Healing is No Joke

People think healing’s like a day off work—kick back, drink soup, and wait for the body and spirit to knit themselves together. They don’t tell you it can feel like dragging yourself through a tar pit with a piano tied to your ankle.

I’ve learned that healing, whether it’s from a busted bone, a bruised heart, or a disappointment you can’t quite name, has a funny way of rearranging your priorities. Suddenly, things that once fired you up—projects, conversations, even people—seem about as interesting as watching paint dry on a damp day.

When you’re in the thick of it, folks will say, “Oh, you just need rest.”

Sure. Rest.

As if lying in bed staring at the ceiling fan until you’ve memorized every squeak and wobble counts as therapy. The truth is, healing takes patience, and patience is about as popular as kale at a kid’s birthday party.

But then you start to realize how much unnecessary noise you used to tolerate. Old arguments, silly obligations, people who talk too much about their latest gadget—suddenly, none of it matters.

Healing makes you allergic to nonsense. And honestly, that might be its best side effect.

I remember when I cracked two ribs falling off a rock. At first, I was frustrated that I couldn’t lift a box, sneeze, or even laugh without wincing, but once I stopped fussing, something shifted. I started listening more than talking.

I noticed the way sunlight slid through the curtains in the morning. I found myself enjoying silence the way a child enjoys dessert. Healing slowed me down enough to see what I’d been missing while I was busy being “busy.”

The same thing happens with emotional bruises. You pull back from the world, not because you don’t care, but because the noise outside doesn’t match the quiet repair happening inside.

The best part? That disinterest, which feels like a curse, is actually a shield, as it keeps out what doesn’t help, what doesn’t heal. You stop wasting energy on the wrong things so your soul can stitch itself together.

Of course, healing isn’t an excuse to become a hermit in sweatpants forever. At some point, you have to stretch your legs, open the door, and step back into life.

But if you’ve done the work, you come out different. Stronger, softer, less willing to put up with foolishness.

You find joy in littler things—a hot cup of coffee, a belly laugh that doesn’t hurt your ribs, a hug from someone who doesn’t need you to be “fixed” already. Healing also makes you unrecognizable to the version of yourself that once thought exhaustion was a badge of honor.

You laugh at your old self the way you laugh at fashion mistakes in high school photos. Who was that person who thought running at full speed was the only way forward?

Healing shows you that sometimes stopping is the real progress. So yes, healing is no joke.

It’s serious business, messy and slow. But if you let it, it teaches you the oldest common-sense lesson of all–the world doesn’t fall apart just because you sit down for a while.

People who care will wait, as will chores. And when you finally get up, you’ll carry less weight, less noise, and maybe—if you’re lucky—more wisdom tucked quietly into your pocket.

Because healing doesn’t just patch you up, it teaches you how to live gentler, laugh louder, and let go faster, and that, my friend, is no joke at all.