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Written by Aleksia Tollefson

When we think about healing, we often think of something simple; like putting a bandage over a cut. You cover it up, give it a little time… and it’s fixed. Easy. But the truth is, healing isn’t just the bandage you put over something. Healing is the journey underneath it.

For me, one of my many journeys of healing really began last fall. I ended a three-year relationship in October (ouch)… and then had hip surgery in December (another ouch).

I remember the day after my surgery so clearly. I was lying in a makeshift bed in our living room staring out our huge windows, facing the street. As I watched cars go by and people pass, I remember thinking; “I feel like a fish in a tank”. Like I was just stuck there, watching the world move on without me. And I had never felt so disconnected in my life. My parents were at work. My little brother was at school. And no one in my circle had reached out to me. No texts, no calls, no “how are you doing?” It was just me… and my dog (not the worst companionship). But I remember thinking how strange that felt; because we live in a world where we’re always connected. We have our phones, social media, it’s just constant communication.

But in that moment, I felt completely alone. Lying there, I felt sick to my stomach, the kind of feeling where you’re so overwhelmed and distressed that it becomes physical. That deep, heavy, hopeless feeling. And as the day went on, I kept thinking about how stuck I felt, not just physically, but emotionally too. Like I was on the outside of everything.

And then, my phone buzzed. It was a simple text… from someone at LCM. Just a check-in. Just asking how my surgery went. That was it. But that little message, just a few words in a text bubble, completely changed my day. Because in that moment, I didn’t feel invisible anymore. I felt seen. I felt like I mattered. I felt like I belonged somewhere. And that didn’t fix everything. It didn’t suddenly make me healed. But it reminded me that I wasn’t alone in the middle of it.

And looking back, I don’t think that moment was just about a text. I think it was also one of the ways God was reminding me, that even when I felt completely alone, I was never actually unseen. That I was still known. That I was still cared for. Sometimes God doesn’t show up in big, dramatic ways. Sometimes it’s through a simple message. A small act of care. A reminder, through another person, that you matter. And that you belong.

Since then, I’ve come a long way. I went through months of physical therapy: early mornings, long hours, slow progress. And in November, I finally graduated from PT. A few weeks ago, I ran my first 5K. It took me a while but I only stopped to walk for four minutes; which, for me, was a really big deal.

And while my body has healed a lot, I’m still working on the internal parts. I still struggle with feeling like I don’t belong sometimes. That feeling of being an imposter, like I’m somehow on the outside looking in. But I’ve also found places, and people, that remind me otherwise. LCM is one of those places. It’s a place that helps me remember that I do belong.

And I’ve started to understand something important: Healing isn’t just about fixing what’s broken. It’s not quick. It’s not simple. And it’s definitely not something we do alone. Healing is a journey. And it’s a journey that God walks with us, often through other people. Through a text message. Through someone showing up. Through a community that reminds us who we are when we forget.

Healing isn’t just personal. It’s communal. It’s the way we care for each other, show up for each other, and remind each other that we are never as alone as we might feel. And maybe that’s what healing really looks like. Not just a bandage… But a ongoing reminder: that we are seen, that we are loved, and that we belong. Just the way we are, no exceptions.