January: Learning the Shape of These Days

Written By Tracy Smith

January doesn’t arrive as a clean slate in the practical sense — my body is still healing, my nervous system still finding steadiness, and much from last year still very much here.

And yet, as the year turned, I found myself drawn to the idea of meeting this season differently. Not by erasing what’s been hard, but by releasing what no longer serves me — the weight of last year’s energy, old expectations, and the urge to carry more than is actually mine.

I’m stepping into January with an intention to meet my life with more clarity, self-trust, and power — including the power to ask for help when I need it, again and again if necessary. That isn’t always easy. But it feels essential.

Between Years, Still Healing | Days 23-25 of left hip recovery • December 31-January 2

Wednesday, December 31 — Crossing the Year Line

New Year’s Eve arrived on very little sleep. My mind was busy — more head- and heart-related than pain-driven — and I missed my THC/CBN/CBD sleep gummies. I’m not ready to go back to them yet; I want to feel steadier moving around, and I’m still regularly needing pain meds. I slept just under four hours.

With no big plans and low reserves, the day unfolded slowly. We watched movies in bed with Patrick and the pups, then I spent some time outside wrapped in my new heated blanket, journaling and meditating. Basketball games played in the background while we finished holiday cards, followed by a long, very needed nap.

That evening brought more basketball — and a moment of collective sadness watching Jokic get hurt, paired with relief that it seems to be a minor injury. I was asleep by 10.

I’m also still holding gratitude from the day before: a really wonderful catch-up with my girlfriend, who brought homemade chicken soup and gifts from her garden and travels. Our kitty has been especially interested in the tea she brought — I suspect catmint.

Thursday, January 1 — Setting Intentions, Gently

The new year began with a slow, cozy morning snuggling with all three babies — rare to have the kitty fully involved, but she goes through phases.

Patrick worked, so I had a solo morning and spent time with the CHANI daily readings and meditations. I also started an intention-setting challenge on Insight Timer that I’m really liking. I don’t tend to do resolutions, but I do find reflection helpful — noticing how the past year felt, how I’d like the coming year to feel the same or different, and letting that guide what I invite more or less of. I like that this can be an ongoing practice, not something confined to January 1.

I’m slowly reading You Were Born for This by Chani Nicholas and enjoying taking my time with it — appreciating astrology as another tool for understanding myself.

Physically, the day was harder. I was very sore from PT on the 30th, with pain increasing each day since. I realized I’d completely missed that I’d moved to 50% weight-bearing as tolerated — a sign of how frazzled I’ve been — and PT ended up being more intense than my body wanted right now. The goal at this stage is no pain while exercising, which is harder than it sounds.

Patrick played volleyball that evening, so I had a solo night with a phone-call dinner date with my mom — leftovers from Patrick’s delicious chicken dish in hand. I’m missing her a lot.

Friday, January 2 — Listening More Closely

Sleep has improved slightly, but I’m still hovering around seven hours, and the pain was surprisingly intense in the morning — more so than a week ago, which has been confusing.

PT was long, and we talked a lot about pain. Even after naming how high it was, I was asked to complete all of my exercises anyway. During lifting my leg onto a yoga ball — which I’m not supposed to do on my own yet — I realized I was doing much of the work myself, instead of being supported. I should have said something in the moment, but it highlighted how much I miss working with therapists who proactively remind me not to help — who step in without me needing to ask.

It left me feeling a little unsettled, and aware of how much energy it takes right now to advocate for myself — especially when I’m already in pain. I’m hopeful this will improve with time, and also relieved that I’ll be transitioning to a different therapist next week — someone I already know and trust.

I took a long nap in the afternoon, then leaned into comfort: Chinese food (inspired by my mom’s New Year’s dinner) and basketball. It felt a little naughty and very welcome. The Nuggets played their hearts out despite so many injuries, and I felt proud of them. The Bucks game afterward was another nail-biter, ending in a win.

