Five Weeks Post-Surgery: Grieving and Trusting My Healing

Today marks five weeks since my hysterectomy, and while I’m still very much in the process of healing, I wanted to share a small but meaningful moment from today.

This morning, I found enough energy to take a slow drive up to Palomar Mountain, one of my favorite sacred places. I brought my watercolors and paper and sat quietly by the pond, letting the sun warm my skin and the breeze whisper through the trees. I painted. I connected. I finally exhaled.

It was the first time I’ve really felt that deep, soul-level connection to nature since surgery and it reminded me just how much I need it, not just for my body, but for my mental health, clarity, and spirit.

Physically, I’m doing better. Pain is minimal most days now. But fatigue is still intense, and I’m learning to respect it instead of pushing through. Brain fog continues to linger too—like I’m watching the world in slow motion through dimpled glass. It’s frustrating, but I’m trying to be patient.

I have my in-person follow-up with my doctor next Monday, where he will check my internal stitches and talk about my return to work. My original plan was to be back by six weeks, but now that it’s nearly here, I know in my gut that I’ll likely need more time. I’ve been wrestling with guilt about not “bouncing back” fast enough, but I’ve also made a vow to put myself and my healing first. That vow matters more than productivity or pressure.

Thankfully, my work has been incredibly supportive, which I don’t take for granted. It’s allowed me to slow down and truly honor this healing journey. 

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve had some quiet emotional waves come through—especially around the loss of my womb.

I didn’t think it would hit me as hard as it did. I’ve never defined myself by my ability to have children. And yet, our culture deeply conditions women to equate our worth with our reproductive ability.

So I let myself feel it.

I let myself grieve the loss of my uterus, my ovaries, my cervix—and what those parts symbolized in a world that so often ties femininity to fertility.

And then… I let it go.

Because I know my femininity doesn’t live in my womb.

It lives in my breath.

In my creativity.

In my intuition.

In my wisdom.

In the way I nurture, move, and radiate love.

That essence hasn’t left me. It was never stored in an organ. It’s woven through my being—sacred, untouchable.

And my worth?

It was never tied to what I could produce, birth, or perform. I am worthy simply because I exist.

And I am deeply, truly grateful. My life is richly blessed. I have love, support, spaciousness—and this precious chance to return to myself.

Today wasn’t grand or dramatic.
But I drove to the mountain.
I breathed pine air.
I painted in quiet solitude.
I saw myself a little more clearly.

And for today, that’s enough.