Today I’m heading in for another wrist surgery — reconstruction of my distal ulna/radioulnar joint — and honestly… I don’t even know how many times I’ve said “this will be the one that fixes it.”

Each surgery comes with hope.

Hope that maybe this time I’ll get my strength back.

Hope that maybe this time life can slow down.

Hope that maybe I can stop living around pain.

And every time it doesn’t work the way we hoped… it feels like starting all over again.

Physically, it’s draining.

Emotionally, it’s exhausting in ways you can’t explain unless you’ve lived it.

Because it’s not just me going through surgery — it’s the whole village around me having to stop their lives to help hold mine together.

People rearranging schedules.

Family stepping in to help with the boys.

Friends checking animals.

Baby goats needing a babysitter because farm life doesn’t pause just because your body needs repair.

And that part weighs heavy.

I’m used to being the one helping everyone else — the one doing, building, teaching, fixing.

Asking for help doesn’t come easy.

Needing help? Even harder.

The hardest part isn’t the surgery itself though…

It’s the hope that keeps getting crushed when the thing you thought would fix the problem… doesn’t.

When the hits just keep coming and coming.

And depression — that silent illness nobody really sees — slips in quietly.

You can still smile.

You can still show up.

But inside, some days feel heavier than anyone realizes.

I’m sharing this because I know I’m not the only one who feels like life keeps piling things on when you’re already tired.

Today I’m walking in scared, tired, hopeful, and honestly just ready for some relief.

So if you pray, send one up.

If you’ve been through something similar, I see you.

And if you’re quietly fighting battles no one else notices — you’re not alone.

Here’s to healing… even when the road feels longer than we expected. 🤍