The last five months have felt like a marathon.

I used to run distance when I was younger… partly because I was a little crazy, but that’s beside the point. What I remember most about those long cross-country meets was how completely exhausted I felt when they ended. The moment I crossed the finish line, I had nothing left. All I wanted to do was sit down and be still.

This season of life feels a lot like those days. Like I’ve been running for miles without stopping. Pushing through pain. Wondering somewhere around mile three how much longer the course really is.

Back then, I thought the marathons would end when I quit the track team in high school. But it turns out the real marathons were waiting for adulthood. The kind that don’t happen on a track, but in the quiet places of healing, loss, and learning how to keep moving forward when you’re tired.

Healing is a marathon. And if I’m honest, I’m tired.

I wish the process were smooth and easy. I wish healing didn’t demand so much endurance. But faith keeps reminding me that even when I feel like I have nothing left, God is still running beside me. The pace might be slower than I want, and the road harder than I expected, but He hasn’t left me in the middle of the race.

Looking back on the five months since my surgery, there is so much I can thank God for. I’m still here. I’m not living in constant, overwhelming pain anymore. And by His grace, I’m making real progress in my recovery from my eating disorder. So many things have improved, not because I’ve been strong on my own, but because God has carried me when I couldn’t find the strength myself.

Five months ago, I had no idea what life would look like on the other side of surgery. Some days it has been harder than I imagined. Trying to balance and adjust hormones without crashing into menopause, nights where sleep still comes and goes, and emotions that show up like a hurricane I didn’t see coming.

And in this season, I’m watching friends have babies. Sometimes my mind starts to spiral and whisper, “See? This is what you lost when you had your hysterectomy.”

The enemy says it’s loss. God says “wait until you see what I can do.”

Faith reminds me of something deeper: loss does not mean my story is over. God is still writing it. And even in the miles I never would have chosen, He is still present, still faithful, still giving me the strength to take the next step.

So for now, I’ll keep running the race that’s in front of me. Not perfectly. Not without tears or questions. But with faith that the One who called me to this road will also sustain me through it. And maybe the finish line isn’t just the end of the race—but the moment I look back and realize that every exhausting mile was met with God’s grace, carrying me farther than I ever could have gone on my own. 

-Taylor Kate