Week 2 in Boston: Between Breakdown and Breakthrough

Healing doesn’t always look like progress,

sometimes it looks like learning how to keep walking. 

Week two in Boston stretched us in ways I didn’t know were still possible - not just in endurance, but in learning how to move from survival to supported, intentional care.

It was a week marked by contrast - between capacity and fear, hope and exhaustion, breakdowns and small but meaningful breakthroughs. Logan turned sixteen this week, and instead of celebrating the way we once imagined, we found ourselves navigating the reality of rehabilitation, regulation, and survival - physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

Much of the week revolved around food and energy - or rather, the absence of both. Eating, something so basic, has become layered with fear, nausea, pain, and anticipation of feeling worse. Foods that were once safe suddenly weren’t. Requests for food came without the ability to articulate what was needed. Dysregulation often followed - not because he didn’t want to eat, but because eating now feels like a threat.

When the Body Feels Like the Enemy

There were days when very little happened outwardly, but internally everything felt heavy. Attempts at feeds were interrupted by nausea and dry heaving. His home exercise plan (HEP) felt impossible when his body felt weak, shaky, and unreliable. Walking across the apartment could feel overwhelming, even as moments later he would summon the strength to do more than he believed he could.

A Moment That Mattered

One evening captured the tension of the entire week. After hours of escalation around food and the belief that he couldn’t walk, couldn’t tolerate the cold and snow, and couldn’t do one more hard thing -  he ultimately did. We walked to the store together in the snow. His gait was unsteady. His legs hurt. It took effort. But he made it there and back. He chose food. He ate. And afterward, he settled.

That moment didn’t “fix” anything - but it mattered. 

What the Week Revealed

This week showed us how fear, anticipation, and dysregulation can shrink perceived capacity - and how, with support, boundaries, and safety, capacity can re-emerge. It also showed how much frustration comes from not having the words to explain what is happening inside his body. The stuttering, word-finding difficulty, and emotional overload aren’t side notes; they are part of the story that needs to be addressed if healing is going to happen.

His birthday forced me to sit with both the grief of what this season is and the gratitude for who he - and I - are becoming within it. Sixteen arrived quietly, without balloons or big plans, but with something deeper: resilience being built in real time, even when it looks messy.

Held Together

This week also reminded me that healing is not just physical - it is relational, emotional, and deeply spiritual. Each day has been held together by small, faithful practices: prayers before clinic, moments of gratitude at night, music that shifts the weight when words fail, and the quiet choosing of trust when clarity is still out of reach.

As I write this, the words “He won’t fail” are playing softly in the background - a reminder I didn’t know I needed. Not that the journey will be easy or quick, but that we are not being held by our strength alone. Even here, far from home and navigating without Andrew beside me day to day, we are being sustained - learning how to rest when I am weary, to receive support, and to trust that this slow work is not wasted. Nothing in this season will be wasted.

Progress Without a Map

Week two didn’t bring clarity or answers. What it brought was data - about his nervous system, his tolerance, his fears, his strengths, and the kind of support he needs. It reinforced that progress here will not be linear. It will look like two steps forward, one step back, and occasional moments of collapse in between. There is no clear plan yet; teasing out the layers is complex and requires time.

And still, we are here.

Still walking.

Still choosing to show up for the next hard thing.

Week two didn’t break us - but it did strip things down to what matters most: safety, trust, connection, and the slow rebuilding of confidence in a body that has felt like the enemy for too long.

Grateful for the Team Who Holds the Work

I also want to acknowledge the incredible clinical team here in Boston. Creating clear lines of communication, mutual understanding, and validation has been instrumental in establishing safety - not just for Logan, but for me as his mother and primary support. Feeling heard and supported has allowed me to follow through with consistency, boundaries, and care, even when the decisions are hard and the moments are emotionally charged.

There is a difference between reacting from pure survival and responding from a place of support and trust. This week marked the beginning of that shift. Knowing we are not navigating this alone has made it possible to stay grounded, to hold limits without fear, and to support his healing in a way that feels intentional rather than desperate.

Healing here is slow and layered, but we are learning to honor progress in inches - and sometimes, in steps through the snow.

Thank you to everyone who has held us in prayer, messages, and quiet presence. We feel it, even on the hardest days.

This post is part of our ongoing Boston healing journey.

You can follow the full series on the blog.

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