The Ides of Surgery - Days 15 Through 45 by Silver RavenWolf

This article is the third piece in my surgery-healing series. The first, Nine Magickal Days Before Surgery, delivered practical and spiritual ways to prepare, reduce stress, and ready the heart, mind, and spirit for the way forward. The second, 13 Days of Magick: Post-Surgery Healing Techniques, focused on the tender beginning of recovery, those first strange, sacred days when the body is bruised, the mind is watchful, and the spirit is learning how to breathe again.  Now we move into the center stage of focused healing: Days 15 through 45.

I call this segment The Ides of Surgery because it can feel like a turning point. The initial crisis has passed. The appointments, bandages, and first-wave exhaustion may begin to shift. Others may assume you are “better,” while you may still be moving through soreness, fatigue, emotional release, decision-making, treatment discussions, impatience, or unexpected waves of vulnerability. This is the middle road of healing — not the beginning, not the finish line, but the powerful in-between where your body continues its quiet labor and your spirit begins asking, Who am I becoming now? These days deserve attention. They deserve patience. They deserve magick.  In this article, we extend the healing practice with practical care, emotional steadiness, sacred focus, and small daily techniques to support the body, calm the nervous system, clear fear, and invite strength back into the bones. Healing isn't a race back to who you were. Sometimes healing is the holy work of becoming wiser, softer where it matters, stronger where it counts, and more devoted to your own life than ever before.

There is a strange terrain that lies between the first stage of recovery from surgery and the full return to ordinary life. It is not the sharp shock of the beginning, when everyone knows you have been through something serious. Nor is it yet the bright, triumphant season when your strength has fully returned, and the road stretches clearly ahead. No, this is the eye of healing. The in-between. The Ides of Surgery.

By day fifteen, the casseroles may have stopped coming. The text messages may have slowed. The world may look at your face, hear your voice, or see you standing upright and decide that you are well enough now. But healing isn't a costume worn for others' comfort. Healing is a living process, and between days fifteen and forty-five, that process may become quieter, deeper, and in some ways more demanding.

This is the time when the body begins to reveal what it truly needs. Fatigue may still come suddenly. Soreness may flare after activity. Sleep may remain uneven. Emotions may rise for reasons you cannot easily name. You might experience impatience with your own limits, frustration with the slow pace, or unease about how long recovery actually takes. This is not failure. This is not a weakness. This is the hidden work of restoration.  If you have never experienced surgery before, then you may be irritated or downright frightened by the unknown of it all.  If this isn’t your first dance around the surgical suite ballroom, then you may be allowing previous adverse experiences to affect your healing process. Be honest in your mental assessment.  Letting your mind cower in a corner is not helping your healing process.

The Body Is Still Busy

Even as the incision closes, the body is still laboring. Tissue is knitting. Inflammation is shifting. Energy is being diverted inward, toward repair. Hormones and stress chemistry may still be fluctuating. Your immune system is still on assignment. This means that even if you can “do more,” it does not mean you should do everything.

One of the greatest mistakes people make in this phase is assuming that improvement means invincibility. A good day is not permission to overdo. A burst of energy is not a sign that healing is finished. If you have one strong morning and spend it cleaning the house, running errands, standing too long, lifting too much, or hosting too many people, the body often sends its opinion later: through pain, swelling, exhaustion, irritability, or the need to sleep for hours. Over the years, I have seen this behavior frequently with a variety of illnesses and medical difficulties, particularly when we employed energy work for individuals. They would start feeling better, and make the choice to go out and let'er rip as they did before their medical difficulty. Mistake. Listen carefully. The body whispers before it shouts. I will be mentioning this again in this article because it is perhaps the most important point I can relay to you.

