All I Needed Was The Say So...

Eight weeks post-op. Nine weeks post-break.

Sometimes that’s all it takes—the green light. The permission to trust your body again. I’m a firm believer that when there is a will, there is a way, and today my doctor gave me exactly what I needed.

His words? There is enough hardware in my foot that I don’t need to be afraid of it anymore. I can work it out. I can stretch it. I can push it to the limit. It will not break.

Pause. Deep breath. Freedom.

Then came the follow-up: “But do not run. And do not jump.”

Wait… what? You just said it won’t break.

Maybe he’s talking about the other foot. 😄

In all seriousness, this season has been one long lesson in patience, trust, and listening—really listening—to my body. Progress doesn’t always look like leaping forward. Sometimes it looks like controlled movement, intentional stretching, and honoring the process while still believing in what’s possible.

So here’s where I am: grounded, motivated, and moving forward—just not running or jumping yet. And that’s okay. Because I’ve got the say-so now, and for me, that changes everything.

7 Weeks Post-op

Seven weeks post-op feels… different. I finally saw where all the hardware lives and, wow, I can literally feel every screw like they’re paying rent in there. 😟

They told me, “Only ditch the crutches if it feels comfortable.”

So naturally, I said, “Perfect, permission granted,” and tossed them like a bad habit.

My pain tolerance is way too high for my own good, and the rebel in me is READY to ditch all of it and sprint into the sunset.

I Googled just how bad this injury actually is. And after a mild panic and a dose of humility… I’ve decided to comply. 🫣

Fine. FINE. I’ll behave.

Healing, but with attitude. lol

5 Weeks Post-op

Yesterday marked five weeks since I broke my tibia and fibula, and four weeks since surgery. Somehow the time has both flown by and dragged on—with each day feeling like its own little chapter.

The first couple of weeks were a haze. I depended on the meds, which kept me in a fog and turned my emotions into something unpredictable—moody, sad, and not quite myself. But here I am now, over a week med-free, and feeling much more grounded and clear.

I’m still wearing my boot, partly out of caution and partly because there’s a whole lot of hardware in my ankle settling into its new home. Will I set off airport security alarms one day? I can’t wait to find out.

One of the hardest parts has been the loss of independence—especially not being able to drive. But I’m beyond grateful for my daughters, my husband, and my friends who have hauled me, helped me, and held me up in ways I didn’t even know I’d need.

Healing has a way of slowing life down, forcing us to sit with ourselves, and showing us who shows up. And even on the hardest days, I’m reminded:

Every setback is just a plot twist—not the end of the story. Keep going. Your comeback is already in motion.

PS - can you believe an ant got in my boot and bit me??