It’s been one week since surgery.
Seven days of crutches, ice packs, and figuring out how to carry a glass of water (or coke) without spilling it everywhere. My left knee has been the main character of my life lately — not by choice. I’m still at the very start of this recovery, but already my mind feels busier than my body. I’m not suddenly wise or zen. I’m just… noticing more. And those little moments of noticing feel like clarity.
Patience is the first thing I’ve been wrestling with. I like to think I’m a laid-back guy. I don’t brag about grinding 24/7, and I don’t live life at breakneck speed. But apparently, I’m not as patient as I thought. Because right now, patience isn’t me sitting peacefully with a smile. It’s me sighing because I dropped my phone on the other side of the couch and can’t just get up to grab it. It’s feeling frustrated when my wife is doing the things I usually help with — taking care of our daughter, walking the dogs — and I’m just… sitting here. There’s this quiet mental battle that kicks in, where I start imagining she’s annoyed with me, even though she hasn’t given me a single reason to think that. That’s my fear of being a burden talking. And honestly, research shows that impatience in recovery can make healing feel longer and more stressful, while patience itself is linked to lower stress and better emotional regulation (Schnitker, 2012). I’m trying to hold onto that thought when I catch myself spiraling.
Tolerance has been another constant companion. Not just pain tolerance — though there’s plenty of that — but tolerating discomfort in all its forms. Awkward sleeping positions. Rehab exercises that feel too small to matter but still manage to leave me exhausted. The weird feeling of being fussed over when I’d rather just blend in. Psychologists call this “distress tolerance,” the ability to keep going when things feel bad or frustrating (Simons & Gaher, 2005). I wouldn’t say I’m mastering it, but I’m definitely getting more practice than I ever wanted.
Slowing down is a whole other lesson. I’ve always told people how important it is to take breaks, to be present, to not rush through life. But this week has made me realize I might be better at saying that than actually doing it. My brain still wants to plan and move and check things off a list, even when my body says, “Nope, not today.” And slowing down… isn’t peaceful yet. It’s uncomfortable. Restless. Like my mind is pacing in a small room. But there are flickers of something else — noticing how my daughter stares at a toy like she’s solving a puzzle, or how my wife hums when she’s cooking. Little things I probably missed before. Studies show that intentional breaks improve focus and mood (Berto, 2014). I’m not there yet, but maybe this is me learning the skill the hard way.
Then there are the acts of love. My wife has taken on so much this week — not out of obligation, but out of love. I know that, deep down. She’s shown me what “in sickness and in health” really looks like. And yet, my mind still tries to twist it, to wonder if she’s getting tired of me needing so much. That’s the part I hate about recovery — it makes you more aware of how much you need other people, and that can mess with your pride. But the research is clear: receiving support — not just giving it — strengthens relationships and improves resilience (Maisel & Gable, 2009). My job right now is to believe that and let her love me through it, even when my ego feels small.
Work has been both a relief and a tug-of-war. My bosses and team have been incredibly understanding, telling me to focus on recovery and trust them to handle things. Old me would have fought that — terrified of looking replaceable. But this time, I’m trying to lean into trust. The research says supportive workplaces can prevent burnout and improve overall mental well-being (Maslach & Leiter, 2016). I’m lucky to have one of those. And yet… the guilt still creeps in. Letting go is harder than it sounds.
Stress hasn’t gone away just because I’m stuck on the couch. It’s still there — about my wife doing too much, about the dogs, about whether my knee is healing “right.” And every so often, I get that urge to jump back in, to take the load off her. But then I remember: I can’t. Not yet. Sometimes the hardest part of recovery isn’t the pain — it’s accepting your limits without resenting them.
And then there’s accepting help. This is the mountain I’m still climbing. The part of me that grew up on “do it yourself” is alive and well. It’s not just stubbornness — there’s a cultural layer to it, too. The quiet machismo that says I should be the one taking care of everyone else. But right now, I can’t. And I’m trying to see that as an opportunity instead of a failure. Accepting help isn’t just about making recovery easier — it’s about building connection and trust. And that’s as much a mental health investment as anything else.
So no, I haven’t figured it all out. I’m not writing this from some place of enlightenment. I’m writing it from the couch, ice pack on my knee, TV remote just out of reach. But even from here, I can see that this isn’t just a physical recovery. It’s a mental one, too. And maybe, if I keep paying attention, the crutches will carry me somewhere I didn’t expect — not just back to walking, but toward a slower, clearer way of living.
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References
Berto, R. (2014). The role of nature in coping with psycho-physiological stress: A literature review on restorativeness. Behavioral Sciences, 4(4), 394–409. https://doi.org/10.3390/bs4040394
Maisel, N. C., & Gable, S. L. (2009). The paradox of received social support: The importance of responsiveness. Psychological Science, 20(8), 928–932. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1467-9280.2009.02388.x
Maslach, C., & Leiter, M. P. (2016). Understanding the burnout experience: Recent research and its implications for psychiatry. World Psychiatry, 15(2), 103–111. https://doi.org/10.1002/wps.20311
Schnitker, S. A. (2012). An examination of patience and well-being. The Journal of Positive Psychology, 7(4), 263–280. https://doi.org/10.1080/17439760.2012.697185
Simons, J. S., & Gaher, R. M. (2005). The Distress Tolerance Scale: Development and validation of a self-report measure. Motivation and Emotion, 29(2), 83–102. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11031-005-7955-3