It helps to know what is truly safe and what is not during this time. Keep activities gentle and manageable unless your provider has given the green light for more. Light walks, gentle stretches, light meal prep, reading, creative activities, or brief social visits are usually safe if allowed by your medical team. Avoid lifting heavy objects, vigorous housework, intense exercise, prolonged standing, or anything that triggers sharp pain, swelling, dizziness, or increased fatigue. Stop right away if you notice new or worsening symptoms. When in doubt, reach out to your doctor or provider and ask for their specific recommendations on activity limits for your situation—it is always better to get guidance than to risk a setback. Confidence is gained through knowing your boundaries as they shift and expand. Trust the process; do not rush it.

Move, yes. Stretch gently if permitted. Walk if you are able. Tend to your circulation, breath, posture, and hydration. But do not confuse motion with forcing your body and mind to achieve. Healing responds beautifully to kindness. It does not thrive under intense pressure or physical coercion.

Possible Hurdles

This time period can bring its own array of challenges, some physical, some emotional, and some spiritual. You may encounter:

The crash after doing too much

Many people feel a little stronger and then immediately test the edge of their endurance. The result is often a setback—not always dramatic, but enough to make you ache, droop, or lose heart. The answer is not to scold yourself. The answer is to learn your rhythm. Recovery is often two steps forward, one pause, then another two steps. Let pacing become an act of intelligence, not defeat.

Emotional letdown

During the first week or two, adrenaline and urgency can carry you. Later, when the dust settles, feelings sometimes rise from the cellar: fear, sadness, anger, grief, vulnerability, even resentment. Some people cry more easily. Some become quiet. Some feel unreasonably irritated. Some feel detached.  And some? Are just downright pissy.  (That was me.)  This emotional stirring is not uncommon. The body has endured an invasion, a correction, a trauma, even if the surgery was helpful and necessary. It may take time for the nervous system to believe the danger has passed.

Restlessness

By this stage, you may be deeply tired of resting. You may long to return to your work, your role, your house, your responsibilities, and your normal identity. Yet the body may not be ready to sustain what the mind desires.  This mismatch can create frustration and sadness. Be careful here. You are not lazy because you still need rest. You are healing.

Isolation

When others' early concerns fade, a person may feel oddly alone. This can be especially painful if you are used to being the caretaker, the capable one, the organizer, the strong one.  Now is the time to choose your circle with intention. You do not need a crowd. You need a few steady souls who understand that recovery is still underway.

Discouragement over slow progress

Healing rarely moves in a straight line. Some days feel hopeful. Others feel heavy. This does not mean you are backsliding. It means you are human, and bodies are not machines.

Dealing with a Plethora of Follow-up Appointments

I’ve gotta tell ya - these drove me nuts.  And they were always at the crack of dawn, which irritated me even more.  Don’t be afraid to talk to your medical provider about your progress, your fears, your concerns, or any new development that wasn’t there before. A question is not a nuisance. A worry is not weakness. Your body is speaking, and you deserve clear answers, steady guidance, and the reassurance that you are not walking this healing road alone.  I realize you want everything to go smoothly, no complications (like you’re allergic to the surgical glue – hello?) And remember, they don’t all have amazing, dynamic, or gentle personalities.  Providers are people.  If you are having trouble communicating, ask a family member or friend to accompany you in the office.  Let’s be honest, there will be some of them that you’d like to roll up in a surgical gown and dump them in the dirty laundry bin at the end of the hall.  You aren’t going to like everyone, and they are not going to like you.  There is no shame in this — I know what it is like to have a provider roll over you like a macadam smoosher.  Take someone with you if you feel you are not getting through – you know your body better than anyone else.  It is okay to be your own champion.

Caring for the Self in Days 15 Through 45

This phase requires patience, but it can also be a marvelous opportunity for self-reflection and goal planning. It is within this healing window that you can seriously look at what has been working for you in a variety of life areas — and what hasn’t. What goals have you been putting off? What excuses are you giving yourself? When are you going to say, “This is ridiculous!” and jump beyond your self-perceived problem into a solution, a change, or a better way of living?

