The Messy Middle: What happens between the setback and the comeback?

We love comeback stories. The athlete who returns after a devastating injury. The entrepreneur who rebuilds after losing everything. The person who survives a life-altering diagnosis and goes on to do something extraordinary. We love the resilience. The determination. The triumph. We love the part where they come back strong. But we don't talk nearly enough about what happens between the setback and the comeback.

The messy middle.

The part where you're not quite sure what comes next. Where you're tired of being strong. Where some days you're hopeful and other days you're just trying to get through Tuesday. Nobody makes motivational posters about that part.

I've been thinking a lot about the messy middle lately. Mostly because I seem to be living in one.

Revisiting Come Back Strong

In 2015, I underwent surgery that changed my life in ways I couldn't have anticipated. Surgical menopause was the beginning of a journey that challenged me physically, emotionally, and mentally. It affected my health, my relationships, my sense of identity, and the way I experienced the world. And back then, nobody was talking about menopause. At least nobody I knew.

Now? It seems like everybody's talking about it. Oprah. Michelle Obama. Celebrities. Podcasts. Documentaries. Social media. Menopause has practically hired a publicist. But in 2015, I felt incredibly alone. I didn't have a community of women openly comparing symptoms or sharing experiences. I didn't have a vocabulary for much of what was happening to me. And I certainly didn't have much energy to figure it out.

I remember a period when I felt like I had about one good hour a day. One hour when I could think clearly, function reasonably well, and maybe accomplish something. I had to choose carefully where that hour went. Work? Exercise? Household responsibilities? Something I actually enjoyed? Pick one. Maybe.

The rest of the day often involved exhaustion, frustration, and naps. Lots of naps. And wondering whether I'd ever feel like myself again.

Eventually, I wrote a book about it. I published Come Back Strong in late 2017, more than two years after that surgery. I've been thinking back on those two years.

Because when we tell our stories after the fact, there's a tendency to connect the dots. To make sense of what happened. To identify the lessons, celebrate the growth, and show how everything eventually came together. 

But those dots weren't connected while I was living them. There was a messy middle.

And somewhere along the way, I started writing. I wonder now if writing wasn't simply how I told the story of my comeback. Maybe writing was part of how I found my way through it.

Here We Go Again

Fast-forward nearly a decade.

Different circumstances. Different setbacks. Different version of me.

And another messy middle.

This year has brought more changes, disappointments, losses, and unexpected turns than I care to count. Some were circumstances beyond my control. Others involved decisions I made because something needed to change. Some have been deeply personal. Others professional. And some have stirred up things I thought I'd already worked through.

It's been a lot.

And while I've navigated difficult seasons before, this one feels different. Maybe because I'm older. Maybe because I'm more aware. Maybe because I've spent so many years pushing through that I'm finally learning what it means to stop pushing.

Or maybe I'm just tired.

There's a possibility I haven't ruled out.

What I do know is that I'm not quite ready for the comeback. I'm still in the middle.

And some days, the middle really sucks.

When Resilience Doesn't Look Very Resilient

Here's the thing about having lived through a few difficult chapters. You know the tools. You've read the books. Maybe even written a few. You've learned about mindset, resilience, gratitude, self-care, and the importance of taking things one day at a time. You know how to pull yourself up by your bootstraps. Put on your big-girl panties. Find the silver lining. Make a plan. Take the next step. You've heard all the pep talks. You might even have given a few yourself. 

But sometimes, you don't need another pep talk.

You don't need someone to remind you how strong you are or tell you that everything happens for a reason. You don't need another strategy for turning your pain into purpose.

Sometimes you just need a little grace. A little room to feel what you're feeling without being expected to move past it quite so quickly. Because knowing how to navigate a difficult season doesn't make the next one any less difficult.

Experience doesn't exempt us from pain. And resilience doesn't mean we have to feel strong every day. Sometimes it might look like asking for help. Letting someone see us cry. Changing our minds. Taking a nap instead of tackling another project. Sometimes it might mean admitting that we're not okay yet. And allowing that to be true without immediately trying to fix it.

The Part We Don't See

When we hear someone's comeback story, we're usually hearing it from the other side. They've survived the setback. Found their footing. Discovered something meaningful. Maybe even turned the experience into a book, a business, or a new beginning. 

We see the transformation. We rarely see the ordinary Wednesday when they couldn't get motivated. The night they couldn't sleep. The morning they cried for reasons they couldn't quite explain. We don't see the uncertainty, the boredom, the frustration, or the exhaustion. And we certainly don't see all the moments when they wondered whether things would ever feel good again.

Those moments don't make for particularly compelling highlight reels. But they're part of the story, too. Maybe an essential part.

I think about the woman who wrote Come Back Strong nearly a decade ago. I wonder what she'd say to me today. Probably something about taking it one day at a time. Trusting the process. Remembering how far I've come.

And I'd probably tell her that I know all of that.

But knowing and feeling are two very different things.

Still in the Middle

Here's what I'm trying to remember.

I don't need to turn every setback into a lesson while I'm still living it.

I don't need to find the silver lining before I've acknowledged the disappointment.

And I don't need to know what my comeback will look like before I'm allowed to begin healing.

There are still good things happening. Moments of joy. People I love. Work that matters to me. A book I'm excited to share with the world. There are mornings on the porch when I feel peaceful and hopeful.

And there are mornings when I don't.

Both are real.

Maybe that's what I want to remember about the messy middle. It isn't a place where nothing good happens. It's a place where joy and pain, hope and uncertainty, progress and exhaustion can all exist at the same time.

I don't know exactly how this chapter ends. I suspect there will be another comeback story eventually. Maybe even another book. But I'm not ready to write that ending.

Not yet.

For now, I'm still somewhere between the setback and the comeback.

And the middle is part of the story, too.