Healing often begins where we finally choose to slow down.

This July started off looking different than I imagined.

A fall beside my horse, Stetson, left me with a concussion and bruises that needed time to heal. At the same time, my horse was on his own journey. His behavior had changed, and instead of simply expecting him to work through it, we stopped and began looking for the reason. As part of that journey, I asked for help. Stetson is receiving equine therapy from a wonderful horse trainer. She will help me understand him more. I don’t know where his path will lead, but I do know that slowing down long enough to listen felt like the right place to begin. 

That made me think about healing in a different way.

Whether it’s our own heart, someone we love, or a horse we care deeply about, our first instinct is often to fix the problem as quickly as possible. We want answers. We want life to return to normal.

But healing rarely works that way.

It asks us to be patient. It asks us to pay attention. It asks us to listen more than we speak.

As my body has slowly recovered, I’ve realized healing isn’t just about wounds disappearing. It’s about understanding what those wounds have to teach us. Sometimes they remind us to rest. Sometimes they remind us to trust. Sometimes they simply remind us that we aren’t as strong on our own as we thought we were.

The same is true for those we love.

Whether they walk on two legs or four, every behavior has a story. Every hurt has a beginning. Not every wound can be seen.

This season has changed the questions I’ve been asking. Instead of asking, “How do I fix this?” I’ve begun asking, “What do you need?” Sometimes that question is for Stetson. Sometimes it’s for someone I love. And sometimes, it’s the question I need to ask myself. I’ve discovered that healing begins when we stop trying to force an answer and simply paying attention. We become less concerned with fixing and more willing to understand.

 

I’ve learned that love isn’t giving up when someone becomes difficult to understand. Love is becoming curious instead of critical. It’s asking, “What do you need?” instead of, “What’s wrong with you?”

That doesn’t mean every story has a perfect ending.

It simply means we choose compassion over frustration. We choose patience over pressure. We choose to stay present long enough for healing to have a chance.

I’m still healing. Stetson is still healing.

Like so many of the people I love, we’re all carrying something that isn’t always visible to the world.

Maybe that’s why grace matters so much.

None of us are finished. None of us have all the answers. We are simply doing the best we can with the experiences we’ve been given.

This season has reminded me that healing is rarely something we accomplish alone. It happens in the presence of those who refuse to walk away. Those who sit beside us, pray for us, encourage us, and gently help us find our footing again.

I hope I can be that kind of person. The one who looks a little deeper. The one who stays a little longer. The one who believes that people, horses, and hearts are often asking for the same thing:

To be seen.

To be understood.

To be given the time and grace they need to heal.

As I look back on this season, I don’t think healing has been about getting back to where I was.

It’s been about becoming someone who listens a little longer, loves a little deeper, and gives a little more grace, to myself, to Stetson, and to the people God has placed in my life.

 

Maybe that’s what healing has been trying to teach me all along.

Until next time, be kind to each other,

xoxo

Cindy

Galatians 6:9