To help me move forward, I grabbed a new notebook and pretty colors. I actually use Canson Mixed-Media spiral notebooks so that I can write and draw my way through life’s rocky terrain. Sometimes I doodle, sometimes I make lists, sometimes I map out a plan — and I keep a variety of art materials close at hand to help me along: watercolors, gel pens, colored pencils, India ink, and whatever else seems to murmur, “Pick me up. Let’s make something.”  I’m a big stick figure fan — working out my anxieties by drawing funny stick figures in my various life circumstances to express my feelings.  No.  I did NOT punch out the woman in the parking lot, but… I did in my journal — and then I talked to myself about why that experience really upset me.  Working through the drawing helped me release the fear, embarrassment, and emotional pain.

When I was recovering from surgery, someone sent me a travel watercolor kit, and it was an amazing gift. I watched TobySketchLoose on YouTube and used his free lessons to help me move through a few personal blocks. Not because I needed to become an artist overnight. Not because I had to “produce” anything. But because gentle creativity gave my mind something kind to hold while my body continued the hard work of healing.  I enjoyed his soft voice and the freedom he encourages his viewers to embrace.  I was allowing myself to rest without guilt by giving myself permission to keep my mind busy (when I wanted to) and just relax when I needed to.

And that is where many of us get tangled.

We believe rest means doing nothing. We believe healing means we are falling behind. We believe that if we are not pushing, producing, fixing, cleaning, managing, answering, organizing, or pleasing someone, then we are somehow wasting time.

Nonsense.

Rest is not wasted time. Rest is the workshop where the body mends, the mind settles, and the spirit gathers its scattered pieces. During this phase, you are not lazy. You are not weak. You are not “doing nothing.” You are healing. And healing is work — sacred, necessary, non-negotiable work.  You are a beautiful mosaic coming into form.  And the pieces are shining and filled with amazing power.  Give yourself permission to create the new you!

Protect your energy

I discussed this in the preceding articles, but it is so important that we need to cover it here as well…especially here because by now, your previous behavior (before the surgery) is starting to kick in, and some of the negativity you allowed to surround you there may try to jump back in here.

Your healing space is sacred. You do not need to entertain draining people, answer every message, explain your recovery to skeptics, or re-enter every argument and obligation waiting for you. Use the block button. Turn off the phone. Lock the door. Delay the visit. Preserve your peace.

But, you know what really helped me? I drew a deep breath and smiled because I had come to realize that most people are not trying to be cruel. They are simply standing in the center of their own lives, looking out from their own worries, needs, habits, and expectations. They may care about you deeply, and still forget that your strength is not endless. They may love you, and still want your attention, your reassurance, your answer, your energy, or your presence before you are prepared to give it. That does not make them villains. It makes them human. But it also means you must become the guardian of your own healing.

I have come to realize that people often measure your recovery by their own comfort. If you sound cheerful, they assume you are available. If you answer once, they expect you to answer again. If you stand upright, they forget you are still healing. Most folks are not trying to be unkind; they are simply busy orbiting their own needs. Your recovery is your chance to learn how to set boundaries – and keep them.

Nourish the body simply.

Eat to rebuild, not simply to fill space. Favor foods that are easy to digest, full of nourishment, and kind to the system. Stick to your medical provider’s recommendations. Keep water nearby. Sip teas that soothe if they are appropriate for you. Let meals be simple, warm, and nourishing. You are not feeding the appetite alone. You are feeding repair.

Okay.  So!  This suggestion is all well and good in a perfect household. Am I right? A huge stressor for me, for many, many years—and I know this is true in many other homes—is food. When one person has a special-needs diet, the cook of the house can suddenly find themselves preparing two meals, sometimes three, while everyone else simply arrives at the table. One meal for the person recovering. One meal for the family. Maybe another version for the picky eater, the food allergy, the diabetic concern, the low-salt requirement, the “I don’t eat that” declaration, or the person who believes dinner appears by kitchen sorcery and cheerful fumes. This is exhausting. It is not just cooking. It is planning, shopping, labeling, remembering, timing, cleaning, and carrying the emotional pressure of keeping everyone fed without losing your mind. And if this has always been your job? Your healing isn’t going particularly smoothly because of this major piece in the recovery puzzle.  You’ll also get family members who become defensive — it isn’t me all the time, I didn’t do it the whole time — blah, blah, blah.  They forget that even if their weirdo food thang wasn’t long-term - when you are juggling with many family members over the years…well, it never quit for you because someone always thinks of your kitchen as a cafeteria.  

