Healing Hurts...But It's Worth It

A good friend of mine posted a beautiful bit of wisdom on Instagram about the pain of healing, and it struck a deep, resonating chord with me, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. He talked about how painful physical therapy is for a person trying to recover from an injury, but how the experts in that field know just how much pressure to put and just how hard to push to ensure that the damaged and weakened body part becomes functional and strong again. His post was talking about how stoic philosophy can work in similar ways, touching us in ways that may feel uncomfortable at first, but that eventually lead to our healing. The truth of it met me where I was. 

But as I pondered the physical therapy analogy, my mind snapped to a few years ago when I obliterated my ACL and tore my meniscus to shreds, and I realized it might also be experiences, and not just philosophies, that hit those pressure points to make us stronger. I was pleased to recognize that my knee injury still had lessons to teach me even after all this time. The moment of the injury was shocking and painful, but honestly, that pain was nothing compared to the surgery and months of physical therapy I had to endure to get back to the point of normal functionality. I can't tell you how many times I sat on the therapy table with tears streaming down my face because what the therapist was asking me to do was truly excruciating. Some days I wanted to quit. Some days I wanted to feel sorry for myself. My mind wanted to say, "I CAN'T do this. And, even if I could, I'm not at all sure I WANT to. The pain is just too much." But then the therapist would ask me to do just one more rep, and I would wipe away the tears and do it because ultimately I wanted to be stronger, and I knew the only way to the other side of the pain was through it. 

Hiking at Machu Picchu was the particular goal I had in mind as I endured those torture sessions, and I didn't want my lack of effort months before a trip that was already booked to hinder me from experiencing everything amazing that destination promised. So, I cried and I cussed and I called my therapist a sadist, but I did what was asked of me. I didn't have to put in the work, of course. I could have quit at any time. But I knew there was something beautiful waiting for me on the other side of it. I sometimes didn't know if I would reach that goal, especially early on in my therapy. But I kept working and celebrating the little victories along the way. Nine months later, I was fully rewarded for my efforts when I traversed the difficult landscape of Machu Picchu and saw with my own eyes the awe-inspiring dream destination I had fallen in love with on the pages of National Geographic when I was a child. It was even more awe-inspiring to realize I had been carried there on a knee that had once been barely functional. The healing process was absolute hell, but the view from the mountain was worth every minute. 

I am currently in another season of healing. But this time it isn't a physical injury I'm recovering from. It doesn't matter. The process is the same. I have often sat on the edge of my bed with tears running down my face saying to myself, "I CAN'T do this. And even if I could, I'm not sure I WANT to. The pain is just too much." I'm sometimes tempted to just give up and wallow in self-pity. But then, from somewhere deep inside me, a little voice says, "Go ahead and see if you can get through just one more day. See if you can get just a little bit stronger." So, I wipe away the tears and lean into that pain so that I can come out on the other side and enjoy the mountaintop experience. This mountain, like Machu Picchu, isn't a place you just accidently arrive. It requires steady effort, determination, philosophies, and experiences that push and prod the tender places. I could certainly quit any time, but I would miss out on the growth and strengthening that leads to the awe-inspiring destination. No doubt: healing hurts. But coming out on the other side is definitely worth the effort put in.