When Healing Feels Too Slow
It has been nine weeks since someone ran a red light and hit my car.
Nine weeks since life changed in ways I never expected. Nine weeks of pain, appointments, symptoms, limitations, and trying to understand a body and mind that no longer function the way they did before.
Nine weeks I never asked for.
And if I’m being completely honest, recovery is going much slower than I would like.
I want to be healed. I want to be past this. I want to wake up and feel like myself again. I want to think clearly, move freely, work normally, worship without feeling overwhelmed, walk into a store without my brain and body going into overload, and make it through a day without pain dictating so much of what I can and cannot do.
But right now, that is not where I am.
The pain is still very real. Functioning the way I did before the accident is still out of reach. I am learning new limits I do not like, while also trying to understand the effects of a traumatic brain injury and how much it can impact emotions, noise tolerance, energy, patience, and everyday life.
There are days when I get upset easily, and frustration rises before I even have time to process it. Anger can come quickly, followed almost immediately by grief because I know this is not who I want to be. This is not how I want to respond. This is not the version of myself I am used to.
But traumatic brain injuries affect more than memory or thinking. They can impact emotions, the nervous system, the ability to handle stimulation, and the way the brain processes the world.
Things that used to feel normal now feel like too much.
Loud sounds can be overwhelming. Worship music, something that has always brought comfort and peace to my heart, can sometimes feel like more than my brain can handle. A trip to Walmart, something that once seemed ordinary, can become too much because of the lights, the sounds, the movement, the people, and the energy it takes just to be there.
It is humbling!
It is frustrating!
It is hard!
And it is not what I would have chosen.
There is grief in realizing how much life has changed. I miss being able to do what I did before. I miss the freedom of moving through my day without having to calculate my energy, my pain level, my symptoms, and whether my brain can tolerate what I’m about to ask of it.
I miss feeling capable. I enjoyed feeling steady. I want to feel like myself again...
But God.
He is in the middle of all of this.
Even here, in the slow and painful parts of recovery, He is teaching me something I probably would not have learned at this depth any other way.
He is teaching me to trust Him in the slow places.
And He is teaching me His grace.
Not just grace as a word I talk about, but grace as something I have to receive moment by moment.
I need grace in the frustration and in the pain. I need it when simple things overwhelm me, when my body cannot do what I think it should, and when my emotions come faster than I expect. I need grace when rest is necessary, when pushing forward is not wise, and when disappointment tries to settle in.
Over and over again, God — and my husband — keep reminding me to show myself grace.
I am learning to stop measuring today’s strength by yesterday’s abilities. I must allow myself to have good days and bad. My healing does not have to follow my preferred timeline. I’m learning that needing time, help, quiet, rest, and patience does not mean I am failing.
God is reminding me that grace is not permission to give up.
Grace is permission to heal in HIS timing.
And right now, I need that reminder every single day.
Trusting Him is easier when healing is quick, progress is obvious, and improvement is easy to see. But this season is teaching me to trust Him when healing feels painfully slow. When my body is tired. When my brain is overwhelmed. When my emotions feel bigger than my ability to manage them. When my prayers sound less polished and more like a desperate plea, “Lord, please help me make it through today.”
Faith does not always look like feeling strong.
Sometimes it looks like resting when I want to push.
Other times, it looks like crying and still whispering, “God, I trust You.”
There are moments when faith looks like giving myself grace instead of condemnation.
And some days, it looks like admitting, “I am struggling,” while still believing God is with me in the struggle.
Each night before bed, I have started practicing thankfulness. I name three things I am thankful for that day.
On some days, they are big things.
A moment of less pain.
An act of kindness from family or friends.
The ability to go to the store for a little while.
A good conversation without confusion, a sign that my body is slowly healing.
On other days, the things I am thankful for things that feel small, but I am learning that small does not mean insignificant.
A quiet room, air conditioning in the heat of an AZ summer, a meal I could enjoy without nausea, waking up without the headache and having a moment of peace.
Or simply the strength to make it through another day.
Gratitude has not erased the pain, but it has helped anchor my heart.
It reminds me that even in this hard season, God is still good. My body may hurt, but I am still held. Healing may feel slow, but I am not forgotten. Even when I do not feel like myself, God still sees me completely and I am still made in His image.
Even more important to me is this: I can still serve God in the middle of feeling inadequate and unable. God can still use me right here, in the middle of all this.
Journaling has also become part of my recovery. I write down my symptoms and feelings, not because I want to focus on what is wrong, but because I want to be honest about this process. It helps me pay attention to what my body is telling me, notice patterns, track progress, and give language to the grief, frustration, fear, and hope that all seem to exist in the same place right now.
I have found that healing is not just physical. It's also emotional, mental and spiritual.
Healing means learning to live inside a season I never asked for while still believing God is good and working in it.
And that is where I am right now.
Practicing trust, gratitude, patience, and grace. I am forced to practice faith in God’s timing, even when my own timeline wants everything to be fixed now!
I believe God is healing my body and my mind. I believe He is near to me in the pain. My story is not finished, and there is purpose, even here, in the slow progress, in the limitations, and even in the days that feel discouraging.
But believing for healing does not mean pretending this is easy.
It means bringing my honest heart to God.
I tell Him when I am frustrated and I am learning to let Him comfort me when I am overwhelmed. I trust that He can handle both my faith and my tears.
Psalm 34:18 says, “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.”
That verse feels different to me now.
I understand more deeply what it means to need God near. Not in theory, but in the moments when I feel fragile, overstimulated, and when my pain is loud. I need God when I'm grieving what was and trying to trust Him with what is.
And He is near. Not because I am handling this perfectly, because I'm not!
Not because I always respond with patience, because I don't, I yell and get angry at times.
I get frustrated, discouraged, and scared I'll never be my old self again.
I know He is near because that is who He is.
He is a Father who comes close to His children.
He is a healer who is not rushed by my timeline.
He is a comforter who meets me in the quiet.
He is faithful in the slow work.
So today, I am choosing to trust Him….again.
Not because it feels easy, but because He is worthy.
I am choosing to believe that healing is happening, even when I don't see it.
I am choosing to give myself grace for the hard days.
I am choosing to be thankful for three things before I close my eyes at night.
I am choosing to keep showing up for this recovery one day at a time.
And I am choosing to believe that God is still writing a beautiful story, even in a chapter I would not have chosen.
