You know what doesn’t get enough credit? Feeling fine. Not amazing, not life-alteringly happy, just…fine. Okay. Not like you’re one wrong sneeze away from a nuclear-level emotional meltdown. That’s the vibe I’m riding into this summer, and honestly, I’m here for this.

After what has felt like a lifetime of surgeries, medical appointments, and falling down Google rabbit holes about post-DIEP healing phases (shout out to every question post asking“ When Can I Take a Bath Again?”), I’m finally back to running. Not fast or far – but forward at least. Outside and on my own two feet. Without wanting to weep from exhaustion or rage at the injustice of humidity.

Is it a slow run? Yes. Do I have any other way? Am I being passed on the trail? Toooootally. But not by sprinters or the neighborhood track teenagers. No. I am being casually smoked by women in Lululemon yoga pants walking their ten-pound designer dogs. Dogs with names like Baxter or Pee-Wee. Dogs that don’t even bark – they just judge you with their tiny, beady eyes while their owners sip iced lattes and talk on the phone. And there I am, shuffling along like a determined sweat-drenched tomato, trying not to cry.

And while I’m no longer dealing with a pre-op apron tummy that bounces with every step (thank you, reconstruction), my thighs have decided to keep the friction-based drama alive. Reconstruction didn’t need any of the fat off these babies. They’re out here chafing like it’s their full-time job, even though I’m wearing enough Body Glide to qualify as a human slip-and-slide. Body neutrality is cute until you’re waddling home like a cowboy after mile three.

But even with all of that – especially with all of that – it still feels good. Better than good. It feels like reclaiming something. I don’t know what that is yet, but it’s something, and it’s mine.

And to be fair, it’s not that I wasn’t grateful for the many, many hours I spent in the recliner, not moving, not running, just curled up with Beau (I love Beau but damn) like a sad little burrito of pain. Those were necessary days. Healing days. Those were days where just putting on clothes deserved a medal. But in truth, after a while, all that stillness starts to rot your brain a little.

Getting up and out, even slowly, even sweatily, is what’s pulling me back to myself. Movement clears the mental cobwebs, ya know? It shakes loose my ability to spiral out of control and keeps quiet that inside voice that keeps asking “are we even okay, yet?” It helps me feel less like a patient, and more like a person. And that makes me more patient with other human beings. I tend to be more grounded and way less likely to cry over the wrong kind of cereal being in the pantry (yes, even though I likely bought it). In short: moving my body makes me a better human. Most days, anyway.

There’s a particular kind of magic in summer too. Yes, even here in St. Louis, where the air is basically an outdoor sauna. It’s in the early mornings where the sky is pink and forgiving. It’s in the late-night walks that feel more like therapy than exercise. It’s in the freedom to wear tank tops without giving a damn that my body’s been through a small war. Because it has. And it’s still here. So I show it some sun. I let it run. I even let it sweat through yet another pair of leggings that probably won’t survive the summer.

The joy in my world right now isn’t loud. And it doesn’t need to be. It’s not champagne-popping or Instagram-worthy. It’s quiet. It’s gritty. It’s built from tiny wins and persistence. It’s being able to plan my week around runs instead of wound care and drains. It’s having the energy to go out for ice cream with my daughters and not immediately think about my return to the couch. It’s laughing again and making plans. It’s living, without the asterisk.

I’ve spent so much time lately just trying to get back to something I think. First it was back to being upright and not in a recliner, and then back to feeling like I could do more than just survive the day, and then back to seeing a bit of my strength return. Now I’m back to being able to function nearly all day every day. I’m back to seeing the edge of maybe even thriving a little. I won’t pretend like I’m fully there yet though, because recovery isn’t linear, and life sure as shit ain’t fair. But I’m moving forward – that’s what matters. Slowly and happily. And with every step I take this summer, I’ll focus on writing a new story about what it means to be okay. We don’t celebrate that enough.

So cheers to summer! Cheers to slow runs in high humidity. Cheers for strong hearts and non-hot flash related sweat! I’ll take every bug bite and sunburn and weird tan line if that means I can continue to be just fine for even a little while. And if it means I can be OUTSIDE of this damn house once in a while.

And that is exactly where I want to be.

P.S. Still not allowed to soak in a bathtub but as soon as I am, I’ll be unstoppable!