The Ugly Side of Healing: When Recovery Looks Worse Before It Gets Better - Navigating Bell's Palsy

 

Day 13–16 - Navigating the Toughest Days Yet

The past few days have been… hard. My tongue feels coated — like someone brushed it with a bitter medicine. Food tastes strange, and speaking feels foreign. I even went searching online — “Is pain on Day 13 normal?”

What I found offered a strange kind of comfort:

Some facial discomfort, tightness, or dull aching can be normal during the second week — especially as nerves begin to regenerate or “wake up.”

That word — waking up — stayed with me.

Maybe that’s what’s happening: my nerves are waking up, and the pain is their language. But knowing that doesn’t always make it easier. My face looks worse — more distorted than before — and my speech slips in and out, words refusing to shape themselves.

Still, I track the pain. I apply warm compresses. I whisper prayers when I can’t form full sentences. I remind myself that the healing journey isn’t always pretty. Sometimes, it’s the moments that look the most broken that signal that something is actually repairing underneath.

---

Little Lights Along the Way

Sometimes healing doesn’t look like progress. It looks like things are getting worse before they get better — like my face did. But if you find yourself in the middle of what feels like pain, I encourage you to pause and look closely. There might be little lights along your path — subtle, almost hidden signs that grace is still at work.

It could be a friend who checks in when you’ve gone quiet, a spouse who shows love in quiet acts of care, a child whose laughter reminds you that joy still exists. These moments may not take the pain away, but they illuminate the road just enough for you to keep going.

In the middle of it all, I’ve found moments of grace. My husband — my constant “Babes” — cut fruits for me when chewing felt like work. He rubbed my face gently with turpentine and made the most delicious Sunday dinner. My daughter and I shared one of those soul-deep conversations about purpose — about what God might be shaping through all this. Maybe He’s birthing something new — a foundation, a book, a community, a teaching curriculum — something that turns pain into purpose.

Even on the hard days, when my eye aches or my face feels like it’s pulling from the inside, I’ve found small victories: recording short videos, writing thank-you notes, and reaching out to those who have prayed, checked in, and simply been present.

Each word, each prayer, each message is a reminder that even when things feel broken, grace still finds a way to show up — through people, through love, through faith that refuses to quit.

---

Two Weeks In - feels both like forever and just the beginning.

The right side of my forehead wrinkles when I try to raise my brows, but the left remains still. My eye on that side sinks deeper, like the flesh beneath it has forgotten its structure. My tongue is still tangy and bitter, my speech unpredictable, my eyes sore, my ear aching. But I keep going.

I’m learning that healing isn’t always the absence of pain. Sometimes, it’s learning to live inside it while holding onto hope. And maybe that’s something we can all relate to — whether it’s physical healing, emotional recovery, or a waiting season that feels endless. There are moments when what we see looks worse before it gets better. When progress hides beneath the surface, and faith is the only thing that keeps us from giving up.

Healing asks us to trust the unseen. To believe that what looks distorted today might actually be the sign of something waking up tomorrow.

Through the tightness, the strange sensations, and the exhaustion, one truth keeps rising above the discomfort:

God is still working. Even when I can’t see the progress, He’s doing something beneath the surface.

So I’ll keep trusting. I’ll keep showing up — gauze over my eye to protect it when it hurts and feels sensitive.

Did You Know? During Bell’s Palsy, the eye on the affected side can become dry, sensitive, or difficult to close because the nerves controlling blinking and tear production may be temporarily weakened. Protecting the eye with gauze or using lubricating drops is important to prevent irritation or injury. Many people don’t realize that this simple step is a crucial part of the healing process.

---

And for anyone reading this, whatever your “face” may be — the part of your life that feels unrecognizable right now — know this: healing might not always look like progress, but it is. Keep trusting your process. The day is coming when what felt painful will make sense, and your smile, your peace, your strength — will return too.

💬 Your Turn

Your story may look different from mine, but pain, patience, and hope have a way of speaking a common language. Wherever you are on your journey, know that healing — in body, heart, or faith — is still possible.

Have you—or someone you love—ever had to wait for healing or answers that seemed far away? How did you keep your faith steady in the meantime?

Your story might be the reminder someone else needs to keep believing that recovery is still possible. 💚

---

🌿 Stay Connected

If you’ve been following my Bell’s Palsy journey, thank you. I’m sharing daily reflections on what recovery really looks like—the faith, the frustration, and the small victories that mean the most.

Please Like, Follow, and Comment to stay connected. If this post encouraged you, share it with someone who may need hope today. 💙 Together, we can bring visibility, compassion, and courage to the healing journey — one day, one prayer, and one small smile at a time.