The Power of Healing

It’s funny how life can change in an instant. One moment you’re washing dishes, lost in thought, and the next, you’re staring at a bleeding hand that refuses to stop hurting. That’s what happened to me, a broken bowl, a deep cut, and a severed tendon on the thumb of my right hand that I use to write. Suddenly, the simple things such as typing, holding a cup, tying a shoelace, eating a meal, getting dressed, or signing for a delivery all became small mountains to climb.

Pain has a way of shrinking your world. You move slower. You think deeper. You learn patience the hard way. And even when people tell you, “You’ll be okay,” it’s not always easy to believe them. Healing is not a straight line. It’s messy, frustrating, and humbling. But it’s also full of lessons about strength, resilience, and the power of hope.

When the body hurts, often our spirit can tremble. Physical pain is one thing; emotional fatigue is another. When you’re used to being active, creative, and independent, suddenly depending on others can make you feel small. You start to wonder, “What if I never fully heal?” or “Why me?” Those moments of doubt are normal. But they also reveal something sacred, our desire to keep going. Every scar, every setback, is proof that we are still fighting. And in that fight, hope quietly does its work.

It's incredible what you can hear when you are quiet. When I was forced to stop, I started noticing things I usually missed such as the way sunlight hits our balcony in the morning, how friends check in just to ask how I’m really doing, or the value of a good laugh.

Healing taught me that slowing down isn’t failure; it’s learning to be more aware of everything around me. Sometimes, when we can’t move forward physically, we grow spiritually. We remember what truly matters, not deadlines, not accomplishments, but connection, gratitude, and grace.

One of my wonderful friends for a lifetime surprised me this week with a gift of love. As I struggled home from doing a few errands, I noticed it was challenging to unlock the door to my apartment or to even check the mailbox. So many things that we never considered to be an issue. As I entered my unit, a vase of beautiful flowers caught my attention. When I read the beautiful card from my friend, I couldn't stop smiling and crying with joy and happiness. I had no idea that such a gift could be sent with so much love from another country. True friends know the things that can turn a bad experience into a sweet memory. So, I decided to use my gift as the image for this blog post. I still feel overwhelmed every morning and night because it's the first and last thing I see each day.

My injury reminded me of so many reasons to be grateful for all that I have in my life. I have always felt empathy for others dealing with certain disabilities such as being blind, deaf, or missing a limb. I have always offered to help anyone struggling. When I worked in Washington, DC, my boss insisted that I do weekly visits to the Veteran's hospital to help many of the vets returning home. Initially I was shocked to see so many young men and women without their arms, legs, or vision in both eyes. I learned that many of the spouses, partners, or parents disappeared from their lives. Upon entering, I froze to see all the damages and chaos they had experienced. Without hesitation, they made me feel welcomed. They would read to me, show me photos, and feed me cookies and chocolates once they knew that I loved desserts. After several weeks, the table turned and I was able to treat each of them as family, bringing great treats to eat, magazines, games, and even read to them to help them sleep. I will never forget the constant teasing and laughing, even when they were in pain. The experience changed my life and helped me to understand the treatment of young military recruits.

Hope doesn’t always arrive like fireworks. Sometimes it’s a whisper, a kind word, a warm meal, watching a wonderful film, or a moment of laughter that breaks through the pain. On the worst days, hope can feel distant, but it never disappears. It hides in ordinary places, waiting to be noticed. Lessons in life has taught me that healing isn't just about

the body stitching itself back together like my thumb. It’s about the heart choosing to believe that things will get better, even when it hurts too much to see how.

If you’re dealing with pain, loss, or uncertainty, please know that you are not alone. Healing takes time, and that’s okay. You don’t have to be strong every minute of the day, and I am not. Just try to stay open to help, to love, to the small mercies that appear when you least expect them. Progress isn’t measured in miles, it’s measured in moments of courage, like getting out of bed, smiling through the pain, or simply believing that tomorrow will be a little lighter than today.

We may be broken, but we are never beyond repair. The body heals. The heart remembers. And hope, fragile as it feels, always finds a way to survive. So hold on to it. Let it guide you through the pain, through the doubt, through the long nights. Healing is slow, but it’s still happening. Every breath, every day, is proof that you’re still here and that’s where recovery begins.