Still Standing is Still Winning

Aka, “The Part of Surgery Recovery Nobody Talks About.”

No one goes into surgery expecting a fight that lasts this long.

You expect pain. You expect rehab. You expect hard days. What you don’t expect is the prolonged grind—months later when the wounds have closed, the hardware looks good, and yet the battle is still very much raging.

Six months after a ten-level spinal fusion, I’m not writing this to complain; I’m writing it to tell the truth. Because there’s a part of recovery most people never mention, and pretending it doesn’t exist helps no one—especially those still fighting to stay upright.

And for me, after half a year, I still struggle to walk. Every step is a workout.

Surgery is not just a procedure—it’s bodily combat.

Major surgery isn’t routine maintenance. This isn’t an oil change; it’s a complete engine overhaul.

Bone and skin are cut. Muscle is torn—or in my case, cut up, resituated and sewn back together. Nerves are disturbed. Pain spreads and increases; strength and endurance decrease.

You never walk away unchanged.

A ten-level spinal fusion is trauma—real, measurable trauma—and trauma always leaves marks. Some show up on x-rays and CT scans. Others show up in places no one prepared you for. Sometimes the trauma rears its ugly head to the ones you love the most.

That’s not weakness. That’s reality, and pretending otherwise only makes the fight harder.

Chronic pain is a slow, grinding war.

Pain doesn’t usually try to defeat you in one blow. It wears you down one day—one sleepless night, one hour—at a time.

Pain isn’t the whirlwind, first-round knockout punch. It can be likened more to 15 rounds of body-blows that gradually wear you down to a bruised and bloody pulp.

It drains emotional reserves. It shortens patience. It presses on the same weak spots day after day, hoping you’ll finally decide it’s not worth the effort anymore.

That is the strategy it uses to defeat us. Even though God would never put us in a war we literally CAN’T win, the powers of darkness and our own self-doubt are constantly trying to convince us that defeat is inevitable.

I cannot stress this more strongly: THAT IS A LIE STRAIGHT FROM THE PITS OF HELL.

Scripture doesn’t sugarcoat this kind of pressure:

“Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day” (2 Corinthians 4:16, emphasis added).

In this passage, the Apostle Paul didn’t deny his body was slowly deteriorating, but he did refuse to let it have the final word.

That’s not an attempt at remaining optimistic; it’s standing in the midst of the hurricane, balling up your fist and screaming into the wind, “You will find no victory here!”

Emotional struggle is not surrender, and it’s not weakness.

There’s a myth—especially among Christians—that emotional struggle means spiritual failure. That if you’re still emotional months later, something must be wrong with your faith.

That’s complete fabrication.

When the body is pushed to its limits, emotional defenses weaken. Frustration surfaces faster. Grief shows up without asking permission. You feel losses more clearly.

You feel everything more clearly.

This isn’t defeat, it’s reality, so don’t get down on yourself when it happens.

David, one of the greatest warriors in the Bible, said:

“My bones wasted away through my groaning all day long” (Psalm 32:3).

This is the same man who faced lions, bears, giants and armies. He fought incredible battles, but still felt the humanity of his weakness every day, and had to muscle through it.

There is a grief that comes with survival.

But getting back to recovery, I’ve found it carries grief most people don’t see.

Grief for strength you once had and are scared you’ll never regain.
Grief for a body that no longer feels familiar (I had to learn to walk all over again).
Grief for independence that now requires planning and assistance.

It’s incredibly humiliating and frustrating having to rely on other people to take you to the bathroom and give you a shower. If you allow it, these things can bring unbearable anger and depression. Thankfully my family was very cool about it, and constantly reminded me it was a temporary situation. I finally came to a conclusion:

Don’t be angry or depressed about something over which you have zero control.

Maybe you should read that again.

Even emotionally, we can suffer grief for loss of joy and laughter. It can be debilitating.

The key is, we don’t pitch our tent in this dark land, but we don’t ignore it either. It’s like an old pastor of mine used to say: “Just because birds are flying overhead doesn’t mean you let them build a nest in your hair.”

Impossible for a bald dude like me but you get the point.

Jesus stood in front of Lazarus’s tomb and wept, knowing resurrection was moments away. Tears were not a display of weakness; they were evidence of humanity. So cry if you must. Scream into a pillow, and allow yourself a 5-minute freak-out, but then get back up, dry your tears, wash your face, grab a cup of coffee and get back into the fight.

Faith is active resistance.

In this battle, Satan doesn’t want you to set up camp on God’s side of the fence, so don’t expect life to be sunshine and roses. Faith is active war, not passive endurance.

Faith is resistance.
Faith is resolve.
Faith is standing your ground when retreat would be easier.
Faith is WAR.

“Fight the good fight of the faith” (1 Timothy 6:12).

Some days the fight is obvious. Other days it’s quiet—getting up, showing up, refusing to let pain dictate your mood. Remember:

Not giving up is victory. Not quitting is a win in the annals of faith.

If we want to survive this war of the heart, mind, body and soul, we must be purposeful about not giving up. We must grit our teeth, pick up our sword and FIGHT…every minute of every decade.

Still standing is still winning.

If you’re months—or years—into recovery and still struggling, hear this clearly:

You haven’t failed.
You haven’t lost ground.
You haven’t disappointed God, even when you gave in, wigged out and lost it.

You’re still standing.

“We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; struck down, but not destroyed” (2 Corinthians 4:8–9).

That’s not sentimental hogwash, it’s a status report from the front lines of battle, man.

Never give up. Never give in. Never surrender.

Recovery is more emotionally and physically expensive than many of us expect. The emotional toll lasts longer than we plan for, sometimes making the mental weight heavier than the pain itself.

But giving up is not an option!

Not because it’s easy.
Not because you’re invincible.
But because Christ is faithful.

If all you can do today is stand—then stand.
If all you can do is breathe—then breathe.
If all you can do is not give up—then don’t give up.

Don’t surrender ground the enemy didn’t earn. Don’t give up territory you fought hell to win.

Never give up.
Never give in.
Never surrender.

I’m still here.
I’m still fighting.
In the name of Jesus.

Love you guys. Blessings.