🌿 When Brakes and Breaks Elevate

A sacred scroll on surrender, scar tissue, and soul-anchored success

Every injury I’ve endured has carved a sacred opening

a passageway into deeper layers of my physical, emotional, and spiritual body.

When I broke my humerus bone clean in half, I had a metal plate and ten screws placed in my arm. The surgeon warned me I might never regain full rotation. But I had already signed up for a triathlon. I told him, “If I have to swim it with one arm, I will.” And I meant it.

The healing was slow. But in that slowness, something holy was revealed.

I received help I rarely ask for.

I witnessed who showed up, and who didn’t.

My daughter and I deepened our bond.

I learned new ways to receive.

And I discovered not only what my body needed, but how to listen.

But the process wasn’t graceful. Not at first.

The Pain No One Prepares You For

No one told me what post-surgery would be like.

I’d never broken a bone before, so I didn’t know what to expect.

The week after the operation was misery.

My body was overloaded with medications, and I couldn’t poop.

That alone created so much pressure and pain,

I would draw hot baths in the middle of the night just to find relief.

Sometimes, I even slept in the tub.

The medications made me nauseous, then I needed more meds for that.

It felt like a cascade of disconnection:

numb the pain, then numb the side effects,

until I could no longer feel myself at all.

By the end of that first week, I quit all the meds cold.

I called the doctor’s office in desperation and asked:

“Are there alternatives? Dry needling? Acupuncture?”

They said no, but then asked,

“Have you considered medicinal marijuana?”

Honestly, I hadn’t.

At the time, I held the belief that using cannabis would make me a bad mom.

But pain and judgment can’t coexist for long.

Pain stripped me of shame.

And desperation opened me to healing in a way that pride never could.

So I tried it.

When Healing Becomes a Holy Rebellion

I bought everything I could. I experimented. I learned.

And to my shock, this alternative was a gift.

Suddenly, I could sleep. I could eat.

I could go to the bathroom (finally!), laugh,

even vacuum my house with one arm.

Most of all, I could play with my daughter, present, pain-free, and smiling.

Where prescription meds had left me sick, sedated, and bedridden,

the plant medicine helped me return to my life.

That was a turning point.

Not just in my recovery, but in how I saw healing, motherhood, and judgment.

Scar Tissue and Sovereignty

Five months later, the doctors cleared me to bear weight again.

The first thing I did?

I dove into a pool.

I’m a swimmer, and I needed to know:

Could I still move the way I used to?

As I streamlined underwater,

the pressure of trying to extend both arms evenly was excruciating.

It was the worst pain I’d felt since the break.

Every stroke tore through layers of scar tissue.

But I kept going. Because I knew I wasn’t just breaking through fascia

I was reclaiming motion, power, and possibility.

And because of that resistance,

I got full rotation back.

Something they said likely wouldn’t happen.

Loss Slows You into Clarity

Every injury is an invitation from Spirit to slow down and go within.

To reassess.

To realign.

To reawaken.

I once met the happiest person I’d ever encountered

a paraplegic inspirational speaker with the brightest smile and a radiant girlfriend.

His joy was magnetic. His perspective, contagious.

I remember wondering, How can someone who’s experienced such devastating loss

still carry so much light?

It didn’t make sense… until I broke my arm.

Until I lost my mobility. My options. My speed.

Until I was forced into stillness.

And then, it clicked.

Loss slows you down, so much that you start to really see.

You notice the people around you. The small gestures. The everyday miracles.

And you realize how much you once took for granted.

You begin to do an internal and external audit:

What’s not available right now?

And… what still is?

What can I no longer do?

And… what can I still do?

And from there, your life pivots, not from circumstance, but from perspective.

Because the moment you choose to see through the lens of gratitude instead of lack,

you shift timelines.

You shift realities.

You shift your soul into deeper resonance with love, not fear.

And that, more than any surgery, rehab, or medicine,

is the real healing.

✨ Epilogue: The Quiet Kind of Rich

At this stage of my life,

I feel rich beyond measure.

Not because of anything I own,

but because of the peace that lives in my heart and home.

I’ve known the chaos.

I’ve walked through the noise.

I’ve tasted the bitterness of lack, conflict, and striving.

And that’s why I now savor the sacred simplicity

that costs nothing, but fills everything.

Waking up without an alarm.

Honey toast.

A new anime.

A hidden forest trail.

An ancient tree that only I was meant to find.

You can keep the fame and fortune.

I’ll take the unseen peace.

The behind-the-scenes abundance.

The turtle-paced love.

The sacred stillness.

Because this

this quiet life

is the most radiant kind of riches.

🌳 Closing Mantra:

“The fall was never the failure.

It was the invitation to live slower, see deeper, and rise softer.”