So, what helps? Here are a few small meal solutions that saved my sanity and energy during recovery:

- Batch cook simple soups or stews (think chicken and rice, lentil, or vegetable) and freeze in single servings so you always have an easy, gentle option ready.  If this is too much for you, ask a family member or friend to assist.

- Keep healthy, ready-to-eat proteins in the fridge, such as rotisserie chicken, hard-boiled eggs, beans, or Greek yogurt.  Not shopping yet?  Add these to your list for the individual who will fulfill this task.

- Use bagged salad mixes, pre-cut veggies, or frozen produce for quick nutrition with little prep.

- Rely on nutritious convenience foods like oatmeal packets, whole grain toast, or brown rice cups that can be easily paired with steamed or microwaved veggies and a protein.

- Make "assemble-your-own" meals like sandwiches, wraps, or snacky plates (a handful of nuts, a slice of cheese, some fruit, and crackers) so everyone can build their own plate, and the burden doesn’t fall on one person.  Again, if you are not up to this food prep, snag a family member or ask a friend for help.

- For households with dietary differences, plan two or three "base" meals each week that can be adapted on the plate: one-pot grain dishes, baked potatoes with a toppings bar, or pasta with both a veggie and a meat sauce option.

Changing your meal prep doesn’t have to fall into a cultural category where certain foods are considered no-no’s for a meal type. Trust me, toast and scrambled eggs are a valid dinner. The goal is nourishment, not a gourmet show.

During recovery, the food prep burden needs to be named plainly and dealt with. The household may need a new rule: simple food, less fuss, fewer choices. There is no shame in repeating meals, using safe convenience foods, asking someone else to cook, ordering groceries, freezing portions, or telling capable adults to make their own sandwich. Healing is not the stage for culinary performance. If the cook is also the patient, then the kitchen must become a place of support, not another battlefield of obligation. Everybody who eats can help. Everybody who dirties a dish can wash one. Everybody who has an opinion can learn where the peanut butter lives.

Which means?  You’re going to have to step up your game and open your mouth.  I know it is hard, but for the sake of your sanity and your well-being, let’s get this taken care of, okay?

Return to routine slowly with exciting new adjustments.

As you return to your regular routine, resist the temptation to jump back into everything at once. Healing does not mean charging through the door with a broom in one hand, a grocery list in the other, and seventeen people asking, “Are you back to normal yet?” No. This is your opportunity to return wisely, not automatically. Move slowly. Choose carefully. Notice what feels supportive and what feels ridiculous. Some habits may welcome you back with warmth, while others may look at you from across the room and clearly deserve to be fired.

This phase is not about becoming the old you as quickly as possible. It is about creating a better rhythm for the person you are becoming now. Maybe your morning routine needs more quiet. Maybe your workday needs better boundaries. Maybe the house needs a new organization system, so everyone helps instead of one person doing the invisible labor. Maybe meals need to be simpler, appointments need breathing room, and your calendar needs fewer “yes” answers. Recovery has a way of showing us what is precious, what is draining, and what we have tolerated far too long.

So, as you step forward, do it with curiosity. Add one task, then rest. Try one outing, then listen to your body. Resume one responsibility, then ask whether it truly belongs to you. This is not a weakness. This is intelligent healing. Let your return be a redesign, not a rerun. Bring back what strengthens you. Release what steals from you. And let every new adjustment whisper the same bright truth: I am not just recovering. I am rebuilding.

