The Quest of Chosen Loss & Return...

So here I am, about to have surgery on my dominant arm. The left one. The arm that has stirred the pots as a chef, held the babies, carried the tools, directed the firehose, led CPR on a down Soul, score lacrosse goals, and blocked others, lead me through battle fields, blessed Souls, held my Love, and written the words that seem to flow straight from somewhere higher.

It is strange, knowing that this part of me, the one that has always led the dance, is about to be still for a while.

It will be humbling in ways I do not yet fully expect. The small things I have never thought about will become their own kind of lesson. Zipping a jacket will feel like a logic puzzle. Brushing my teeth will require focus and patience. Forks, buttons, doors, and coffee cups will remind me how easily I once moved without noticing. I will find myself staring at everyday tasks as if I am trying to solve ancient riddles.

In the first few days, I will not be graceful. I will spill, drop, bump, and mutter. My right hand, that untrained rookie, will stumble through the simplest motions. But somewhere between frustration and surrender, humor will find me. I will laugh at the absurdity of it all, and that laughter will bring me back into presence.

Something will begin to shift. My right hand, the quiet understudy, will rise to the occasion. It will be awkward but determined. The first time I pour coffee without a single drop escaping the cup, I will feel victorious. The small triumphs will matter now, and I will celebrate them as if they are sacred.

I will come to understand that this experience is not only about my shoulder. It will be about patience, surrender, and humility. It will teach me how to receive help without guilt, and how slowing down does not mean losing momentum. Healing will ask for honesty. It will ask me to admit where I am weak and to trust that strength will return when it is ready.

There will be something deeply spiritual in being forced to pause. When I cannot rely on the part of myself that has always done the heavy lifting, I will begin to notice how much I have leaned on motion as proof of worth. In stillness, I will hear the quiet voice beneath the noise. The one that says,

You do not have to carry everything to be whole...

Each week will bring progress so small it may be invisible to anyone else, but it will be felt deeply in my bones.

The sling will become less of a burden and more of a reminder that healing is happening quietly, even when it cannot be seen. There will be moments of frustration, yes, but there will also be flashes of gratitude. I will find myself thanking my body for its effort, even when it trembles.

And somewhere along the way, I will likely discover that patience is easier to practice when my left arm gives me no other option.

By the time the sling finally comes off, I will understand that I am not just regaining an arm. I am reclaiming balance. I am rediscovering trust in my body, and patience in my spirit. I am learning that healing is not linear, and that progress is not always loud.

Sometimes it whispers.

Sometimes it hides in the smallest, most ordinary victories.

When I finally raise my left arm again, it will not be to carry the weight of the world, but to wave at it with gratitude. Because this journey is not about what I lost. It is about everything I found while learning how to rebuild.

Blessings, Love & Light...