“Recovery will take between four and six months,” the surgeon said as I lay in the hospital bed, cast up to my thigh. 

At first this overwhelmed me, but I remembered I’d always been a quick learner. In school, I easily picked up on new concepts—somewhat annoyingly ahead of the curve. But I neglected to realize that I couldn’t force my body to heal faster than it would.

Today, more than six months after surgery, I still experience discomfort every time I take a step. Some days it presents as a slight awareness that something is amiss, but other days, it’s straight-up painful to put weight on my left foot. And don’t even get me started on stairs.

“But I’m a fast learner,” I think. “I usually catch on so quickly.” Well, guess what? My leg doesn’t care. 

There are no books I can read to expedite the healing process. There is no resource that changes the fact that the surgeon cut through my left quad to insert the titanium rod. (Ooh, a rhyme!) That there are five screws in a leg I use. That I’ll have to keep waiting while I relearn my gaiting. (Okay, I’m done.)

Like most of us, I’ve grown accustomed to quick fixes. With a few simple clicks, dinner appears at the door, or a replacement ______ will be here come morning. And, because of that, I think our collective tolerance for withstanding discomfort has diminished. 

The past six months have been an exercise in patience. And I’ve not always handled it as gracefully as I could have. But I’m getting there. 

This is a reminder that the painful stuff takes time—things like heartache, grief, and self-acceptance. It may not feel like you’re making progress from day to day, but at some point you’ll look back and realize how far you’ve come. 

Give yourself the same grace I’m attempting to give myself. And know that, even if you hobble, you’re headed in the right direction.