These days are teaching me that healing isn’t a straight climb forward — it’s a practice of noticing, adjusting, and choosing again how to meet what’s here.

Letting the Surface Soften| Days 26-29 of left hip recovery • January 3-6

When the Body Speaks Loudly

The start of these days was marked by a lot of pain — deep, sharp, and unsettling in how it showed up when I stood or shifted my weight. It felt fragile and raw in ways that shook my confidence. Some details are easier to hold privately, but what matters is this: my body was asking for care, slowness, and support — clearly and insistently.

Sleep continues to be elusive. I’m getting less than seven hours most nights and needing long naps to compensate. I’m working on letting that be the norm for now, instead of something to fight.

Support Changes Everything

One of the most meaningful moments came when a friend spent the day with me — helping around the house, making a beautiful snack plate, assisting me with a shower, and even shaving my legs and giving me a pedicure. It was tender, grounding, and surprisingly effective as pain relief. There’s something about being cared for that quiets more than just the body.

That same day, Patrick took a full day trip to Monarch, and it felt good to know he could get out while I was well supported at home.

Full Moon, Open Feelings

All of this is happening within a world that feels increasingly hard to hold — the news relentless, the collective tension palpable. I can feel how much of that lands in my body right now, especially when my own reserves are already thin.

As the full moon peaked, I noticed how close everything felt to the surface — not loud or overwhelming, but pressurized, like water against glass. Some feelings had clear sources; others didn’t. I’ve been awake during those early-morning hours, feeling more permeable than usual, and more aware of how much I’ve carried quietly for a long time.

Lately, I’m noticing how tired that part of me is — the part that learned to hold without asking. This season doesn’t feel like it’s asking me to explain myself or rush toward meaning. It’s asking me to listen, to rest, and to let something old soften without forcing it to disappear. I’m learning that release doesn’t always feel like relief. Sometimes it feels like quiet — and sometimes, that’s enough.

Staying connected to astrology right now — through daily meditations and reflection — has helped me trust that this sensitivity is part of a cycle, not a problem to solve.

Support, Rest, and Relearning Capacity

I’m also navigating the practical side of care right now — scheduling follow-ups, including an upcoming ENT appointment in Albuquerque, and coordinating next steps and other associated travel.

At the same time, I’m noticing how limited my social and conversational capacity is. Phone calls and plans take more energy than usual, and I’m learning to name that honestly instead of pushing through it.

There have been real rest days in this stretch — slow mornings, basketball games, gentle PT, cross-stitching, and long naps. I can feel creative energy stirring, even if it’s not ready to fully emerge yet.

One night brought an especially uplifting Nuggets game — depleted roster, full heart, and a win that felt genuinely inspiring. I was buoyed by it for hours — ok, still am!

Intentions, Evolving

I started the year with a clean-slate mindset — not in the sense of erasing what came before, but in choosing how I meet what’s here now. Today, that intention sharpened into something more specific: noticing what’s going right.

It’s subtle, but it’s helping. Frustrations still arise, but they don’t lodge as deeply. They pass through more easily when I’m not gripping them.

There’s still a lot unfolding — continued healing, reconnecting with my local care team, and a sense that possibility is slowly re-entering the picture. I’m not rushing toward plans, but I can feel space opening where there wasn’t much before.

With that space comes something I haven’t felt in a long time: choice. This year, I can feel the difference between having to say no and getting to decide. No will still be the right answer plenty of the time — but yes is available again, too. There are people I’m excited to see, including time with my brother later this winter, and ideas beginning to take shape. I’m holding them lightly, knowing I don’t have to commit yet — just noticing that possibility is back in the room, or will be soon.

When Progress is Quiet | Days 30-34 of left hip recovery • January 7-11

Intentions as Anchors

I’ve been continuing the intention-setting challenge this month, and it’s been surprisingly grounding. Themes like joy, choosing simplicity without guilt, compassion, and remembering my agency keep resurfacing. I’ve also found several meditations around boundaries especially helpful — reminders that protecting my energy is part of healing, not a detour from it.

