Slower, Softer, Stronger
Slower, Softer, Stronger
I knew the half knee replacement would be tough.
What I didn’t expect was how much it would teach me—not just about healing, but about slowing down, starting over, and softening into the unknown.
It was supposed to be a fairly straightforward operation, as much as these things can be. But…
In the middle of surgery, my heart stopped.
Stillness. No rhythm. No beat.
The team acted fast—and I was brought back.
Not just to life, but to the people I love.
To breath.
To the quiet, pulsing reminder of what matters most.
This stopped being about a knee.
It became about how I want to live.
Since then, I’ve been learning to walk again.
Physically, yes—but also in how I carry myself.
There’s been a wobble in my steps and in my confidence.
I’ve questioned my strength.
I’ve had to rebuild trust in my body, in time, in myself.
And in all of it, a few quiet truths have stayed with me:
Make haste slowly.
I love momentum—but healing doesn’t care for deadlines. Progress has been found in small, steady steps. Not rushing. Just trusting the pace.
Go at your own speed.
Comparison is tempting. But healing, like growth, is personal. I had to walk my own path—and let that be enough.
Let people in.
I’ve always valued independence, but this season reminded me: strength lives in vulnerability. Letting others help was humbling, and healing.
Gratitude shifts everything.
It’s easy to focus on what’s hard. But noticing what’s improving—what’s possible—has softened my thinking and lifted the weight.
A few gentle ponderings I’m still carrying:
– What if the wobble is part of becoming steady again?
– What if slowing down is how we return to ourselves?
This experience has both softened and strengthened me.
It’s made me clearer on what matters.
Kinder toward myself.
And more connected to the kind of leader—and human—I want to be.
I’m not all the way there.
But I’m still stepping forward.
And maybe, that’s enough for now.
What’s a challenge that’s taught you something about yourself?
Let’s keep sharing.
With care,
Mary-Anne