At this point, I must admit—I’m scared. My surgery is just 19 days away, and while I can’t always pinpoint the exact fear, I feel my mood shifting from hope toward anxiety.
The questions circling in my mind are constant:
- Am I making the right choice?
- Will I be able to hike and live the life I want?
- Will the pain be something I can work through?
- Will everything go smoothly, or will there be complications?
- Will recovery be quick—or painfully slow?
Time feels strange right now. Some days drag on endlessly, while others vanish in a blink. Everything seems to orbit around this surgery.
Am I making the right choice?
With physical therapy and weight loss, my daily pain has eased a bit. Yet, I still have stiffness and occasional buckling. The x-ray last week told the story clearly: bone spurs, no space left between the bones. My doctor said I’m making the right choice. I believe him—but still, the doubts creep in.
Will I be able to live the life I want?
This question takes me deep into reflection. I’ve come to realize the future never really arrives—and hindsight is always the clearest view. So, what is the life I want?
I want deep, meaningful relationships with the people I love.
I want to feel alive again.
I want to move without pain.
I want to hike, travel, and be immersed in nature.
I want to garden, care for my chickens, and work my mini farm.
For decades, weight has held me back. For the last decade, it’s been my knees. Surgery feels like the step I must take to move toward the life I envision.
Will the pain be something I can work through?
My son wrote on the whiteboard in our workout space:
“Embrace the journey, work through the pain. We are changing our lives for an even greater journey.”
This morning, as I pedaled the bike, hip pain forced me to stop early. I felt defeated. I kept reading those words—work through the pain—but at that moment, I gave in. That’s my fear: what if I can’t push through?
Will everything go smoothly—or will there be complications?
Fear. False Events Appearing Real. My mind plays its own “what if” movie: swollen knees, sleepless nights, painful steps. But my doctor reminded me: You will be in pain. The goal is not to eliminate it but to make it tolerable enough to heal and keep moving.
That’s the real challenge—keep moving, even when it hurts.
Will recovery be quick—or slow?
The holidays are coming. The second knee surgery is waiting. Full mobility could take a year, maybe longer. That feels overwhelming.
I want to live in the “happy zone” of recovery, imagining strength returning quickly. But I know it’s going to be a slog—daily exercises, rebuilding muscle, enduring setbacks. Still, each slow step will carry me toward something greater.
Standing on the Cliff
In my coaching, I often talk about the “What If Movie.” Picture yourself standing at the edge of a cliff, with all your dreams waiting in the distance. To get there, you need to leap—but fear cements your feet to the ground.
The “What If Movie” is the endless reel of negative questions and worst-case scenarios playing in your mind. Left unchecked, it becomes powerful enough to create limiting beliefs that hold us back. But naming it gives us a choice: to let fear dictate the story, or to see it as a sign that we’re standing at the threshold of something new.
I’ve also learned that when I share my fears out loud—naming the “What Ifs” and inviting others into the conversation—they lose some of their power. The unknown feels less overwhelming when it’s carried together, and the simple act of putting words to fear makes it more concrete, less shadowy.
The truth is, the only way forward is to leap. And yes, sometimes you fall, but sometimes—you fly.
That’s where I am: balancing between hope and fear, preparing to leap. I know I must carry both—the fear of the unknown and the hope of what’s possible.
And maybe you’re standing in your own “What If Moment.” What questions are on repeat in your mind? What leap of faith lies ahead of you? And who have you invited to walk with you, so the fear doesn’t weigh you down alone?
Thank you for walking this road with me—and for helping me take my leap.
Two knees rebuilt. One dream revived. A life rebuilt, one step at a time.
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