Acceptance has never exactly been my strongest skill.
Give me a problem and I’ll find ten solutions. Give me a closed door and I’ll start looking for windows. If that doesn’t work, I’ll build a ladder.
I’ve always been the type of person who believes things can change. If something isn’t working, fix it. If fixing it doesn’t work, try another approach. If that doesn’t work, love it into submission. If life doesn’t fit, create a different one.
Not necessarily because reality is wrong, but because my imagination has always been louder than reality.
Then came the knee injury. And then another. And then another. (Yes, seriously.)
Three injuries in ten months. At some point even I had to stop and ask: “Alright. What exactly are we doing here?”
The answer was annoyingly simple. I wasn’t accepting reality. Not the spiritual reality. Not the cosmic reality. The physical one.
The very boring reality that a damaged ligament has limitations. The reality that healing takes time. The reality that my body doesn’t care about my plans. The reality that optimism is not a substitute for recovery.
Humbling. Very humbling.
The funny thing is that during the same period I had done more inner work than ever before. I learned how to soften. How to stop controlling everything. How to surrender. How to let my walls come down. How to choose myself. How to speak honestly. How to love myself. How to hold boundaries without closing my heart. How to stop abandoning myself. How to sit in peace.
At times I even touched states of consciousness I genuinely don’t know how to describe any other way than enlightenment, whilst getting my baseline up to profound peace, without getting bored. Because it was absolutely boring at first. If you know, you know.
And yet. A re-torn ligament still didn’t care.
Life has a remarkable ability to keep us honest. You can have mystical experiences on Tuesday and still be heartbroken by your knee on Wednesday.
Both can be true.
One thing I know for sure for myself is that life keeps teaching the same lesson through different classrooms. For me, acceptance wasn’t only showing up through my body.
It was showing up through my emotions too. Especially love.
Now, whether you frame that through spirituality, psychology, attachment theory, destiny, a twin flame journey, or pure coincidence is entirely up to you.
I don’t care what label people use, because I do not use one, it is what is. Literally. A label does not change the experience of the observer.
What I know is that for years I tried running from certain feelings. And every time I did, life seemed to have an absolutely incredible ability to sit me back down.
Sometimes literally. Started with a hip injury. Back injury. Knee injury. Knee injury again, and then again.
At some point the universe wasn’t sending subtle hints anymore. It was practically throwing folding chairs at my body. Maybe I have just run out of WD-40 though, who knows?
Run where exactly? The feelings came with me. The lessons came with me. The work I wanted to avoid, feelings I did not want to process came with me. Reality came with me.
So eventually I stopped trying to outrun them. Not because I suddenly became enlightened. Trust me, if enlightenment were that easy, I would have taken that shortcut years ago. The problem is that you don’t go floating into timeless bliss while hauling around twenty-eight years of emotional luggage. At some point, the baggage starts opening itself. Life kindly – and by kindly I mean by absolutely dragging me by my hair – humbled me until fighting it felt more exhausting than feeling it.
And that’s probably one of the biggest misconceptions about Instagrammable growth and healing. They treat acceptance as feeling good about something, and detaching completely.
It doesn’t. You don’t suddenly become a hard rock, it’s the opposite. Acceptance simply means seeing something clearly, and sitting with it without tweaking it into an alternate reality.
You can accept something and still dislike it. You can accept reality and still wish it were different. You can accept your injury and still be scared. You can accept your feelings and still cry about them. Acceptance isn’t agreement. It’s letting go of control, especially when things do not look the way you want them to.
And honestly? Some days I’m incredibly peaceful. Some days I feel like sunshine wrapped in human form. Some days I look at my life and think: “Everything really is unfolding exactly how it needs to, it really is what is.” Some days I successfully separate myself from my thoughts – and if you have ADHD level association and mind chatter, Virgo level overthinking, you know how blissfully quiet this could be.
And then there are days when my knee hurts, and I have to accept now my full healing will take a year, which ultimately reminds me something someone said about how short a year actually was (sir, it has been more than a year in that context, and I still don’t find a year short), and suddenly my mind is taking over things I thought I’d already mastered.
Enlightenment who?
The older I get, the more I think real growth looks less like becoming some perfectly calm spiritual master and more like shortening the distance between reaction and awareness.
You still get triggered. You just don’t react.
You still get scared. You just don’t build a house there.
Your mind still takes over. You just have awareness to realize what is going on and know how to process what is coming out.
You still have emotions that belong to the lower frequencies. The difference is that you stop treating them like a crisis. You let yourself feel them, process them, and move through them instead of building a summer home in them. Then, when you’re ready, you consciously return to the state you want to live from. Apparently that’s called emotional mastery. My exes are probably laughing somewhere. Sorry guys, I didn’t have that skill installed at the time. Turns out you were right about a few things. Don’t let it go to your heads.
And oh, accepting that I am human has turned out to be a surprisingly important lesson. You’d think after twenty-eight years I’d have that one figured out by now, right? Apparently not.
Intellectually, I know I’m human. Experientially? That’s a different story. Most of the time I feel more like the wind than the person standing in it. Like the clouds drifting overhead, a bird crossing the sky, water deep in the ocean, a grain of sand on a distant beach, a sea star, a wandering spirit, consciousness itself.
What I rarely felt was human.
Human with limitations. Human with needs. Human with emotions. Human with a body that gets injured, tired, overwhelmed, heartbroken, and occasionally has absolutely no idea what it’s doing.
There is a strange kind of bittersweet peace in finally accepting that.
And maybe that’s the point in this day and age. Not becoming immune to being human. Not transcending humanity. But becoming more compassionate and aware with the human experience.
Because no matter how much peace we cultivate, life will eventually hand us something difficult. A loss. A disappointment. A heartbreak. A diagnosis. A torn ligament that apparently has strong opinions about our life choices.
And then we get another opportunity to practice. Not perfection. Acceptance.
Again. And again.
And again.
Until one day we stop fighting reality long enough to realize that reality was never the enemy in the first place.
