Unfurling

The last few days laid out the facts. Physical, timeline, mostly objective. But I didn’t touch on the day to day, how I felt, and what I was thinking. I didn’t show how all-consuming each part was, how everything I did was done with caution, how there was never ease. I also didn’t share how I mentally managed and actually reframed the entire experience to be a benefit for my whole self. I haven’t shared what I did with myself during this time, physically, mentally, emotionally. This will all come out in random ways from here on out, starting with where I am at this exact moment – the beginnings of a new unfurling.

Recovery at each stage is a process of slowly unfurling, an adaptive dance with the body and the world around, specifically the people in my life. Normally I’m extremely active, training and with daily activities of life, interacting with family, etc. Productive and efficient, the days are planned well, and there’s a good balance.

With each surgery my/our whole world has gotten turned upside down.

Suddenly I’m bedridden, extremely slow, unable to help or even participate, and the balance is upset. Not just the “who is now responsible for this thing?” part, but in the energy given in expressing care, love, and appreciation. I’m so tightly tucked into myself in order to tend to my healing that it is difficult to do much else. So, not only does my family have to do all the things that I would normally do, but my emotional, expressive self is shut away, too. This takes a toll on my family.

Maybe I’m unusual, but I find it hard to express and receive love when I am at the beginning of a new surgery/recovery process. All of my energy goes to the inward, physical needs – it is an emergency that needs everything I’ve got. Being sweet and tender to the world around me is not possible, at least not genuinely. Those feelings are in me, it isn’t as if I cease to care for those I love, but I cannot spend a lot of time there. I am laser focused on healing and trust those around me to have patience while I work through my well-practiced process.

But then there is the unfurling, a slow process, a petal by petal blooming as I baby step my way back into myself, my family, life, love. I imagine it like an artichoke bloom. The outer layers are thick, like armor, but the inside is a beautiful deep purple. Patience is the only way to experience an artichoke bloom, and impatience just gets you pricked.

I love the feeling of the beginning of each unfurling. It is subtle to those around me but profound for me. All it takes is a sense of physical progress for this shift to start. I’m able to move better, the pain points get separation, I begin to sleep better, something improves. From here I start to participate in daily life again – around the house and then out and about. Layer by layer, unfurling, armor falling, smiles coming back, joy expressed, kind loving words and feelings expressed again.

I’m at the beginning of my latest unfurling right now. Despite circumstantial pain and issues, I’m starting to be able to do some things that I haven’t done in years, or ever. I’m ecstatic! This is also the point where I feel guilty for having needed time – I have to remember to give myself grace. I’m grateful for my family finding the patience to work through each repetition of this process. It has been hard on all of us, each in unique ways.

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