Before my surgery, I set three creative goals for myself. Not enormous, conquer-the-world goals. Not “prove your worth while your body is preparing for battle” goals. These were meaningful, heart-centered projects that gave my mind a bright place to land and helped me feel that I was still moving forward with purpose. I wanted to finish my Breast Cancer Awareness Doll, Beatrice Boobie, complete a modern art cat wall quilt, and write the first of these three healing articles.

Beatrice Boobie was born during my recovery from breast cancer surgery — stitched from courage, sass, pink ribbons, gallows humor, and the stubborn refusal to let fear have the last word. She carries the attitude every healing woman deserves: tender heart, bright spirit, big earrings, and absolutely no patience for illness’ bullshit.

This recovery window became the time when I put energy into those projects, piece by piece, stitch by stitch, paragraph by paragraph. I did not race. I did not bully myself. I worked when I had the energy, paused when my body said enough, and allowed each project to become part of the healing process rather than another demand on my spirit. Beatrice Boobie carried humor, courage, and awareness. The cat wall quilt gave me color, shape, play, and focus. The first healing article helped me collect what I had learned and turn it into something that might help someone else walking a similar road.  Positive reader responses gave me encouragement to write more on the subject, which made me feel like I had a sense of purpose.

A healing journey in words, color, courage, and sacred stubbornness. These articles were created from lived experience — before surgery, after surgery, through chronic illness, and into recovery — offering practical comfort, spiritual support, and a little Silver RavenWolf grit for anyone walking the path of healing.

I am a big fan of Kaizen, the Japanese practice of steady, continuous improvement through small, manageable steps, and if you participate in my Great Release Program each year, you can see its influence. I love this idea because it does not demand that we transform our entire life in one dramatic sweep while wearing a cape and pretending we have endless energy. Kaizen says: take one small step, then another. Improve one corner. Adjust one habit. Clear one shelf. Write one paragraph. Stretch for five minutes. Make one better choice. During recovery, this approach is golden because it honors the reality of healing. You may not be able to leap, but you can inch forward. You may not be able to finish everything, but you can do something. And sometimes that tiny, humble something becomes the thread that pulls you gently back into strength, confidence, creativity, and control.

There was something highly rewarding about working on these projects during this phase. Not because I was “back to normal,” and not because productivity makes healing more valuable. It doesn’t. Rest has its own worth. But finishing those projects reminded me that illness and surgery had not stolen my creative fire, nor had it ended my future.  I was living beyond the problem. The only change? I was a bit of a cranky dragon with a heating pad, but still alive, and I would get over it.

The exciting adjustment? Returning to your routine does not have to mean returning to the exact same life. You can bring pieces of yourself forward with more tenderness, more humor, more honesty, and better boundaries, and you can create new pieces, new interests, new habits, and new ways of viewing the world. You can finish old goals, begin new ones, or decide that some former obligations no longer deserve a chair at your table. For me, those three projects became proof that recovery wasn't just about mending tissue. It was about recovering joy, voice, purpose, and the sweet stubborn spark that says, “I am still here — and I am still making.”

Watch your inner language.

Notice how you speak to yourself. Are you impatient? Harsh? Ashamed of your need? Angry that you are not farther along? Replace cruelty with truth. Try: I am healing. I am allowed to go slowly. My worth is not judged by productivity. My body is doing holy work.

Illness or surgery can feel like an interruption, and in many ways, it is. It barges into your calendar, rearranges your plans, changes your priorities, and demands attention whether you invited it or not. Yet, hidden inside that disruption might be an amazing opportunity for change, renewal, and revelation. When life slows down, you begin to notice what has been too loud, too heavy, too rushed, too cluttered, or too dishonest in your daily world. You see which habits support you and which ones drain the life right out of your bones. You discover who brings peace, who brings drama, what systems actually work, and what old obligations have been riding on your back far too long.

