Pieces of Me

Recovery

Recovery is the second part of my story – take a moment to read the first part here.

The infallible truth of our destiny is something we do not confront often. Until of course the volatility of life is exposed to us and more so if that life is our own.

Recovering from surgery left me helpless in the one thing I find very hard to do: asking for help. Not the kind of help that says I’m running late can you get the kids from school. Or the kind of help that says you make much better cupcakes than I do. No, this is the kind of help that out loud admitted that I was weak, I was vulnerable and I was incapable of taking care of my family.

I don’t know why I found it so hard. Maybe it was because somewhere in my mind I associated this kind of help with failure, my failure. Ego aside, humility aside, home from surgery I accepted the help that was offered and had no choice but to rest in the silence of my recovery.

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A few things started to rise to the surface as I lay there in bed staring out of my bedroom window on those long quiet days. I did not seek to fill my days with the activities I thought I would do once I was home. I did not flick through the mountain of magazines by my bedside table. I did not pick up any novels. I did not write words onto the notepad beside me. I barely made a connection online.

I embraced the quiet and used it as a chance to have a quiet mind. I let the tempo of my days slow right down. I listened to my children, really listened. I noticed their ways and behaviour around me. The worry and strain my two little boys showed surprised me. I beat myself up at my surprise. Of course they are worried about you! Why did you think they wouldn’t be! screamed the voices in my head. I let it flow through me. Deep breaths. Reconcile.

In my silent days I craved the conversation with hubby when he got home and the afternoon coffees with my sister. The text messages from concerned friends. For a long time it felt like I sat on the shore of my own ocean, waves of blue crashing over me. But there was no ocean, just me at home, on pause.

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One day something noticeably changed. Almost as if the Universe had said now you are ready. Maybe it wasn’t the Universe at all. Maybe it was just me. Letting go and once again opening up my heart and mind to all possibility.

A silent inbox pinged with important emails bearing good news. Long drawn out plans started to quickly take shape. I wrote and wrote and wrote. People who I least expected reached out. I finally felt like I was waking up from the silence that had slowly taken over ever since the rupture in the early hours of a fateful morning. I began to feel better. Really better, in a way that I had not felt in a very long time. My body was healing. My mind was healing. The quiet days slowly became filled with life again.

The lessons life has waiting for us to learn are held in secret until we turn the page and live through the words etched on the new page. The lessons I have learnt over the past few months have changed me in ways I could not anticipate. Ways that have left me vulnerable and open. Ways that I would never change.

  • Loree

    I failed to comment on your other post but I did read it. hope you are feeling better now. I am having a hard time keeping up with everything right now. Take care.

  • Emma Fahy Davis

    Sometimes we hear far more in the quiet than we ever would amongst the noise. I’m glad your recovery was a reflective, gentle time for you.

  • LydiaCLee

    I’m glad you found a positive in it all – and I love your last paragraph. Nice post.

  • Renee at Mummy, Wife, Me

    When we went to NZ earlier this year, I felt as though I was able to press pause on life to a certain extent. I felt I was able to really heal myself on that trip. Yet, six months later here I am again feeling exhausted, stressed and a wee bit cranky. Can’t wait to press pause again. I’m so glad you were able to take that time to allow yourself to heal properly. It was so important to do rather than rushing back into life again. I hope you are feeling back to your normal self now x

  • Your body was telling you to stop. You listened. Not enough people do. Beautiful writing as always. x

  • Beautiful lessons shared Josefa. It is a joy and a privilege to stop and listen. We should all enjoy it more often. xS

  • Malinda

    I love reading your posts, you write so beautifully. Thanks for sharing these reflections.

  • Wonderful to see you are recovering xx

  • Hugzilla

    It’s quite poignant that for most of us, the experience of slowing down the way you did will only ever happen when our bodies force us to surrender through illness. And we know this. Yet we push on regardless. Glad to hear you are feeling better x

  • When I had to go on a bedrest whilst pregnant with Ava, I really struggled with having to ask for help. It was so hard to not be the go to person in the family any more.
    And yet I learnt so much through that season of life too. Sometimes life surprises us. xx

  • TeganMC

    I’m glad that you are feeling much better xx

  • Glad you are feeling better!! I never ask for help, I don’t know why…. I always feel guilty too if I even ask someone for a favour…it’s something I have to work on..

  • I’m sure if I was made to rest in bed for a few days a lot of things I just brush over would rise to the surface. So glad you got a bit of nice time with the boys, despite the fact you were recovering. Lovely words x

  • The Plumbette

    Recovery forces you to stop and suddenly you see life from a different perspective. Your post has encouraged me to stop when I can and reflect and watch what is going on around me. I’m glad your recovery was a positive outcome for you Josefa. 🙂 x

  • Admirable that you listened to the voice within and took time to nurture yourself as many of us women keep charging on. A new perspective. So glad you are feeling well and sorry to read of the pain and shock you have had to go through recently.

  • Rita@thecraftyexpat

    I’m so glad you are feeling better Josefa. Take care of yourself. Beautiful words as always.

  • So glad you are feeling better. Lovely, thought provoking words. x

  • “Letting go” – of pain and so much more. I think the quiet, endless reflection our bodies sometimes force us into is good for the soul. x

    • Oh Bron I think it is very good for the soul. I just wanted to say thank you for reaching out when I was not well. I thank the Universe for working in the ways that it does. Cryptic and small, but this line is all about you “People who I least expected reached out. ” It made a world of difference to me that day – I will always remember that xx

  • A few quiet days sound great, though sorry they came the way they did for you. Sometimes that is exactly what we need.

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