This morning, I woke up again to that same ache in my arm. It’s been weeks now ….a dull, relentless throb that makes sleeping nearly impossible. I can’t lift it to the side without wincing. My physical therapist said it’s likely frozen shoulder.

Apparently, it can take up to six months to heal.
Six months!

That feels like forever when you’re living with pain.

I want it fixed. I’ve tried physical therapy, stretching, different pillows, and now I’m considering a chiropractor. Anything to make it stop.

And then it hit me this morning, sitting in the quiet:
this is what grief feels like.

We try everything to stop the ache.
We search for the right book, podcast, prayer, retreat … anything that will take it away.

But grief, like frozen shoulder, doesn’t disappear just because we want it to.
It takes time, patience, and tenderness toward ourselves.

With grief, though, there’s no promise of being “pain-free in six months.”
There’s only the softening…. the pain becoming part of us in a way that changes us, yet we can feel the healing if we allow it.

I refuse to call myself broken.

Broken means something needs fixing.
Broken means I’m damaged.

I’m not. I’m healing.

Healing from the life I had before.
Healing into someone who carries both love and loss.
Healing into someone who understands what it means to endure.

In the beginning, I didn’t know what to do with this healing process.

When people stopped calling, I wanted to scream,
“Don’t forget me!”
“Don’t forget I lost my husband.”
“Don’t forget I have to do this life alone now.”
“Don’t forget….he’s gone before me. Who will be there when I die?”

Looking back, I wanted to be seen… not as a victim or someone who needed fixing with platitudes or verbal bandages… I wanted to know that I was going to survive this. Only a widow really knows what “survive this” really means.

So coming back to my frozen shoulder, there isn’t a doctor who is going to fix this, it’s going to take me getting really intentional with HOW I care for myself. To be intentional and consistent in caring for myself.

And maybe that’s what both kinds of pain ask of us….

To stop ignoring it, stop rushing it, and instead tend to it.
To treat ourselves gently while we heal.
To remember that even though we didn’t choose this pain, we can choose how we care for ourselves in it.

Always remembering we are healing, not broken

Hugs to you,

The Link for tomorrow’s session is in this email. See you tomorrow at 3 PM PST

Blessings,

Gina~