
Good Evening Beautiful,
Tonight is the last love letter of April, and what a month it has been.
This month has held surgeries, pain, medications, tears, healing, uncertainty, deep gratitude, and more lessons than I could have imagined. It has been a month of slowing down in ways I did not plan, being cared for in ways I did not expect, and learning that even when life changes suddenly, beauty still finds a way to meet you.
Today brought especially good news. The additional testing that was done on the area my doctors were concerned about came back benign. No cancer. No radiation. No additional heavy road to walk from that perspective. Just those words alone felt like exhaling after holding my breath for far too long. Sometimes you do not realize how much tension you have been carrying until relief arrives.
And then later today, something else happened.
After taking my medication, changing my bandages, and caring for my body the best way I know how right now, I took a midday nap. When I woke up, I had a desire I have not had the energy or confidence to fully act on in quite some time. I wanted to go outside. Not for an appointment. Not because I had to. Not because someone was wheeling me somewhere medical. I wanted to go outside simply because I wanted to enjoy life.
Now let me tell the truth. Going outside sounds simple when you are healthy and mobile. It sounds like nothing. But when you are healing from surgeries, when movement is slower, when your body requires assistance, when each step asks more of you than it once did, going outside can feel like climbing a mountain.
Still, I wanted it.
So my husband helped me. With my walker and the support I needed, I slowly made my way to the balcony. Step by step. Careful movement by careful movement. And when I got there and sat down, I felt something shift inside me.
The fresh air touched my face. The sky stretched open above me. The trees moved gently in the wind. I could hear traffic in the distance, people moving through their evenings, life continuing all around me. And there I was, sitting in the middle of my own life again.
It may sound small to someone else, but to me it felt monumental.
For the last forty days or so, so much of my world has been one room, one bed, one couch, one recovery position after another. My luxurious couch has held me. My beautiful bed has held me. Both have comforted me through some very difficult days. But sitting upright outside, even without the same comfort, felt like medicine of another kind.
I realized tonight that healing is not always found in hospitals, prescriptions, or appointments. Sometimes healing is found in the small return of ordinary pleasures. Sometimes healing looks like fresh air. Sometimes healing sounds like leaves moving. Sometimes healing is simply proving to yourself that you can still participate in your own life.
What touched me deeply today was realizing I could sit upright longer than I have in weeks. That means I may be able to attend my upcoming book club gathering and sit in community again. That means progress is happening. That means life is slowly reopening.
And yesterday brought another reminder of love.
My husband wanted to see if I felt up to visiting friends. We thought through logistics because right now stairs, comfort, and mobility all matter in ways they never used to. One of my dear friends welcomed me in with so much care. They cooked for me. We settled in. We started talking and laughing. And because I am still heavily medicated and still healing, I ended up falling asleep right there for hours. I woke up later and the sun had already gone down.
And do you know what I felt?
Loved.
Loved enough to be cared for without embarrassment. Loved enough to rest in someone else’s home. Loved enough to be welcomed exactly as I am in this season. Loved enough to be carried by community when I cannot carry everything myself.
That kind of love changes you.
My husband has loved me beautifully through this process. He has helped me with the hardest and most humbling parts of healing without complaint, without resentment, without making me feel like a burden. That kind of love matters. My friends have loved me through flexibility, food, patience, and presence. That kind of love matters. And I am learning to love myself too by gently encouraging myself toward the next step.
Tonight that next step was the balcony.
Tonight loving myself looked like saying, yes, it will take extra time. Yes, it will be more effort. Yes, it may be uncomfortable. But yes, you still deserve the sky.
That may be the lesson I leave April with.
Even when everything feels stripped away, there is still something available to love. Even when you cannot do the big things, the little things can become sacred. Even when healing feels slow, progress may be hiding inside moments that seem ordinary.
Sit on the porch. Step onto the balcony. Look at the stars. Let the wind touch your face. Listen to the world continue. Let yourself remain connected to life, even in seasons where life looks different.
Who knew the little balcony I decorated with flowers, plants, comfortable chairs, a hammock, and a soft rug to walk barefoot on would become a healing sanctuary. Who knew the simple space I created for beauty would one day hold me while I healed.
Maybe that is how life works. The love you build ahead of time often becomes the place that holds you later.
Tonight I am full of gratitude. Gratitude for benign results. Gratitude for healing progress. Gratitude for my husband bringing me a blanket while I sit outside under the night sky. Gratitude for friends who love me. Gratitude for my body doing its best. Gratitude that joy still finds me, even here.
As April closes, I want to remind you that you do not need grand gestures to come back to yourself. Sometimes the smallest joys bring you home.
You are still healing.
You are still worthy of tenderness.
You are still allowed to enjoy the little things.
You are still deeply loved.
And even now, especially now, you are still magical.
Love,
Your Most Magical Self ✨💋

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