The Injury That Wouldn’t Go Away
This Tuesday, I’m having surgery to repair a torn rotator cuff.
I injured my shoulder last October during the cleanup after Hurricane Helene. It wasn’t a big, dramatic moment—just one of those times when you’re in go-mode, doing what needs to be done. I had been lifting, hauling, helping out where I could. Adrenaline was high, the to-do list was long, and the focus was on getting things done.
Like so many of us do, I told myself it was nothing. That it would go away on its own. That I didn’t have time to slow down.
But it didn’t go away.
The Habit of Powering Through
At first, I worked around it. I adjusted how I carried things, I used my other arm more, I avoided certain motions and tried not to make a big deal about it, I didn’t want to pause, I didn’t want to admit it was serious. There was too much to do, and I’ve always been someone who keeps moving.
There’s a kind of pride that can come with being the person who powers through pain. Who handles things. Who keeps it all together. And for a while, I leaned into that. I minimized the injury and maximized my tolerance.
But eventually, the pain became impossible to ignore. Everyday tasks were harder. Lifting a bag, opening a door, even sleeping—it all hurt. Still, I waited. Maybe out of stubbornness, maybe out of fear, maybe just out of habit.
Eventually, I realized: this isn’t going to get better on its own. And I can’t keep living around it.
Facing Surgery—and What It Really Means
So here I am, almost a year later, preparing for surgery. I’ve had procedures before, but this one feels different. Maybe it’s because it’s my dominant arm. Maybe because I know the recovery will take time. Or maybe because it’s forcing me to face something I usually avoid—letting go.
There’s something incredibly humbling about needing help. I’ll be relying on others in ways I’m not used to—asking for assistance with daily tasks, giving up control, and learning to be okay with doing less.
And while part of me is nervous about that, another part of me knows: this is a lesson I probably needed.
Redefining What Strength Looks Like
I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what it means to be strong. For years, I associated strength with perseverance, resilience, action. I thought it meant getting through hard things without slowing down. I thought it meant proving you could handle whatever came your way.
But this experience is teaching me a different definition.
Because real strength isn’t about doing it all. Sometimes, it’s about knowing when to stop. It’s about saying, “I need help,” and meaning it. It’s about trusting others. And most of all, it’s about trusting yourself enough to rest.
Quiet Confidence in Unexpected Moments
I talk a lot about confidence—not just the kind that shows up on stage or in big moments, but the kind you carry quietly. The kind that doesn’t rely on attention or achievement. The kind that stays with you in the stillness, in the pause, and in the asking.
Through my REAL Method—Respect yourself, Embrace your failures, Ask yourself what you want, and Live without limits—I help women reconnect with that kind of confidence. Not the performance. Not the perfection. Just the grounded belief that you are still enough, even when you’re not doing everything.
Right now, respecting myself means honoring my limits. It means saying no to the idea that I have to be everything for everyone. It means giving my body what it needs instead of demanding more from it.
Living without limits doesn’t mean pushing through pain. It means making choices that support your long-term wellbeing, it means knowing that asking for help, slowing down, or pausing doesn’t make you less capable—it makes you honest. It makes you human.
What I’m Learning in the Pause
This surgery is forcing me to pause. I won’t be able to lift, drive, or take on my usual responsibilities for a while. I’ll need help from my family, I’ll have to delegate things I usually handle myself, I’ll have to slow down.
And while that used to feel like failure, now I’m starting to see it for what it really is: a different kind of leadership. One that’s rooted in rest, reflection, and self-respect.
It’s easy to celebrate strength when it looks like achievement. But I think we also need to honor the kind of strength it takes to stop. To step back. To say, “Right now, I need care.”
If You’re in a Season of Slowing Down, Try This:
If you’re navigating your own version of a pause—whether it’s from injury, burnout, or simply life asking you to slow down—here are a few gentle steps that might help:
- Name what you’re feeling.
Sometimes we move through pain or fatigue without pausing to acknowledge it. Give yourself permission to name what’s hard right now—physically, emotionally, or mentally. - Let someone help you.
Even one small handoff—letting someone else run an errand, make a decision, or simply listen—can lighten your load. You don’t have to carry everything alone. - Redefine what productivity looks like.
Rest is productive. Healing is productive. Listening to your body and making space for recovery is not falling behind—it’s investing in what comes next. - Set one kind boundary.
Whether it’s declining an invitation, pushing back a deadline, or carving out 30 minutes for yourself, give yourself the space you need without guilt. - Remember that quiet confidence counts.
You don’t have to show up loudly to be strong. Sometimes just choosing to honor yourself—especially when no one else sees it—is the most powerful move you can make.
An Invitation to Let Go
If you’re in a season where you’re being asked to rest—or forced to—know that it’s not a step backward. It might be one of the most important steps forward you’ll take.
Whether you’re recovering from something physical or just mentally exhausted, know this: you don’t have to earn your rest. You don’t have to prove your worth through productivity. You don’t have to hold everything up on your own.
Quiet confidence reminds me: You can lead from here, too.
It says: Your value isn’t tied to how much you’re doing.
And maybe most importantly, it says: Letting go isn’t giving up—it’s choosing to give yourself what you actually need.
That’s what I’m learning this week. And while it’s not the most comfortable lesson, it’s one I know I’ll carry with me for a long time.
So here’s to healing.
To slowing down.
To letting go—just for a little while.
And to remembering that sometimes, the strongest thing we can do is say, “I don’t have to do it all right now.”
