A Different Kind of Patience

The last week and a half has felt like a fever dream.

Life, as I knew it, has been put on hold. Plans paused. Schedules set aside.

I’m over 2,000 miles from home, on the other side of the country, while my mom is in a rehab center recovering from a broken hip, and working toward being strong enough for a long journey back to Oregon, where she can continue care closer to me.

This season has become a practice in patience.
In care.
In letting go.

What is patience really?

I’ve always considered myself a patient person.

But I’m realizing now there are levels to patience I’ve never truly understood until this moment.

Patience looks different here.

It looks like releasing my own expectations and timelines.
Letting go of control.
Moving at the pace of healing, not convenience.

It looks like witnessing emotions—mine, my mom’s, and everyone around us—rise and fall as exhaustion and discomfort take their toll.

The environment itself is challenging.

There are constant noises: alarms, voices, and movement in the hallways.
Patients calling out, some confused, some in pain.
Lights that never fully dim.

It’s overstimulating.
It’s uncomfortable.

And that’s before even considering the physical reality…

pain, lack of privacy, loss of autonomy, being told when to eat, what to take, and how to move.

I struggle being there for more than a few hours.

So I’ve had to ask myself honestly:
If I were in this position… how patient would I be?

Getting to Observe

And then there’s my mom.

She has blown me away.

She is so beautifully positive… until she’s not.

Until the pain rises.
Until the lack of dignity and independence becomes too much.

And yes, she has moments where she cries or snaps.

But they pass.

Because her truest self keeps rising back to the surface.

Kind.
Warm.
Grateful.
Light.

I am seeing her in a way I never have before.

And not just her, but the other patients who endure this experience with quiet dignity and grace.

And the nurses…

The level of patience and compassion they show, day in and day out, in an environment that is physically, mentally, and emotionally demanding. It’s something I’ve never witnessed this closely before.

It’s humbling.

Getting to Experience

Meanwhile, my own patience has been tested.

I’m tired.

I haven’t slept in my own bed.
My routines are gone.
My business is on pause.
Plans are uncertain.

I’ve had to cancel clients, postpone courses, file extensions, and let go of structure.

I don’t have privacy.
I’m not eating or moving the way I normally would.
Even a simple morning coffee has become unpredictable.

And I can feel
the edges of my own capacity.

But even in that…

I can see this for what it is.

A Lesson

A lesson.
A perspective shift.
A quiet invitation.

To remember what actually matters.

Connection.
Care.
Patience.
Grace.
Presence.

To soften.
To listen.
To let go of control.

To trust timing.

Because what I’m experiencing is nothing compared to the strength and grace I’ve witnessed in my mom and others this past week.

And that realization alone
is changing me.