These practices have been steady companions as I navigate a part of recovery that feels familiar — and still hard.

This Phase of Healing

This is the stretch where my nervous system tends to panic: when improvement hasn’t clearly arrived yet, when pain fluctuates, and when progress feels subtle instead of obvious. It happened during my last recovery too — and eventually, it did turn.

Working with Chappy to lay out timelines from my right hip recovery alongside what’s unfolding on the left has helped me see patterns more clearly: pain and discomfort rising and falling, pain management shifts, returning to trusted local providers, the importance of social support, and how deeply mental health is woven into physical healing.

I can feel myself struggling emotionally, and I’m taking that seriously. I don’t want to slip into the hole I found myself in last time. Seeing my therapist again helped immensely, as did returning to tools I know support my nervous system — including regulation practices, energy work, and naming triggers instead of pushing through them.

Advocating for Safety

One of the most meaningful steps this week was reaching out to my PT clinic to be very clear about what I need right now. I realized I was holding too much internally — trying to adapt to circumstances that didn’t feel safe for my body or nervous system — instead of asking directly for continuity and support.

Naming that I’m in a particularly fragile phase, and that feeling held and deeply understood in PT directly affects how my body tolerates movement and pain, felt vulnerable but necessary. The response I received was thoughtful and reassuring, and it reminded me that advocacy can be an act of self-care.

A snow day gave me the chance to cancel an appointment, do PT gently at home, and catch up on other things. It was a beautiful, quiet day — and a good reminder that flexibility matters right now.

Support, Stress, and Small Wins

There’s been a lot happening at home, including a sick dog and a duck murder — which has been stressful and has definitely affected my nervous system and pain levels. On days when walking feels harder or pain spikes, I can often trace it back to overdoing things or moving without mindfulness when I’m already keyed up.

At the same time, there have been real bright spots. Basketball continues to be genuinely fun to watch. I started Slow Horses from the beginning, revisited some old Survivor seasons, and found my way back to cross stitch — a deeply meditative practice for me right now. I won’t spoil what I’m making, but returning to it feels like reconnecting with a quieter part of myself.

A nearly two-hour call with my best friend left me feeling deeply connected and supported, and a friend coming by to help at home made the days feel more manageable. Most notably, I slept almost eight hours for the first time in a long while. A carefully chosen nighttime combination — kids’ Dimetapp, a low dose of THC/CBD/CBN, melatonin, L-theanine, and magnesium — has given me three nights of real rest. That alone has shifted things.

Finding Ways to Relax

I’ve also shifted how I use the CPM. Because it’s been malfunctioning, I don’t trust it overnight anymore, so I’ve been using it during the day instead. What I’m noticing is that even on high-pain days — when moving around feels daunting — the CPM helps keep gentle movement and blood flow in my leg while allowing me to actually relax. That feels significant.

I keep thinking about something my PT said during my last recovery: to notice the moments when I’m truly able to relax — because they’re rare — and to hold onto them. That guidance feels especially relevant now. I’m deeply relieved to be returning to the care of the two physical therapists who supported me last time — people who understand my body, my history, and how central nervous system safety is to my healing.

Looking Ahead, Carefully

Even in the midst of all this, I can feel something opening. I’m beginning to plan for the first half of the year — travel for fun, basketball games, follow-up visits, family and friend time in Colorado and Albuquerque, weddings, and other things that feel genuinely exciting.

I’m holding those plans lightly, knowing my capacity will ebb and flow. But the ability to imagine them at all feels like progress.

I’ve also been slowly reworking parts of this website — not to erase what’s come before, but to better reflect where I am now. Less crisis-oriented, more grounded in the ongoing work of living, healing, and integrating. It feels important to let the container evolve alongside me.

Regulation Over Momentum | Week 4 post-PAO, Week 5 post-arthroscopy - Left Hip Recovery • January 12-18

Listening Before Pushing

This past week felt like one long lesson in regulation — not just pain levels, but how much input my system can actually hold, and what helps it settle.

