Making Space to Heal through Hard Seasons

“Come to me, all of you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28

There was a day in 2019 when I felt desperately close to breaking. My husband was receiving his first radiation treatment for cancer. For twenty minutes, Joe would lay completely still with his body strapped down and his head snapped into a mask, which had been precisely form-fitted to his face and shoulders. The door he walked through held a sign of what to expect: DANGER NUCLEAR MEDICINE.

A predecessor of what was to come, a warning of the wounds which would one day need to heal.

Eight months of grueling treatments.

There’s a tension we hold between the hurt and the healing, between the sorrow and the joy, which leads to a longing for restoration, for life to be good again, and for the assurance that joy is possible.

And although there’s a desire to return to life as it was, there’s really no way to go back.

As John Eldredge says, “You can’t go back, especially when God is moving things forward.” Because, despite the losses and hardships we suffer, it’s always the coming back and rising again that proves to be the hardest.

Joe and I experienced this in very different ways. Although we walked side-by-side through his suffering, our recovery was as distinct as our wounds. I was worn out and weary. I needed rest. This is when I decided the only person who could do something about this was me. So I began a season of being curious about what this might look like.

How do we really set aside time to heal? And how do we find any margin in the busyness of life to allow this healing?

I took out my calendar and began shaving off things that were draining my energy and I created some space for my soul to breathe. I scheduled in my counselor. And instead of considering every invitation with an automatic affirmation, I thought through each one and answered this question:

“Do I have the emotional and physical capacity to carry this through?”

Then, Joe and I began a season of intentionally healing together. We set aside ample time for vacation. We created space for exercise and to take in nature. And although we are still traveling this road to recovery, I feel myself returning. Our conversations are much deeper and are grace-filled as we now realize our bodies are entirely more complex than we ever gave them credit for. Yes, they’re beautiful too, but they are also easily broken, and they require a lot more attention than we ever knew.

Again, as John Eldredge says, “Athletes will tell you that working out is not the most important part of training. Recovery is.”

So, friend, if you’re weary and worn out, consider becoming curious, because you can’t heal without first acknowledging your wounds.

Ask yourself:

What’s been hard lately?

What losses do you need to grieve? (These may be physical as well as emotional losses)

Then, find some space to allow yourself to grieve.

Journal it.

Share it with a friend. And whatever you do – allow yourself the space to grieve.

After you do that, find ways to replenish your soul. Get yourself outside and breathe in the fresh air. Find the things that you love and do them again. Spend time with God. Chase down some beauty. And pray. But if you don’t have the words to wrap around your pain – worship is a beautiful way for the soul to heal.

Sweet one, your recovery is vital to your becoming. So, if nothing else – make some sacred space and heal.

“Come to me, all of you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28