttered six words that brought my attempt at relaxation to an abrupt end: “I think your arm is haunted.”

I have broken my right arm seven times: seven breaks on seven separate occasions. Some years, my arm was in a sling more than it was out of one. The novelty of getting your mates to cover your cast in that 00s grafitti “S” and the relief of missing the bleep test at school quickly wore off.

My arm-breaking debut came in 2002, when I was eight and fell off my bike. The second time, I fell off a trampoline. The third time, I jumped off a swing and into my younger brother. Then I was pushed off a bed by my eldest brother. The fifth time, I was playing hopscotch with the girls next door a little too vigorously and fell flat on my face (and arm). For number six, most agonisingly, surgeons deliberately re-broke my arm under anaesthetic because the previous operation had set it incorrectly. And the final time was in Paris in 2007, when I was 13. Playing football, I went to head a ball and fell, hard. Before the pain hit, I stood up and said to my coach: “I think my arm’s broken.” By then, the dull ache of ruptured bone felt familiar, but it didn’t take a doctor to see that my wrist was six inches away from where a wrist should be.

I grew up in different countries for most of my childhood, living across South America, Asia and Europe before moving back to the UK. My parents, language graduates with a severe case of wanderlust, kept travelling and we moved with them. I have experienced some of the planet’s greatest cultures and cuisines, but also some of its worst orthopaedic departments.

View image in fullscreen

Break number three … Jonathan with his brother in 2003. Photograph: Courtesy of Jonathan Oldfield

I haven’t broken my arm for almost 20 years now and I rarely think about those days of contorting my body like a gymnast to shower without getting my cast wet (top tip: put your arm in a plastic bag). Or of losing a chopstick under the cast after trying to scratch a hidden itch (another tip: metal or plastic chopsticks work best; wooden ones tend to snap and leave splinters).

I asked the masseuse what she meant by “haunted” and she explained that, in some cultures, a repeated injury to the same part of the body could be interpreted as your ancestors trying to contact you. Your ancestors are trying to teach you a lesson, and they are repeating it until it’s learned. “You seem a little tense,” she added, giving me the phone number of someone who could exorcise the arm.

Instead, I rang my parents and jokingly asked if there was any reason an ancestor might be haunting me. Mum said my great-great-grandfather lost his right arm in the first world war. In a rehabilitation camp back in the UK, he learned woodwork and weaving; he made a stool that I used to sit on as a boy. “What would he be wanting to tell me?” I asked. “I think he’s telling you to collect all your stuff from our shed,” my dad piped up, “because it’s taking up a lot of space.”

I went up the Eiffel Tower, and as I leaned over the edge, I swear my arm felt the fear before my brain did

In the weeks that followed, I told the haunted arm story at the pub with a smirk. But when I was alone, I found myself reflecting on it more seriously. I didn’t feel as if I was haunted by a first world war soldier, but perhaps I was haunted by the raw and intense experience of repeatedly breaking a bone during childhood. Each time the plaster cast was removed, I would ignore the lingering dull ache, or the small voice telling me to wait another week, and within days I’d be back on my bike, or on the trampoline or annoying my brothers. I ploughed on, pushing through the discomfort. I learned how to play squash. I learned the drums. I even mastered the diabolo (remember the diabolo?).

But to this day, whenever I’m sick or stressed, my arm hurts first. When I got Covid for the first time, I Googled whether pain in the right arm was a symptom. On holiday last month, I went up the Eiffel Tower, and as I leaned over the edge, I swear my arm felt the fear before my brain did. And when I come home after a long day, I sometimes find myself subconsciously cradling my arm, as if it’s in a sling.

View image in fullscreen

Break number five … Jonathan with his mum in 2005. Photograph: Courtesy of Jonathan Oldfield

Perhaps ignoring what my body has been through, what it is “haunted” by, has caused me greater pain in the long run. Maybe thinking of myself as simply “unlucky” was a convenient way of not admitting that, somewhere around break number four, I had stopped trusting my body.

Since being told my arm is haunted, I’ve become more interested in listening to what my body remembers than ignoring what my mind wants to forget. These days, when I’m run down or I find the ache starting to creep in, I treat it as a sign to slow down and remain cautious. It is a useful reminder to take it easy. With that in mind, I haven’t called in the arm exorcist yet.

Jonathan Oldfield: Exquisite Corpse is at the Edinburgh festival fringe, 5–30 August

At this unsettling time

We hope you appreciated this article. Before you close this tab, we want to ask if you could support the Guardian at this crucial time for journalism in the US.

In his first presidency, Donald Trump called journalists the enemy; in his second term, it's clear he's treating us like one.

From Hungary to Russia, authoritarian regimes have made silencing independent media one of their defining moves. Sometimes outright censorship isn’t even required to achieve this goal. In the United States, we have seen the administration apply various forms of pressure on news outlets since Trump returned to office. One of our great disappointments is how quickly some of the most storied US media organizations have folded when faced with the mere specter of hostility from the administration – long before their hand was forced.

While private news organizations can choose how to respond to this government’s threats, insults and lawsuits, public media has been powerless to stop the defunding of federally supported television and radio. This has been devastating for local and rural communities, who stand to lose not only their primary source of local news and cultural programming, but health and public safety information, including emergency alerts.

While we cannot make up for this loss, the Guardian is proud to make our fact-based work available for free to all, especially when the internet is increasingly flooded with slanted reporting, misinformation and algorithmic drivel.

Being free from billionaire and corporate ownership means the Guardian will never compromise our independence – but it also means we rely on support from readers who understand how essential it is to have news sources that are immune to intimidation from the powerful.

We know our requests for support are not as welcome as our reporting, but without them, it’s simple: our reporting wouldn’t exist. Of course, we understand that some readers are not in a position to support us, and if that is you, we value your readership no less.

But if you are able, please support us today. All gifts are gratefully received, but a recurring contribution is most impactful, helping sustain our work throughout the year ahead (and among the great benefits, we’ll show you far fewer fundraising requests like this). It takes just 37 seconds to give. Thank you for protecting the free press.

Support $5/monthly

Recommended

Support $15/monthly

Unlock All-access digital benefits:

Far fewer asks for support
Ad-free reading on all your devices
Unlimited access to the premium Guardian app
Regular dispatches from the newsroom to see the impact of your support
Unlimited access to Feast, the Guardian recipe app

Support once from just $1

Continue

Remind me in August

Explore more on these topics

Reuse this content