Coming home after complex surgery this week has reminded me of something simple & profound: healing rarely arrives in grand, dramatic gestures. More often, it settles in through little rituals — the quiet, ordinary moments that reconnect us to ourselves
This morning’s ritual was a small breakfast at my dining table.
🌼 Soft light filtered through the blinds.
🌼 My favourite Köln (Cologne) mug warmed my hands.
🌼 A basket of croissants sat in the centre like a comforting invitation.
🌼 A glass of orange juice, a vase with fresh flowers, familiar textures, familiar smells.
Nothing extraordinary – except that today, everything felt different
After days in a hospital bed, this simple scene felt like exhaling.
It reminded me that comfort lives in the details: the clink of a spoon, the first sip of coffee, the steady presence of home after a long stretch of fluorescent lights & medical rhythms. These tiny moments are anchors — guiding me gently into the early steps of recovery
Somewhere on my phone there’s a photo from just after the 6 hour surgery (not one I’d share publicly, but one that holds meaning for me).
I’m resting in a hospital bed, still in that post-anaesthetic haze after the procedure. It captures a moment where I looked exactly how I felt: vulnerable, exhausted, yet quietly relieved that the hardest part was over. I’ll keep it for myself because it marks the beginning of this chapter. A reminder of what my body has already moved through before finding its way back home
🪷 Hope doesn’t have to be loud 🪷
Even as someone who works with Hope Action Theory, I’m realising how deeply personal “hope in action” becomes when your body is healing
Right now, hope for me looks like:
❤️ Self-Reflection: noticing how my body feels without judgement.
🧡 Self-Clarity: accepting the tiredness instead of pushing through it.
💛 Visioning: holding a gentle image of stepping into 2026 healthier and stronger.
💚 Goal Setting: choosing rest, hydration, and small walks instead of trying to “bounce back.”
💙 Implementing: following my body’s cues — rest, move, rest.
💜 Adapting: letting today be whatever it needs to be.
Hope, in this season, is soft. It whispers instead of shouts. And yet it carries me.
Healing supported by love
My sister drove nearly 900 kilometres to stay with me for a few days — not because I can’t do anything on my own, but because healing is lighter when someone walks beside you.
Her presence brings reassurance: someone steadying me for those first steps, encouraging gentle movement, and reminding me that I don’t have to be brave every moment of the day.
She is here laughing with me at the moment, as I struggle to get independently off the sofa (& not very successfully either) – that takes my mind off the pain 🙈🙈🤣🤣
It’s a lesson I often share with clients, but now it’s settling into my bones:
🌱 Hope grows more easily when we allow ourselves to be supported.
Six weeks of slow, intentional living
Recovery will take around six weeks — a quiet countdown to a new year. Maybe this is its own kind of gift: a chance to slow down, listen more deeply, nourish myself, and rebuild strength one small moment at a time.
And maybe healing isn’t separate from hope at all.
Maybe healing is hope in action — expressed through gentle choices, tiny rituals, and the everyday kindness we offer ourselves.
I’m looking forward to recovering in time for New Years Eve, & looking forward to a happier & healthier 2026
Jenn Barfield - Holistic Career Development Coaching 