🌀Mood: steady, reflective, honest, patient, grounded

There’s a space in recovery that no one really talks about.

It’s the space between better… and back.

And that’s exactly where I find myself right now.

On the outside, things are improving. I’m home. I’m moving more. I’m walking anywhere from 6,000 to 10,000 steps a day which is supposed to be good for my recovery,. The swelling in my legs has gone down. I’m slowly finding a rhythm again.

From the outside, it might look like I’m doing really well.

And in many ways, I am.

But healing isn’t linear.

Because at the same time, I’m heading to see a neurosurgeon to figure out what’s going on with my back pain… and to check on a fractured rib. Not exactly what I expected at this stage. It’s a reminder that even when you’re moving forward, your body is still very much in recovery.

That tension is real.

My mind says, You’re getting stronger. Keep going.
My body says, Slow down. Not so fast.

And I’m learning that both can be true at the same time.

One thing I’ve come to understand is that recovery isn’t passive.

It’s not just about resting and waiting to feel better.

It’s a discipline.

Getting up and walking every day – even when I don’t feel like it – is part of that. Those 6,000 to 10,000 steps aren’t just steps… they’re intentional. They’re part of rebuilding.

Not just strength – but my immune system, too.

After everything my body has been through, it’s essentially starting from the ground up again. That part isn’t visible, but it’s one of the most important pieces of this entire process.

Some days it feels empowering.

Some days it feels like work.

But either way, it matters.

I’ve also had to rethink what progress looks like.

Before all of this, progress meant big milestones. Clear wins. Moving forward quickly.

Now?

Progress looks like:

• a little less pain
• a little more energy
• getting through the day without needing to rest as much
• showing up for a walk when I’d rather stay on the couch

They’re smaller. Quieter.

But they’re still progress.

And then there’s the part I didn’t expect…

The lack of concentration.

It’s hard to explain unless you’ve experienced it, but there are moments where focusing just feels… harder than it should be. Simple things take more effort. My mind isn’t always as sharp or as quick as I’m used to.

I’ve since learned there’s actually a name for this—what a lot of people call “chemo brain,” or cancer-related cognitive impairment.

Even though I’m past the most intense part of treatment, my brain is still recovering from everything my body has been through. One way it was explained to me really stuck—right now, my body is putting most of its energy into rebuilding my blood and immune system… and there’s just not as much left over for things like focus and mental clarity.

That made a lot of sense.

Because what I’m feeling isn’t a lack of effort – it’s part of the process.

Still, it’s been one of the more humbling parts of recovery.

Because while my body is healing, my mind is still catching up.

And just like everything else right now, it’s a reminder that recovery isn’t just physical – it’s mental too.

This phase has also been a lesson in listening to my body, to my doctors, and honestly, to my limits.

I had originally hoped to be further along by now, even thinking about returning to work sooner. But the reality is, my recovery timeline has shifted a bit. My doctors would prefer that I focus fully on healing right now, and we’ve aligned on giving my body a little more time before stepping back into that next phase.

And the truth is… that’s the right call.

Not because I want to slow down – but because I need to.

I think what’s been most surprising about this stage is how confusing it can feel.

You’re no longer in the thick of it. The hospital is behind you. The hardest days, in many ways, have passed.

But you’re also not “back.”

You look better. You’re doing more. And yet… you’re still rebuilding in ways that people can’t always see.

It’s a quiet kind of work.

So for now, I’m staying here – in this space between better and back.

Walking. Healing. Rebuilding.

Trusting that even here, real healing is happening.