Early in the week, I had one noticeably better pain day. It felt like a small but meaningful payoff from the work that happened over the weekend: advocating for myself in PT, exploring caregiver support, and naming what I need more clearly. When my nervous system feels even a little safer, my body seems to follow.

That didn’t mean pain disappeared. By the next day, it was back — but it was met with one of the most supportive PT sessions I’ve had so far. We spent nearly two hours focused less on “doing” and more on listening: gentle adjustments around the pubic symphysis (both bones and surrounding muscles), lymphatic movement for persistent swelling, stabilizer trigger point release, vagus nerve stimulation, and taping that continues to help immensely with my nerve and fascial pain. I am so grateful for this team, for having the capacity to speak up when I needed to, my feedback being received with such care. The warmth from everyone in that office is just - for lack of a better word - yummy.

Life, Woven In

There were also moments of life woven in — the kind that remind me I’m not only recovering.

Planning a San Francisco trip (a concert, a Warriors vs. Timberwolves game, and so much good food), catching up on computer tasks, and savoring a rare day with no medical obligations at all. One afternoon we went for a drive, ate deliciously naughty burgers in Questa, listened to our fun final Dragon Riders audiobook, and played our new video game (Split Fiction). I’m hilariously bad at 3D gameplay — constantly forgetting I have to change perspective — but we laughed a lot, and that felt like medicine too.

Managing Complications, Together

Midweek brought a less welcome interruption: a call from my Taos ENT with culture results — pseudomonas again. She emphasized how important it is that I restart the nasoneb protocol and bring the culture results to my ABQ specialty ENT appointment on the 26th.

After a quick regroup, Patrick and I decided we can handle the twice-daily routine. Go team.

PT later that week reinforced something I keep needing to hear: the priority right now is calming my system — even above CPM, activity goals, or checking boxes. With their blessing, I officially broke up with the CPM. I’m outside the window my surgeon initially requested, and if my PT team doesn’t feel it’s necessary, I’m very happy to let it go. And the validation I needed to hear from PT came at just the right time. Right now, it isn’t about how much I can do or push myself — it’s about how much I can do without increasing pain, and taking the time to really notice what happens with even the slightest movements. When things get activated, how can I calm them down before continuing?

Support, Structure, and Hard Conversations

Friday was full and tender in equal measure. I slept until 9 (a small miracle), did my nasoneb, and then a friend took me to the myofascial chiropractor — wonderful, effective, and a bit ouchie. A lot to integrate from this initial appointment with her after left hip surgeries, and we’re just getting started.

Afterward, that same friend helped me for four hours reorganizing closets and bathroom supplies — sorting, purging, and creating order out of months, even years, of accumulated chaos. I love that kind of work, and doing it alongside someone who genuinely enjoys it too made it unexpectedly joyful.

That same day also brought an important — and still somewhat settling — realization. My chiropractor shared that she and another provider had recently talked together about my care. Both named a shared concern: even when I feel ready to return to impact activities, they may not agree that my body is truly ready yet.

In past recoveries, returning to things like volleyball happened as soon as I felt capable — often with the understanding that more surgeries were still ahead. This time is different. The goal now is to reach maximum medical improvement before reintroducing impact, even if that means moving more slowly than my eagerness might prefer.

I don’t yet know exactly what that means for my timeline, or whether it will lengthen recovery in a concrete way. I do know that it feels aligned — protective rather than limiting — and that I trust this approach, even as I continue to process the weight of it.

Integration

By the end of Friday, I hit a small emotional wall — a “menty b,” as I lovingly call it. Exhaustion, cumulative input, and the emotional residue of sorting through supplies and medications that have followed me since before the accident all collided.

The weekend, thankfully, was all about integration. Deep rest. Puppy snuggles. Finally sleeping on my side again and without a barricade of pillows protecting me from the doggies. Video games, basketball (of course), and starting a new show (The Jackal). Lots of ease and tender, slow moments. I could feel my system catching up with itself.

