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Six weeks post-op feels like a strange place to be. The pain is mostly gone. My active range of motion is nearly back to normal. I can reach overhead, get dressed without thinking twice about it, and move through most of my day without constantly being reminded that I had shoulder surgery. From the outside, I probably look pretty normal. But recovery has a funny way of humbling you. Because while my shoulder feels dramatically better than it did six weeks ago, I'm still only allowed to lift one to two pounds. One. To. Two. Pounds. Less than a gallon of fly spray. The reason is the biceps tenodesis. During surgery, my damaged biceps tendon was detached from its original attachment and secured lower down on my humerus. While the incisions have healed and my range of motion continues to improve, the tendon itself is still doing the slow, important work of healing to the bone. It takes about three months for that healing process to occur, which means my surgeon is far less interested in how strong I feel than he is in what biology is doing behind the scenes. So while my brain occasionally suggests that I should absolutely be doing more by now, my recovery protocol would respectfully disagree.For the next four weeks, physical therapy remains focused on active range of motion work and shoulder isometric exercises before we start ramping up strength training. The good news? My surgeon officially cleared me to ride at 12 weeks. The bad news? I'm only halfway there. And somehow that feels both encouraging and incredibly frustrating. The first few weeks after surgery were hard because everything hurt. When I was in the sling, the limitations felt obvious. I couldn't forget I was recovering because there was a giant piece of fabric attached to me at all times reminding me. Once the sling came off at four weeks, I started feeling more like myself again. Not completely, but enough. Enough to move through daily life without constantly planning around my shoulder. Enough to start feeling capable. And that's where the mental challenge really began, because feeling capable and being cleared to do something are two very different things. This phase is hard because from the outside, I don't look injured anymore. I can move. I can drive. I can do most normal day-to-day activities. Most people would assume I'm back to normal. I've gone out to the barn as much as I can over the last few weeks. I've watched Ollie's pro rides, groomed him and spent time just being around him. Those visits have helped more than I can explain. For a while after surgery, the barn felt impossibly far away, even though it was sitting exactly where it always had been. Being back there, even in a different capacity, reminded me that not every part of a partnership happens in the saddle. Still, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't difficult. Ollie and I were making real progress before surgery. The pieces were starting to come together. The communication felt clearer and we were building momentum. And while I know horses don't keep score and partnerships aren't erased by a few months away, there are days when watching from the sidelines hurts deeper than I expected. A few weeks ago, I put on breeches for the first time since surgery. Not because I was riding, I knew that was weeks away. I wore them because I wanted some sense of normalcy. Some sense that the routine I had come to know and love, and honestly depend on for my mental health, wasn't completely gone. Some sense that the horse girl in me was still there beneath the scars, the physical therapy appointments and the recovery timeline.It sounds silly if you're not an equestrian. I know that. But I also know every adult amateur reading this understands exactly what I mean, in some capacity or another. Sometimes healing looks like a new personal best in physical therapy, and sometimes it looks like putting on breeches for no reason other than reminding yourself who you are. Six weeks in, I'm grateful. Grateful that:
Trying to make the days count, not count the days, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't counting down the weeks. This recovery is long, sixteen weeks from start to what doctors call "full return to sport," with small milestones throughout the process. For now, I'll keep showing up to physical therapy. I'll keep cheering Ollie on from the ingate. I'll keep celebrating the small wins. And I'll keep my eyes on Week 12.  AUTHOR: Sarah Mahoney, Founder of AdultAmmyStrong This recovery series isn't just about my surgery. It's about an experience that many adult amateurs will relate to, whether they're recovering from an injury, navigating burnout or returning after time away from the saddle. AdultAmmyStrong is the platform that exists to tell those stories. 
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