Post-Op Day 3: Where Healing and Humility Collide

Hi friends! I'm writing to you today on July 17, 2026, three days after undergoing an extended abdominalplasty after losing nearly 160 pounds. You may have noticed I'm scheduling these posts a few weeks out. That's so I can make it through the worst of my recovery privately. Truthfully, I had no intention of writing a post about my surgery or recovery. It's not book related. It's not exactly Bible related either. But sometimes it takes our hardest, most humble circumstance for perspective to present and God's presence to not only be felt, but be enough. And that's what I want to write about today.

At my lowest, Jesus is the name I cried out.

A week ago, in the days leading up to my surgery, I was doing everything but thinking about this procedure. I was cleaning, cooking, going to the gym, struggling with loneliness and feeling like I'm running out of time to get married and have kids. I was struggling to maintain hopefulness for the life and love I'd always wanted. I was a little angry at God and I certainly didn't feel loved by Him. My mind was moving a hundred miles a minute overcome with grief, questions, uncertainty, and fatigue. I was tired of waiting on God to move in my life, tired of trying to become my best self, tired of never feeling good enough. Tired. Today, I would trade this tired for that tired a hundred times over.

Today, I'm tired of not being able to live the life I was just complaining about. Today, I'm tired of having drains poking out of my skin. Today, I'm tired of not being able to move and use my body like I used to. I'm tired of not being able to wear normal clothes. I've been in a robe, open to the back for days now. I'm tired of not being able to enjoy a shower, sleep in my bed, lie on my couch. I long for the mundane things, as mundane as being able to use the bathroom without praying to God, "Please, help me."

Y'all, is this TMI? I promise I'm not that medicated. I'm just honest.

It's a good thing I'm not a prideful person, because this procedure will humble you. Being half-naked 24/7, having to have someone watch you while you shower to make sure you don't pass out, having to have someone milk your drains, pick that pillow up when you drop it, or move that book closer because it's just out of reach will humble you.

This vulnerability makes me uncomfortable. It would anyone. As someone who lives alone and is used to being fully independent, the kind of independent who flies across the ocean and walks through European cities alone, suddenly being afraid to be home alone is jarring. But...

When I'm vulnerable, Jesus is my strength.

After telling my friends, I can see God's protection and provision in my life but not necessarily His love, I can now say I feel His love.

"...My strength is made perfect in weakness." 2 Corinthians 12:9

When I tell you this is an "only God could do it" moment, it truly is.

As rough as this recovery is, I'm actually doing amazing. Amazing in the post-op dictionary means:

• I'm walking well

• I'm standing mostly straight

• My vitals are good

• I'm hydrating well

• My drain output is relatively low

• I'm able to get out of the chair by myself

• I'm able to use the bathroom by myself, including wiping

• I was able to shower without assistance and could even stand while doing it

The truth is, I am doing really well considering the procedure I had, but I'm not doing it alone. I'm humble enough to ask for help--help from my support system and from God, my ultimate protector and healer. And I think that's the message.

Healing requires humility.

Healing isn't pretty--no matter what wound you're trying to mend. It's messy, whether you're literally bleeding or just figuratively. Sometimes it requires isolation. Sometimes it's trial and error. Being willing to try, see what isn't working, adjust, and try again are part of any successful healing journey.

God knows I've got more wounds than a 24-inch incision to heal. But this time in isolation, in utter humility, and reliance on others and God has reminded me of what's important. A week ago, I was hyperfixated on the one thing I didn't have. Today, I'm grateful for the things I once thought were a given.

Perspective is a gift for the overactive mind.

Today, I'm not thinking about getting married or having kids. I'm thinking about the day I get these drains out, the day I can stand fully straight, the day I can walk around my neighborhood again, the day I feel like myself in the gym again. I want to feel like myself again--the girl who gyms, the girl who travels, the girl who serves at church, the girl who shows up for her friends, the girl who writes books. But even as I work to get back to her, I am reminded that I am the woman who did the hard thing of losing 157 pounds.

That woman showed up to the gym and built the muscles allowing her a decent level of independence now. That woman did the cardio, building strong enough lungs to endure a surgery like this. And if I didn't before, now I give credit to God for giving me the power to do those hard things. I give credit to God for getting me through this hard thing now.

While this post is incredibly personal, I always try to give it back to my readers. So, today's call is:

Whatever challenge you're currently facing, be humble enough to ask for help.