Recovering From Surgery: Rewriting Your Inner Story With Compassion

This blog post is inspired by a personal challenge I faced over the past few days. After experiencing another unexplained fall (thankfully with no broken bones this time!), my care team decided it was time to fit an implantable heart monitor. So last week, I found myself at the QE Hospital in Birmingham, getting everything sorted.

I’m recovering well, just a bit sore, but the experience has given me something I don’t often allow myself: time to pause, sit and really think. And that space has shaped the reflections I’m sharing with you this week.

Recovering from surgery is a physical journey, yes - but it’s also a deeply emotional and psychological one. While your body works hard to repair itself, your mind and nervous system are processing their own version of the experience. Surgery is a disruption. It interrupts your routines, your independence, your sense of control and sometimes even your identity. And in that disruption, the stories you tell yourself begin to shift.

Many people underestimate the emotional side of post-surgical recovery. It’s common to notice a running inner commentary that sounds harsher or more pressured than usual. You might find yourself thinking, “I should be recovering faster,” or “Why can’t I cope better?” or “I’m being a burden.”  These are not character flaws or signs of weakness. They’re stress responses, evidence that your nervous system is still trying to make sense of everything you’ve just been through.

The first step toward a more compassionate inner dialogue is simply noticing the story you’re telling yourself. Most people don’t realise how loud their inner critic becomes after surgery. You might not consciously think, “I’m behind,” yet you feel a sense of urgency or disappointment in your body. Or you might not explicitly say, “I’m weak,” yet you feel frustrated by the limits pain or fatigue creates. Naming the story takes it out of the realm of unquestioned truth and places it gently into your awareness, where it can be met with curiosity rather than judgement.

Once you begin noticing the narrative, it helps to understand why the story is unfolding the way it is. Surgery pushes the nervous system into a state of protection; fight, flight or sometimes shutdown. When the body is vigilant or depleted, the inner dialogue naturally becomes more critical, more fearful or more hopeless. It’s not that you suddenly “think negatively.” It’s that your entire system has been under threat and the mind is trying to protect you by anticipating danger, predicting failure or urging you to “do more” to feel safe again. When you recognise this, compassion becomes easier. You begin to see the harsh story not as truth, but as a protective reflex.

From this place, a new story can emerge, one that supports your healing instead of working against it.

The key is to make it believable.

This isn’t about forcing positivity or pretending everything is easy.

It’s about acknowledging your reality while also giving yourself the kindness you would instinctively offer someone else. The story shifts from “I should be recovering faster” to “My body is healing at its own pace, moment by moment.” It moves from “I’m a burden” to “It’s okay to lean on others while I heal.” It quietly replaces “I’m weak” with “This is a different kind of strength, the strength of patience, rest, and allowing.”

As your inner story softens, your nervous system begins to follow. You might notice tiny signals of progress, like moving more comfortably one morning, asking for help without apologising, or simply recognising that you rested before pushing yourself into exhaustion.

These small pieces of evidence reinforce the new narrative: I am healing. I am capable. My body knows what to do.

Perhaps one of the most powerful ways to support yourself during recovery is to speak to yourself as you would to a friend. If someone you loved were healing from surgery, you wouldn’t rush them or criticise their pace. You would encourage them, remind them they’re doing incredibly well, and reassure them that healing takes time. Offering yourself the same gentleness is not indulgent, it’s essential!

Remember - your body heals best when your inner world feels safe, supported and cared for.

Recovery is not a race. It’s a relationship, with your body, your expectations, your fears and your hopes. It’s a slow, honest return to yourself. As you move through this chapter, allow your inner dialogue to evolve into something that holds you rather than pressures you. A compassionate inner story becomes a quiet companion on the journey, reminding you that healing is not just happening to you. It’s happening within you.

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I was chatting with a group of friends about the joys of getting older, you know, all the surprising places our body parts decide to migrate to. We got onto the topic of boobs, remembering the good old days when lying down meant they pointed proudly upwards. Now? They slip off to the sides like they’re trying to sneak out for a night on the town.

We were howling, and I said, “Honestly, if I get an itchy nipple these days, I have to reach way out to the side to scratch it. It’s practically under my armpit at this point!”

And of course, my wonderfully clueless friend, who never quite catches the punchline, pipes up with, “Oh… I’ve never had an itchy nipple.”

Which sent us over the edge, because the joke wasn’t about the itch… it was about the fact that our nipples have now taken up new forwarding addresses when we lie down.

(I managed NOT to tell this joke when I was in the operating theatre with my boobs at my side!!)

With love (and a strong cup of tea)

Sally Bee x

Founder of The Recovery Club

Join The Recovery Club HERE

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