In what ways does hard work make you feel fulfilled?
I work every day on improving my balance ,both in quality and duration. I work on strengthening my partially paralyzed leg so I will be able to walk further and longer and with better form and confidence and finally speed. As I enter year 10 of stroke recovery
It pays no money, but every day I have to rest is really enjoyed and appreciated. The big payday will be when I can walk around the block without my AFO brace or a cane.
Hope for that day for you too.❤️👍
Thank you so much 💓
Best wishes. Keep healthy and don’t ever give in. Thank you for your support. Massively appreciated
Thank you 😊
It’s a deep cognitive split, isn’t it ~ to be so enraged at having to rest all the time, and so grateful for being able to do so, both at the same time? I’ve been there about a million times myself.
I really appreciate comments like this. Letting me know that what I’m experiencing is “normal “for the situation.
Oh, very! You’re actually to be commended for feeling the gratitude at all. Many people forget to do so, paying attention only to the frustration and pain. If you ask me, that’s no way to get any healing done, right?
Indeed 😊
They need to spend one day as a crippled woman in, oh, Haiti, say, or India. Hauled to the empty shed of a community center by volunteer wheelbarrow to spare you for a few hours from the habitual abuse of your family. No legal recourse ~ they could burn the house over your head without repercussion.
What a grand and glorious day that shall be! My suggestion on that auspicious event; A crisp, golden Riesling—delicate yet full of character—would be the perfect choice. Light floral notes with a hint of honeyed pear and a whisper of autumn’s first apples, it’s a wine that lifts the soul gently, like the morning breeze through rustling amber leaves.
Serve it slightly chilled, in a slender glass that catches the sunlight, each sip bright and refreshing. On a patio or by a sunlit window, the warmth of the autumn morning settling around you, and with each sip, the quiet pride of your accomplishment freshly celebrated, soft and content like the season itself.
What lovely poetic words, but I don’t/can’t drink.