This pause can become a gift, not because the road is easy, but because it opens a doorway you may not have seen otherwise. Within the quiet spaces between appointments, rest, worry, prayer, boredom, and recovery, you may begin to hear yourself more clearly. And sometimes, what you hear first is not pretty. The inner critic may march in wearing muddy boots: You should be doing more. You are falling behind. You are weak. You are a burden. You will never catch up. Everyone else is tired of you.

That is the moment to stop, breathe, and challenge the voice.

Not every thought deserves a throne. Some thoughts are fear in costume. Some are old wounds talking. Some are habits you learned from people who did not know how to be gentle with themselves, let alone with you. During this healing window, part of your work is to notice the negative inner dialogue before it turns into a spell you accidentally cast over your own recovery. When the mind says, I am useless, answer, No, I am healing. When it says, "I should be stronger by now," answer: "Strength is not determined by speed." When it says, "I am behind," answer: "My life is not a race, and my body is not a machine." When it says, "Everything is falling apart," answer: "Some things are falling away so better things can take root."

This is where change begins — not only in the calendar, the kitchen, the house, or the routine, but in the private language you use with yourself. Speak to your body as an ally, not an enemy. Speak to your fear as a messenger, not a master. Speak to your future as something still bright, still possible, still waiting for your hand on the door. You do not have to rebuild everything in one grand swoop. One small change, one kinder sentence, one better choice, one honest decision at a time — and suddenly this difficult passage becomes more than recovery. It becomes initiation, recalibration, and a powerful return to the self.

Name what you feel

Sometimes the mind becomes less frightening when you simply tell the truth.I feel scared today.I feel angry that this happened.I feel tired of being careful.I feel lonely.I feel hopeful, but shaky.

Naming a feeling does not make it stronger. Often, it gives it shape, and shape makes it easier to banish.  If it helps, write your fears during the day on a piece of scrap paper.  Burn it in a fire-safe bowl as part of your evening routine.

Limit catastrophic thinking

If the mind is racing into dark futures, bring it back to this day, this hour, this breath. Ask:What is actually happening right now?What do I need in this moment?What is one kind thing I can do for myself today?

Do not let the mind drag you into ten imagined tomorrows when today is asking only for love and your attention.

Seek professional aid if needed.

If anxiety, dread, depression, panic, or intrusive thoughts are growing larger instead of smaller, reach for real support. A counselor, therapist, recovery group, or trusted guide can be a lantern in this passage. There is strength in getting help before the darkness gets louder. There are so many opportunities to receive help – embrace them if you need.

Watch for signs that it is time to ask for help: if you find yourself unable to get out of bed most days, losing interest in things you usually care about, having trouble eating or sleeping for more than a few days, feeling hopeless or worthless, or if thoughts of harming yourself or giving up appear, do not wait. These are signals that professional support is needed. You do not have to handle these feelings alone. Reaching out can be the bravest and most healing choice you can make during recovery.

Techniques for Personal Care and Healing

Let’s revisit a few of the magickal practices offered in the first two articles. In Nine Magickal Days Before Surgery, we focused on preparation — calming the mind, organizing the home, lowering stress, gathering spiritual support, and creating a sacred container (you) before the procedure. In 13 Days of Magick: Post-Surgery Healing Techniques, we shifted into the delicate first days of recovery, using simple rituals, mindful rest, sacred water, candlelight, crystals, aroma, prayer, journaling, and gentle energy work to support body, mind, and spirit.

These practices were never meant to be complicated. When you are facing surgery or recovering from it, you do not need a forty-seven-step ritual involving twenty-three bells, a 100-pound cauldron, and a moonbeam caught in a jelly jar. You need small, steady acts that remind your body that it is safe, that your mind is clear, and that your spirit is not alone.

A few favorites are worth carrying forward through days 15 through 45, especially because this territory of healing can be strange. You may feel stronger one day and fragile the next. You may want to do more than your body is ready to manage. You may feel impatient, emotional, bored, inspired, cranky, grateful, or all of the above before lunch. Gentle practice gives you a place to put that energy.  Don’t be like my friend who, a few weeks after brain surgery, thought she would clean the bathroom, wash down the kitchen cabinets, and vacuum the whole house!  She says she retreated to a dark room and suffered.