A Quiet Shift

There’s also been a meaningful shift in my relationship with pain medication. Friday morning was the last time I took oxy. Over the weekend, I used only tramadol and methocarbamol at night and overnight — and I may even try driving soon.

Pain is still present, often significant, but I’m asking a different question now:

At what point does the benefit of not taking opioids outweigh the pain, especially when I know how to work with it?

For my mental health and overall happiness, that point feels like now.

I’m also pleased to report that over the last week, with the help of my naturopath’s careful suggestions, I have been sleeping at least 7 hours every night. I am finally starting to catch up and I know that, too, has a big effect on my wellbeing.

Looking Ahead

Looking ahead, plans are slowly taking shape again — Denver trips in February and March (and likely April), weddings, family time, follow-up appointments. It feels different than before: less rushed, more intentional, with real space for choice.

This week didn’t feel dramatic from the outside — but inside, something important shifted. Less pushing. More listening. A growing trust that tending to my nervous system is the work, not a detour from it.

Holding Freedom Gently | Week 5 post-PAO, Week 6 post-arthroscopy — Left Hip Recovery • Jan 19–28

This stretch of days held a lot — freedom and fatigue, grief and reconnection, meaningful care and the reminder that healing still asks for restraint.

Freedom, With a Cost

Early in the week brought a real win: I drove myself to appointments and back. That sense of freedom felt huge — both practically and emotionally. I had a beautiful session focused on nervous system integration, full of warmth and attunement, and later we played more of our new video game (Split Fiction), which continues to surprise me with how silly and fun it is.

But that freedom came with a familiar edge. I noticed myself doing more than I should — partly to distract from pain, partly because it felt so good to reclaim something normal. My hip made its opinion known. I ended the day tucked into bed far earlier than expected, realizing that even good things still have a cost right now. My right hip is starting to make its voice heard too, and I’m listening with gentleness — taking progress one day at a time.

Care, Grief, and Being “Hard to Care For”

One morning I drove myself to back-to-back appointments — PT followed by therapy — and felt both empowered and tender. PT was deeply tuned in, focused on downregulation rather than pushing. When biking increased pain, the response wasn’t “power through,” but heat packs, wax for my feet, and care.

I also learned that this PT will be leaving soon. I felt the grief immediately — the kind that comes when someone who has become part of your healing ecosystem prepares to step away. Therapy immediately after PT was grounding, and a realization surfaced gently but clearly: I can be hard to care for. Fiercely independent, capable, and used to doing things myself — even when I shouldn’t.

Weaving that awareness into how I ask for and receive care feels like a quiet blessing. It also touches a deeper layer of grief I’ve carried over the past three years, as my provider network has solidified and shifted again and again. Finding people I trust without having to try — people who fit like a glove, where there’s mutual respect, ease, and understanding — has mattered more than I can fully articulate. Losing them, even for good reasons, carries weight too. ❤️‍🩹

That same day, I received hard family news: my dad’s sister and lifelong best friend passed away. It opened a wide field of grief — for her, for my dad, for the distance between us, and for all the years illness and injury have kept me from showing up the way I might have otherwise.

That evening was quiet: Patrick at volleyball, time by myself watching a silly and heart-hitting tv series, Home for Christmas, a helpful catalyst for some good cries, then basketball — simple containers for heavy feelings.

Emotional Input, Physical Output

Midweek brought more sola days — and I’m noticing how much harder it is to listen to my body when emotions are loud. Grief doesn’t move on a schedule, and neither does pain.

PT later in the week focused on soft tissue tension patterns running the length of my left leg and into my pelvic floor. The message stayed consistent: calm the nervous system first; everything else follows. I noticed myself bumping up against shoulds — about weight-bearing goals, timelines, and what “week 6” is supposed to look like — and reminding myself (again) that healing is not linear, and my body has carried a lot.

