Dr. Carolyn Lee reflects on a different cliché each week. Recently, in her blog “If You Can’t Say Something Nice, Don’t Say Anything at All,” she considers the pros and cons of speaking out. This week Carolyn explores the cliché, break a leg. 

Learn more about Dr. Carolyn Lee on her biography page or investigate 29 more clichés in her latest book, Keep Your Eye on the Ball And Other Clichès to Live By. 

Break a Leg 

No, I don’t want to write about the old theater expression that we say to actors before a performance. “Break a leg” under those circumstances means “good luck,” and although its origin and implications are interesting, the expression has called something completely different to my mind today, something worth considering.  

I recently read a story—perhaps apocryphal—about Margaret Mead. It is said that a student asked her what she considered to be the first sign of civilization in a culture. If you were to Google “early signs of civilization,” you would get answers like “large population centers,” “monumental architecture,” and “unique art.” But Margaret Mead didn’t mention any of those things. Margaret Mead said the first sign of civilization in a culture was a fractured human femur that had been healed. Animals that break their legs usually die. They can’t run away from danger or hunt for water and food. They become meat for predators. They cannot survive long enough for the bone to heal. A broken femur that has healed means that someone has carried the injured to safety, has tended to them and helped them recover. “Helping someone else through difficulty is where civilization starts,” Margaret Mead said. 

A person with a broken bone needs help–and attention. I must have sensed that when I was about six years old. I wanted to break my arm. A little girl in my class had broken her arm, and, oh, the attention she got! She proudly wore her cast, and her friends scribbled on it and signed their names. I wanted that. I wanted it so much that, when I got home, I took a dish towel out of a kitchen drawer and made a sling out of it. I put that sling on and paraded up and down the street in front of our house, just hoping, I guess, that neighbors would notice me and express their sympathy. Now, I came from a family that loved me; my parents cared for me and attended to me and gave me all the attention you would think a child might need. But there I was, with my dish-towel sling, walking the length of Alma Avenue, looking for attention and sympathy.  

When I was traveling with Up with People, at any given time there were two or three people in the cast on crutches. Certainly, some of those people had legitimate injuries—hairline fractures and torn ligaments, that sort of thing. But I felt sure that there were those among the limping that were either exaggerating an injury or making it up altogether. Why? Apparently, because the attention they were getting was not enough.  

The need in us to be noticed, to be recognized and appreciated is not something we grow out of. An article in Psychology Today calls attention “an essential component of our physical health” and “crucial to all of our closest relationships.” I certainly can’t claim that, as an adult, I have put aside all attention-seeking behaviors. But, at least, I have learned that approval is something that should be earned by good and positive and, perhaps, creative behavior, not by “acting out” or feigning a fractured femur. I’ve also learned that there’s nothing wrong with admitting a need for some attention and just politely asking for it—in words. 

Years ago, a friend of mine and I were making a cross-country drive. Her five-year-old son was making the trip with us. His mother and I had a lot to catch up on, and we were talking non-stop. The little guy was in the back seat, and occasionally he would attempt to show us the drawing he was working on or the little race car he was driving across the back of our seats. I’m afraid we pretty much ignored him. Finally, in total exasperation, he stood up (a child could stand up in the back seat in those days), and, with clenched fists and a red face, yelled at the top of his voice, “I NEED MORE ATTENTION!” I was thoroughly impressed with the direct manner in which he had addressed his problem. It was so much more mature than throwing a stuffed animal at us or dumping over his cup of Kool-Aid.  

The need for attention can rise to serious, psychological levels that require intervention and counseling. But even those of us whose attention-getting behaviors are under control, could do a better job of recognizing our own needs and expressing them in ways that are not off-putting. And just as importantly, we could be more sensitive to the needs of others and give them the attention they need before they have to ask for it. 

Margaret Mead believed that our attending to people with broken bones was a sign that we are civilized, that we care, maybe even that we love. I’m not saying those Neanderthals broke their bones as an attention-getting scheme. But when they did break those femurs, they knew they needed help; they needed someone to attend to them. I’m going to do a better job of looking harder at my friends for the tiniest of fractures, the subtlest of bruises, anything that might warrant special care and consideration. I don’t want them to have to break a leg to get my attention. And on those occasions when I need help, I’m going to be a grown up and ask for it—in words, if I can. I am much too civilized and sophisticated to wear a dish towel sling.

Want to Read More? 

Check out Dr. Carolyn Lee’s blogs on her website, she features a new cliché each week or you can order her new book, Keep Your Eye on the Ball And Other Clichès to Live By. Want to know more about the woman behind the words? Read more about Carolyn here. We hope you enjoyed this article learning more about the cliché, break a leg.