Naming the In-Between
Last Night Hit Me Hard
It was around 10:45 PM.
I was in my recliner, trying to get comfortable—again.
Adjusting pillows. Wrestling with the remote to get to the best angle.
Trying to quiet my thoughts and fall asleep.
And then I had a what the actual fuck moment.
It’s July 11th.
And I honestly couldn’t tell you what’s happened since March 28th.
It’s all one big blur.
Which maybe is some kind of protection mechanism—because when I stop and try to really remember, even something simple like what it feels like to sleep comfortably on my side or stomach, it’s like I can’t.
And then it hit me again: Oh shit… I’m really the patient.
In the beginning, I had dreams—literal dreams—where I’d wake up and this would all be over. Like it was just a twisted nightmare.
But I didn’t wake up.
I had the surgery.
And now here I am, living in this in-between state with an uncomfortable chest, tissue expanders, a new body I’m not used to, and a mind that won’t shut off.
The shock has worn off.
I’m not just going through the motions anymore.
I’m awake.
And it’s surreal.
This actually happened to ME.
And now, it’s like I’m stuck in this weird in-between space—where I’m healing, but also living… processing, but also re-entering the world… exhausted, but expected to keep pushing ahead.
And if I’m being honest, it’s hard to describe.
There’s mental chatter again, but now there’s more—the noise I tuned out before when I was just focused on survival. Now it’s creeping back in, and I’m trying to make sense of all of it.
I tried watching a show last night to drown it out.
Didn’t work.
I just lay there, trying to change my internal soundtrack—but it’s really hard to forget reality when you’re sitting in a recliner, trying to breathe through it all.
Yes, I’m moving forward.
But I’m still caught somewhere between shock, reality, and whatever acceptance will look like.
And then I woke up this morning already exhausted, because my brain hasn’t stopped working.
Even in sleep, I think it’s still quietly trying to process all of this.
So if you’re there too—not necessarily in a recliner, but lying awake, stuck in your own kind of in-between—I just want to say: I see you.
And you’re not alone.
This is part of the process.
Even naming the feelings — especially the messy, uncomfortable ones — is a step forward.
Because healing doesn’t start when everything feels better.
It starts when we stop pretending we’re fine… and begin sharing our truth.
One late night.
One brave thought at a time.
Have a moment of your own you want to share? I’m listening. I’m not the only one lying awake, trying to process what just happened. If you’re somewhere in the in-between too, you don’t have to sort through it alone. I’m here to help you begin processing — one step at a time, on your Roadmap to J.O.Y. (Journey of You).
You can share your moment here. I’ll offer a personal reflection. This space isn’t just mine — it’s ours.