And in the excitement of this being the final surgery in a long series, my body seems to speak up for everything it has carried — and for what it isn’t quite ready to release yet. Soon, I hope. Just not rushed.

With upcoming travel on the calendar — Albuquerque, then Denver — I felt both excited and nervous about capacity. My morning meditations have been helping me return to today, instead of trying to solve the next month all at once.

Listening More Closely

A myofascial chiropractic exam later in the week brought clarity: significant internal (yikes!) areas of tension and spasm, especially on the left but present bilaterally, extending into the pelvic floor. It was validating in a sobering way — no wonder this hurts so much. Conversations with additional providers reinforced that I’m doing the right things, even if progress feels slower than I’d like.

At the same time, there were joyful anchors: Nuggets games, planning for an upcoming wedding, and preparing for a wintery trip south.

Choosing Safety

Saturday was meant to be full — a baby shower, a long drive, family time — but snow shifted the plan. Skipping the shower was disappointing, but it felt like the right call for safety. We made it to Albuquerque later in the day, settled into a cozy house, warmed it up before sunset, and hosted family that evening. Being together — especially after so much time apart — filled something tender and long-empty.

Sunday and Monday were slower and sweet: sleeping later, hot tub time, and family visits that felt especially meaningful. We shared a big dinner at Patrick’s dad’s house — likely one of the last gatherings there after more than a decade in that home. Sitting together in a place that’s held so much history brought up a quiet mix of gratitude and tenderness. It felt important to be there, even knowing it took something out of me physically.

An ENT appointment went well, with confirmation that the nasoneb routine will likely be a long-term companion. It was reassuring to have a plan — even if it’s a forever one.

Still, being around others makes it harder to fully relax my body. I noticed how much effort it takes to stay aware of posture, guarding, and tension when I’m not alone. I likely pushed past my edge without realizing it — and also, I don’t regret making the trip. Being close to family matters deeply.

Integration (Again)

Packing, errands, and the drive back took more than I expected, but there were bright spots too: audiobooks, shared meals, and the small thrill of knowing new furniture was finally arriving and would actually fit our lives. Once home, my body asked for rest — loudly. Long naps, early nights, and quiet days followed.

By midweek, I was back in PT and energy work — hands on tissue, myofascial releasing, movement smoothing out in real time. After calming everything down, we practiced walking, and it felt dramatically better than when I arrived. These nearly two-hour sessions have become anchors, and knowing one of my two PT providers will soon be leaving brings a familiar grief. Care relationships matter — they’re part of my community now.

Alongside all of this, there was the quiet grief of knowing I couldn’t travel for my aunt’s service — another moment of practicing acceptance, and letting love exist without presence.

This period didn’t look dramatic on the surface, but inside it was full: learning how to hold freedom without overdoing it, letting grief exist alongside healing, and choosing regulation again and again — not because it’s easy, but because it’s what allows me to keep going.

At six weeks post-PAO, I’m beginning to have a little more room to move — and I’m holding that freedom gently. I’m eager to make progress, and I’m choosing kindness, patience, and slow, deliberate steps over shoulds.

On the Horizon

  • All month: gradually return to regular Taos provider appointments as able (bodywork, therapy, pain specialist, naturopath, energy work and nervous system support)

  • 1/26-3/9: Weight bearing as tolerated, still working within some restrictions (I’m still not quite at a clean gait, so moving slow)

  • 2/8-12: Denver

    • 2/9: girl’s day with my bff, haircuts, facials, and wedding dress shopping!

    • 2/10: 8 week L Hip PAO Post-Op

  • 2/20-24: Patrick bday trip - Salida

  • 3/2-10: Denver

    • 3/4: L Hip Arthroscopy Post-Op

  • 3/10-14: T+P trip to San Fran

  • 4/1: my 35th birthday :) and probably Denver trip

  • TBD: return to run, impact, and higher intensity exercise

Tracy Smith
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