Begin with The Healing Breath. Sit comfortably. Place one hand lightly over your heart and the other over your lower belly, if that feels accessible. Breathe in for a count of four. Hold for two. Exhale for six. Repeat several times. As you breathe, say silently: With each breath, I relax. With each breath, I mend. With each breath, I return to myself. This simple rhythm calms the nervous system and reminds the body that it is no longer in the moment of crisis. The emergency has passed. Now comes restoration.

You may continue with a Sacred Water Blessing. Fill a cup or small bowl with clean water. Hold it for a moment with intention, then speak softly over it:

Water of life,Water of mercy,Carry peace into every cell.Cool what burns,Soothe what aches,And bless this healing well.

Then, I take a moment and “feel” the water in my mind, extending from the cup, to a well, to a creek, to a river, to the sea – becoming one with the water element as a whole.  Then, sip it slowly, or touch a little to your wrists and forehead. Let it be a small sacrament of restoration, a signal that healing can enter the body gently, one blessing, one breath, one swallow at a time.

You can also practice receiving light. If possible, sit in morning or late afternoon sunlight for a few minutes. No phone. No agenda. No scrolling through everybody else’s drama circus. Simply receive. Imagine the warmth entering the bones, the muscles, the places still fearful or sore. Sunlight reminds the spirit that life continues, that light still reaches us, and that recovery isn't confinement. It is preparation. A morning sunlight bath is thought to support the body’s natural cortisol rhythm, helping the nervous system recognize that the day has begun and that it no longer needs to remain in emergency mode. Light is one of the signals that help regulate the circadian rhythm, the inner clock that influences sleep, alertness, hormone timing, and daily energy. When received gently and consistently, morning light can become a simple message to the body: Wake softly. Breathe deeply. We are safe enough to begin again. (1)

Another beautiful carry-forward practice is Gentle Anointing. If you use healing oils and your body tolerates aroma well, lightly anoint the hands, feet, heart area, or shoulders. Always check with your medical provider before using any essential oils, as some oils can interfere with certain conditions or medications, and healing skin may be extra sensitive. If you are trying a new oil, test it first on a small area to make sure you do not react. As you do, say: I call peace. I call strength. I call trust in my own body. Even this minor act can restore agency and calm. It reminds you that your body is not just something being treated, managed, or examined. It is your sacred vessel, your companion, your home.

Then there is journaling, as I mentioned earlier in this article, one of the simplest and most powerful forms of personal magick. Write a few lines each day: What does my body need today? What proved easier today? What was hard? What am I learning about myself in this healing? You do not need pages. A few honest sentences are enough. Healing leaves tracks, and it helps to see them.  Remember, doodles, paper art, and photographs can all add to your journaling experience.

Carry forward, too, The Permission to Do Less. Each morning, choose only three things that really matter. Not ten. Not twenty. Three. If you do those, the day is sufficient. Recovery is not the time to prove your value through exhaustion. The laundry can wait. The dust bunnies can form a government under the couch. Let them. You are healing.

Finally, try Body Gratitude. Many people become angry at the body during illness or surgery. This is understandable. You may feel betrayed, frightened, frustrated, or weary of dealing with pain, appointments, restrictions, and uncertainty. But if you can, begin to shift the relationship. Place a hand where you can and say, "Thank you for carrying me." Thank you for enduring. Thank you for trying. I bless your presence, your function, and your gifts to me.

You may also wish to add a simple cleansing or blessing practice to this moment. A light touch of Florida Water on the hands, wrists, or feet can become a refreshing act of renewal. Incense may be used to cleanse the space around you, allowing the smoke to carry away fear, heaviness, and sorrow. A candle flame can serve as a small banishment rite: gaze softly at the light and imagine anxiety, anger, and old pain dissolving into brightness. You do not want anything elaborate. The purpose is to gently release the feeling of being at war with your own body and begin, breath by breath, blessing by blessing, to return to partnership with it.

