NEEDY and LOVED
I understand when people say they wouldn’t change a thing.
When they take stock of where their feet now stand and glance back at past hardships with welcome understanding, I get it. Adversity refines and defines, the rising from the ashes often graced with far more beauty because of the flames.
I understand when people say they wouldn’t change a thing.
But I would.
Today marks the one year anniversary of my surgery, 365 days since an artificial disc was implanted in my cervical spine. Today marks twelve months from the beginning of my journey forward from pain and a closing of a chapter of life I would most certainly rewrite.
I glance at the small scar on my neck sometimes, amazed at what modern medicine can accomplish. The white line on my skin washes me with thankfulness for my surgeon’s capable hands, that there was an answer for the long nights that came before. I lived nearly 1900 hours in the darkness of severe pain and my scar reminds me of my climb back toward the light.
Given the power to edit parts of my story I would most certainly undo many of those long days.
I would erase the nights spent huddled in the corner of my shower praying the hot water would confuse my body’s perception of pain. I would undo the labored breaths as I tried to calm my mind long enough to embrace sleep. I would rewrite the moments I wished I could simply shed this body and be free from agony.
That chapter of my story was difficult in ways I fail to capture in words. But while I would change much of it if given the chance, strangely I do not wish to forget it.
My body failed me and then it was brought back to health. The pain was staggering, the lessons learned, breathtaking.
Life is like this sometimes, the trading of difficulty for revelation, the falling down a prerequisite to rising again strong.
In my pain I realized I was far more fragile than I believed possible. I thought my inner strength and convictions would shield me from the full weight of life’s difficulties, that I could ‘handle’ anything thrown my way. I learned this is never life’s guarantee.
But in pain I also found the beauty of surrender, the lightness that comes with allowing others to be part of your story. My injury forced down the walls I had erected declaring that I alone could be enough. Weakness taught me that others are meant to be a part of the path forward.
Pain introduced me to a new definition of strength, one found in honesty, openness and an embracing of one’s circle. I rose strong not just because I had strength, but because I found it laced throughout the lives around me.
In some strange way I don’t want to forget the difficulty of that season, I don’t want the pain to fade in the distance as memories often do. In remembering the agony I find myself reminded of the rising, in holding a place for what was hard, I create space for what was beautiful.
In weakness I found a new understanding of strength.
In pain I found a new understanding of healing.
I set aside the isolation of being ‘tough’ and embraced the hands that surrounded me. I exchanged my fear of being needy for the welcome truth of being loved.
And in that regard, I most certainly wouldn’t change a thing.