Recovery has a way of forcing you to sit with yourself, especially when you’re someone who is used to doing, managing, and holding everything together.
As women, and especially as mothers, we’re praised for pushing through. For bouncing back. For getting back to “normal” as quickly as possible. But recovering from my hysterectomy has been the first time in my adult life that I’ve truly allowed myself to rest. In many ways, it’s brought up reflections I didn’t expect.
Recovery felt more familiar than I anticipated
What surprised me most is how much this season of healing feels like postpartum.
In the emotional rhythm of it — the tenderness, the slowness, the constant recalibration of what my body needs. In some ways, it’s been easier than postpartum because I’m not dealing with a surge of hormones or caring for a newborn. But emotionally, the parallels are undeniable.
After both of my births, I overdid it. I didn’t rest the way my body needed. I did everything myself, because that’s what felt expected. And because I didn’t have the kind of support system that allowed for true recovery. Looking back, I don’t feel regret so much as compassion for the version of myself who didn’t yet know another way.
This time feels different. Not because I’m stronger, but because I’m softer. Older. Wiser. More willing to listen to myself and ask of others.
Rest is still uncomfortable — even when you know you need it
I’ve realized how deeply productivity is wired into how many of us measure our worth.
Even now, resting brings up feelings of guilt and shame. Of laziness. Of not doing enough. What’s helped emotionally during this recovery is something very practical: planning rest ahead of time.
Before surgery, I wrote out a full two-week calendar where my partner and our nanny were in charge of everything: meals, logistics, household needs, childcare. Having it written down made rest feel possible. It removed most of the mental load of wondering if things were falling apart without me.
I still help where I can, when it feels okay. But I’m resting far more than I ever have during a recovery — and that has been a quiet, powerful shift.
Pelvic floor therapy changed how I understand healing
One thing I feel deeply proud of is committing to pelvic floor therapy.
Not as a “fix,” but as a way of learning how my body actually works. How to recognize pain versus discomfort, how to strengthen gently, and how to know when rest is the most supportive option. It’s helped me tune in rather than push through, and that awareness has been invaluable.
So much of women’s recovery focuses on endurance. Pelvic floor therapy offered me something different: permission to heal with intention.
The invisible labor no one talks about
Something I wish more people talked about (especially in conversations about surgery and recovery) is the sheer amount of invisible work women do every day.
Being the default parent. The household manager. The person who tracks appointments, meals, schedules, emotional needs, and logistics. When people say they’re “helping out,” it often barely scratches the surface of what’s actually required to keep a household running.
Support often comes in short bursts — a few days, maybe a week — but recovery from major surgery takes much longer than that. Weeks. Sometimes months. And many women simply don’t receive the sustained care they need to heal fully.
That gap matters. And it shouldn’t be normalized.
This season has made it clear to me that household roles and mental load deserve ongoing conversations, not just temporary adjustments during a crisis. Healing requires space — and that space has to be protected.
Redefining strength and recovery
Recovery has reshaped my understanding of strength.
Strength isn’t pushing through pain.
It isn’t proving how much you can handle.
It isn’t doing everything yourself.
Strength can look like asking for help.
Like slowing down even when it feels uncomfortable.
Like honoring your body instead of overriding it.
This season has reminded me that healing isn’t linear — and it doesn’t need to be rushed to be valid.
A quiet reminder, if you’re in this season too
If you’re recovering from surgery, navigating postpartum life, or learning how to listen to your body after a major change: you’re not behind. You’re not weak. You’re not doing it wrong.
Rest is not laziness.
Slowing down is not failure.
And needing care does not make you a burden.
Sometimes healing isn’t about getting back to who you were. It’s about becoming someone who knows how to care for themselves more fully than before.
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