As usual, my writing has been spotty. I tell myself I don’t have time, but the truth is I’m scared. Scared to let out everything I’m feeling. Scared to admit the hurt, the frustration, the uncertainty. I’m supposed to be the strong one, the positive one, the one who has it all together. But I don’t.

Life isn’t going as planned. September is usually a time of reflecting, anticipating, and planning. My birthday month has always been a marker for me, a reset. But this year, everything shifted. No girls trip. No joint birthday party. No simple day trip to a winery. This torn Achilles and fractured ankle have shut me down completely. And it doesn’t lend itself to the things I’m used to doing.

It’s unnerving, discouraging, and uncomfortable. I can’t walk my dog. I can’t take my usual 2 to 3 mile neighborhood walks. I can’t go to the gym. Instead, I spend days sitting, crawling up and down the stairs, and hobbling on crutches.

This injury has a year-long recovery timeline. At least twelve months before I get back to what I was mobility-wise. But what if I don’t? What if I never fully get back? What if I gain more weight? What if I end up with a limp? What if I can’t do the things—walking, working out, moving—that always made me feel like me?

That thought terrifies me.

I was just getting ready to throw myself into dance classes and tennis. I was finally finding my rhythm with workouts. The gym gave me an outlet for my emotions, and work was steady. Things were moving forward. And then—suddenly—they’re not.

So what do I do with that? Did God shut me down on purpose? Does He want me to bring my attention back to Him? Was I leaning too much on the gym, my routine, my work, instead of leaning on Him? Had I placed my hope in other things, instead of the One who holds me up?

What if the very thing I think is going to take me out is the thing that gives me life? Maybe that’s what He’s been whispering all along—come back. Pay attention. Write. Stop relying on your own strength and rely on mine.

It’s not easy. But in the middle of the uncertainty, there is joy. It’s in the small things that remind me He hasn’t forgotten me—an unexpected phone call from my oldest and dearest friend, my dog lying at my feet, a song of worship playing on repeat in my head.

There is joy, even here.

Have you ever been here too? I’d love to hear from you.