It takes a year.

We live very much in an instant gratification world. And I am not here to disparage it or sing it’s praises. It exists and we live in it, no matter who loves or hates it.

Even if you’re not a fan, you’re probably more used to instantaneous responses than you realize. It’s just the way the world runs now. Think of how irritated people get when they have to wait in a long line for their coffee. (Don’t worry, you have your phone with you to entertain you while you wait! Get some news or respond to some emails. Instantly!)

The pace of the world is so quick now, it’s almost surprising when something does take a little longer. When there’s no way to speed it along. When it’s going to take the time it takes and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Yesterday evening, my husband and I were deconstructing our days and touching base regarding our plans for the weekend. I mentioned that with regards to his job, he seemed much happier and more positive than he had at his previous job, and even happier at this job now than he was when he first started. He agreed that this was mostly true, then quoted something that he had read that it take about a year to a year and a half to truly feel comfortable in a new job.

I thought about this and decided that not only was it basically true, but it was true of a lot of things. Moving to a new city, learning a new skill, publishing a book, even healing.

Half Marathons used to just be a thing I did a few times a year. Now they’re a thing I hope I’ll do again one day.

I thought about running. It’s something that’s been a part of me for my entire life, and I’ve had to give it up this year. I gave it up on my birthday. And it will probably take me at least that long to gradually get back to it enough to be healthy and running what I was. Or close to what I was.

A year can be a long time, yes. You don’t want to put up with abuse for a year, to give an extreme example. But to give a year to yourself is not that much. To give yourself a year to heal, to learn, to grow, that’s not that long. Anything worthwhile that I’ve ever become skilled at took much longer than a year.

Even knowing this in my bones, I am impatient. I don’t want to wait a year. I want it to happen now. I want to fix, to perfect, to conquer, to overcome, to blossom now. I want it immediately. We’re conditioned to see instant responses.

When I finally admitted to myself that I had this injury, I researched it. Everything I read said that it took six months to a year to start running again and full recovery could take longer. I worked on myself this year. I did my physical therapy religiously. My diet was already healthy, I made it healthier. The changes were so so slow. For months I felt like I was beating my head against a wall. At six months, I did start running again, but it wasn’t running like I was running before. And if I don’t want to wreck the progress I’ve made, I have to wait.

I’m getting stronger and healthier, but it’s still going to take the time that it takes for me to heal. Everything I’ve done and everything I continue to do will only move things along so much. And I’ve finally accepted that if I can run like I want to again, I’m okay with taking it slow. I may have to remind myself again and again, but I can give myself this year to heal and be at peace with that.

I am a person who likes to go fast. I like to take action. It’s difficult for me to wait. It’s difficult to rest. Maybe that’s what this year has been trying to teach me. That things won’t fall apart if I slow down. That rest is in itself a kind of growth.

I’m ready to be done with this lesson. But it’s going to take the time it takes. And I guess that’s okay.