I’ve always thought healing should be a bit more…cinematic.  You know-cue the music, a slow-motion montage of progress, maybe a dramatic sunrise or two.  But here I am, in real life, with a torn meniscus and a newfound appreciation for things like elevated pillows, gentle stretches, and the occasional accomplishment of getting up without groaning.

Healing, it turns out, is slower when you’ve been around the sun a few more rotations.  And it’s humbling.

Some days I feel like a houseplant left in the wrong corner-droopy, tired, unsure what I need.  Which brings me to my fiddle leaf fig.  😞Yes, my actual fiddle leaf fig.

For months, I babied that thing.  Watered it.  Whispered sweet planty affirmations at it.  But it sulked in the partial sun, leaves curling like it was on strike. No gratitude.  Just attitude.

Then one day, I had my aha moment, and moved it a shadier corner-no fanfare, no big decisions-just a gentle shift. 

And wouldn’t you know it? A few weeks later,  it started coming back to life.  Bold, glossy green replacing the crispy brown.  It stood taller. Stronger.  As if to say, “Thanks for finally listening.”

And I thought...same, friend. Same

And in that quiet moment, it hit me: I’m like that fig tree.  I don’t thrive in the same spaces I once did.  And that’s not failure-it’s growth.  Slower, softer, maybe, but still sacred.

So if you’re healing, aging, or just trying to remember who you are under all the layers-take a cue from my fiddle fig.  Shift gently.  Rest deeply.  Trust the light will find you.

Because blooming isn’t about speed-it’s about timing.  And you my friend, are right on time.