This is also a lovely time to consider body adornment as a way of marking your healing process. Choose something soft, comforting, beautiful, or meaningful to wear during the next several weeks. It might be a new, relaxing piece of clothing that does not pinch, bind, or irritate tender areas. It might be a special pair of earrings, a bracelet, a necklace, a scarf, a ring, or a small charm tucked into a pocket. For some, this can be a spiritual talisman or amulet that says, I am healing. I am protected. I am still beautiful. I am still myself. For others, simply wearing something that brings comfort or personal meaning can be a quiet act of self-care—a kind reminder of progress, individuality, and fortitude. Whether or not you see adornment as part of a spiritual or magickal practice, the act itself can help you feel more like yourself and support your healing in a way that is just right for you.

The item does not need to be expensive. It simply needs to carry meaning. You might bless it with candlelight, pass it through cleansing incense, touch it with Florida Water, lay it beside a crystal, or hold it in your hands while speaking your intention over it. Each time you wear it, let it remind you that your body isn't merely recovering from something difficult. It is carrying you forward into the next chapter. Adornment can be a quiet declaration: I have not disappeared inside this experience. I am here. I am mending. I am worthy of comfort, color, softness, beauty, and blessing.

And it is okay to have a sense of humor.  My favorite piece of clothing during my recovery was the pink tee-shirt from an Etsy seller that said:  “Cancer tried to eat my boobie.  I kicked its ass” and showed a picture of glitter pink boxing gloves.  I wore it to appointments, to bed, shopping – heck I was a survivor and I was proud of it!  Me and ma’ team – doctors, nurses, family members, and friends.  Yes!

The beauty of these practices is that they can be adapted to your energy level. On a strong day, you may want a full sequence of techniques. On a tired day, a single whispered blessing may be enough. The magick is not in how elaborate the practice looks. The magick is in your attention, your breath, your willingness, and your decision to participate in your own healing.

By now, the dramatic prayers of the crisis may have quieted. Good. Let them. This is the time for a steadier form of devotion.  Light the candle. Open the window. Say the blessing. Sit in silence. Hold the stone. Touch the prayer beads. Watch the trees. Listen to sacred music. Lay a cloth on the table and make one small corner of the day beautiful.

Healing between days fifteen and forty-five is often not loud. It is subtle. Layered. Tidal. One day, the body hurts less. Another day, the mind relaxes. Another day, you laugh for real. Another day, you sleep more deeply. Another day, you realize you did not think about the wound for a whole hour.  What was most important?  Another day!

Your actions are not little things. These are milestones.

A Blessing for Days 15 Through 45

I will be patient with the pace of mending.I will honor what still aches.I will not measure healing by the impatience of others.May my body be strengthened, my mind steadied, and my spirit soothed.I will embrace the process of when to move and when to be still.I choose peace over pressure, rest over performance, and kindness over fear.And as these days progress,I will remember that healing is not a failing,But one of the bravest forms of becoming I will ever accomplish.

Closing Thoughts

The Ides of Surgery can be the most difficult part of your recovery if you don’t allow yourself room to grow and change with patience. This is the stretch where deeper healing begins to show its true nature: not glamorous, not swift, not always visible—but real. So if you are in this time, do not judge yourself harshly. You are not behind. You are not broken because you are still tender. You are doing the sacred work of returning.

And perhaps that is the truth of your experience — you are not circling back to the person you once were; you are crossing a threshold into someone wiser, gentler, stronger, and more firmly grounded in the sacred power of your own becoming.  As long as you are breathing, the Goddess of Life is still invoking your name, and guiding you to your purpose.  Answer the call.

Peace with the GodsPeace with NaturePeace within!

Silver!

Source: National Library of Medicine / PMC — Light, Circadian Rhythms, and Cortisol  https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC6751071/