The spine surgeries changed me.
Not just physically.
They changed how I sleep.
How I think.
How I move through a day.
There were nights I didn’t sleep at all.
Just lying there—heart racing, mind going too fast, like something inside me wouldn’t shut off.
And then the next day—
I still had to show up.
Work. Conversations. Life.
Like nothing was happening.
Anxiety became constant.
Not loud enough for people to notice.
But always there.
Under everything.
And while all of that was happening—
something else was changing too.
My relationships.
At first, I thought people would adjust.
That they would see I was different.
Slower.
More tired.
More overwhelmed than I used to be.
But they didn’t.
And eventually, it wasn’t just that they didn’t understand.
They couldn’t handle it.
Because I wasn’t the same person they were used to.
I didn’t have the same energy.
Didn’t react the same way.
Didn’t show up the way I used to.
And some people—
they needed that version of me.
The easier version.
The predictable version.
The one that didn’t require them to adapt.
So instead of adjusting—
they pulled back.
Sometimes slowly.
Sometimes all at once.
The conversations changed.
Then they got shorter.
Then they stopped.
And that’s when it became clear:
It wasn’t just that I was recovering.
I was losing people.
Not because I did something wrong.
Not because I didn’t try.
But because who I became after the surgeries…
wasn’t something they could—or wanted to—deal with.
That’s a different kind of pain.
Because you go through something that changes you—
and then you realize
some of the people in your life were only connected to who you used to be.
Not who you are now.
And you can’t force that.
You can’t make someone stay.
You can’t make someone understand something they don’t want to understand.
You can’t make someone grow just because you had to.
So you’re left with a choice.
Hold onto people who keep expecting the old version of you—
or accept the loss…
and move forward as someone new.
I didn’t make that shift all at once.
But over time, I stopped chasing people who couldn’t meet me where I was.
Not out of anger.
Just clarity.
Because recovery already takes everything you have.
You don’t have the energy to also carry relationships that don’t adapt with you.
Advice for anyone going through this
Not the kind you read online—
the kind you learn when you live it:
1. Some people will fall away—and it doesn’t mean you failed
It means the relationship was built around who you were before.
Not everyone can walk with you after something changes you this much.
2. Don’t minimize your change to keep people comfortable
If you pretend you’re the same just to keep a relationship—
you lose yourself in the process.
3. The right people don’t need you to be “back to normal”
They adjust.
They ask.
They make space.
Even if they don’t fully understand.
4. Losing people can be part of healing—even when it hurts
It clears out what can’t grow with you.
Even if it feels like loss—which it is.
5. You are allowed to outgrow relationships you didn’t expect to lose
Especially when the change wasn’t something you chose.
The truth I came to
The surgeries changed me.
And not everyone stayed.
But the people who couldn’t handle that—
were never really built for this version of my life.
And as much as that hurt—
it also made something clear:
The version of me that exists now—
is real.
Is earned.
And anyone who stays in my life now—
is choosing me as I actually am.
Not who I used to be.
© Jaime Pearson 2026. All rights reserved.
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