Still Learning

I’ve been walking this burn survivor journey for 22 years now. More than two decades. You’d think by now I’d have it all figured out—how to pace myself, how to stay safe, how to read the signs before they hit hard. But the truth is, I don’t. And honestly? That surprises me sometimes.

Yesterday was a good example. I went out disc golfing with friends. The sun was out in full force, the heat index high—about 90°F with over 70% humidity. I did what I thought was the “right” thing: stayed hydrated, wore sunscreen, paid attention to how I was feeling. We made it through the course, and I decided to head home early, sensing I was starting to overheat.

Once home, I cooled down with fans and ice packs. I even took a nap and thought I had handled it well. But that night told a different story. I was sick for hours—nausea, an intense headache, my body felt like it was still burning from the inside out. I barely slept. I woke up this morning dizzy, feverish, nauseated, and utterly drained. Just sitting up made my world spin. I’ve spent most of the day in bed—resting, sleeping (which is not typical for me), and moving slowly when I do get up. By evening, I’ve started to feel a bit more human again. I'm praying that a good night’s sleep brings full restoration.

For context—my burn scars don’t have sweat glands, which means my body can’t regulate temperature the way most people’s can. This isn’t new. But this summer? It’s been harder than I ever remember. The heat hits differently. The fatigue feels deeper. And the recovery takes longer. I thought I would be even better this year because of the weight loss, 70 lbs does a lot to help your body.

But the surprise doesn’t always come from the physical struggle. Sometimes it comes out of nowhere—like when someone makes a careless comment in public. Or when a child stares too long. Or when someone asks what happened in a tone that makes me want to hide. There are days where I catch my own reflection, and instead of strength, I just feel tired of seeing the scars. On those days, it takes everything in me to take a deep breath, pause, and recover—emotionally and spiritually—before I can go forward.

These moments knock the wind out of me in a different way, but they require the same gentleness: the same slowing down, the same grace, the same space to regroup.

I’m sharing this not to complain, but to encourage. To show you that you are not alone in the struggle you may be facing right now.

Sometimes healing—of any kind—takes more time than we expect. Whether it's physical wounds, emotional pain, deep grief, trauma, loss, or a diagnosis you never asked for… recovery rarely follows a straight line. We all have something we’re carrying that still surprises us, that still overwhelms us on certain days, no matter how far along the path we are.

But here’s what I’ve come to know, especially through my faith: God is not disappointed in our process. He’s not rushing us to “get over it” or expecting perfection by a certain date. He walks with us in the slow days, in the setbacks, in the messy middle of our stories. In Psalm 34:18, we’re reminded: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

Even when I feel like I “should” have it together by now, God gently reminds me—you are still learning, still growing, still healing—and that’s okay.

So if you’re reading this and feel behind, tired, frustrated with how long healing is taking in your life—please hear this: You’re not failing. You’re being human. And God is not done with you yet.

Take time.

Drink water.

Rest when your body and soul need it.

Ask for help.

Be patient with yourself.

And remember: there is no shame in still figuring it out.

Even 22 years later, I’m learning that grace covers the days I thought I’d be stronger. And it will cover you too.

Take a Moment to Reflect

If you’re navigating a long journey—whether visible or invisible—take a few moments with these questions. These have helped me grow in my journey and i hope they help you too. You don’t need perfect answers, just an honest heart:

• What’s something I thought I’d be “over” by now, but still struggle with from time to time?

• Are there moments when I’m harder on myself than God is? What might it look like to show myself grace in those places?

• When was the last time I gave myself permission to rest without guilt?

• What situations—physical, emotional, or social—tend to knock the wind out of me? How can I care for myself better when that happens?

• Where have I seen God’s faithfulness in my healing journey, even if it’s not yet complete?

• What truth from Scripture do I need to hold onto when I feel discouraged or behind?

Let these questions be a soft place to land—not a checklist, but an invitation. God meets us in the pause, in the honesty, and in the parts of our story still unfolding. Even when we do not take care well enough, we have a Father who does better than we can imagine.