Recovering + Healing Intimately Worded

Something New: May Is Coming, and So Am I

There is something humbling about surgery.

About being placed on a table. About surrendering control. About waking up and realizing your body has been altered in ways you cannot immediately see but can absolutely feel.

My surgery was successful. I am healing. I am grateful.

And yet.

There is a quiet grief in realizing your body is no longer arranged the way it once was. Nothing cosmetic. Nothing dramatic to the outside world. But internally — something is missing. Removed because it was making me sick. Removed so I could live healthier.

Still, the body keeps record.

And sometimes, in the quiet of the evening, I feel like I am living in a body that is familiar… yet slightly foreign.

I am told I will feel better. I am told my energy will return. I am told my body will thank me.

I believe that.

But healing is not just physical. It is relational. It is emotional. It is spiritual. And this is where my Tribe stepped in. There is nothing like being taken care of when you are the one who is usually strong. The helper. The therapist. The one holding space.

To have meals brought. To receive check-in texts.
To be told, “Rest. I’ve got this.” That kind of love softens something in you. Support is not a luxury. It is a lifeline.

We were never designed to white-knuckle recovery alone. Independence is admirable. Isolation is not. My healing has been wrapped in the hands of people who showed up without being asked twice. That is sacred.

And something else surprised me.

Before surgery, I was placed on a restricted diet. Very clean. Very intentional. No rushing. No drive-through. No emotional snacking between sessions. And I liked it.

I felt clearer. Lighter. More disciplined in a way that did not feel punishing. I enjoyed cooking at home. I enjoyed sitting with my meals. I enjoyed honoring my body instead of negotiating with it.

There is a lesson there.

Sometimes what feels like limitation is actually refinement.

May is approaching.

May carries warmth. Flowers. New light. But for many of us, it also carries the tender ache of Mother’s Day. The grief of what was. The grief of what wasn’t. The grief of what we hoped would be different by now.

I feel that too.

Healing in one area does not erase longing in another.

But this quarter of the year — I want better.

Better health. Better boundaries. Better nourishment. Better stewardship of my body and my time.

Not perfection. Just better. More aligned.

If surgery taught me anything, it is this: your body will force the conversation you have been postponing.

Slow down. Eat differently. Let people help you.
Grieve what changed. Welcome what remains.

My body is not new. It carries scars. It carries history. It now carries absence. But it also carries resilience.

And perhaps this is what May is offering — not reinvention, but renewal.

A gentler strength.
A supported healing.
A deeper listening.

If you are entering this month with hope and grief sitting side by side, you are not alone.

Take the help. Eat the meal at home. Rest when your body whispers. Let love find you in your most human places.

May is coming.

And so are we. 🌿🌻🌿

Being brave,

XOXO 💕

©️Intimately Worded, Michelle