When Shoulder Freezes, Heart Softens

Neda Amanat
Dec 18, 2025
3 min read

Updated: Apr 1

Recently, I was diagnosed with Adhesive Capsulitis or what doctors quite literally call a Frozen Shoulder. And just as the name promises; The shoulder stiffens, motion disappears, and something as simple as reaching for a cup becomes a battle.

The condition unfolds in three stages: freezing, frozen, and thawing. (Isn't it refreshing when medical terms make sense and you don’t even need to Google them?)

The doctors say it can last between several months to three years.

And while my shoulder goes through its phases, my heart seems to have its own journey through the phases of grief:

Except in my case, all phases have decided to move in together!

Here is how a day goes:

After a restless night, I wake in denial: I can't have Frozen Shoulder! I am a young, healthy, and active woman! But there is no denying the obvious.

And almost instantly anger follows: short-tempered and sore, best not to contact me before coffee.

Then, somewhere between stretching and self-talk, I enter bargaining: making promises to eat healthy, stay patient, and to meditate on the “spiritual side of pain” which I assure you, is not easy when your pain refuses to cooperate!

Soon enough comes the low tide: the sadness of imagining this as my new normal.

And finally, acceptance settles in: quiet but steady, whispering: It is what it is for now.

Some days the anger is louder. Other days the sadness lingers. Healing is not a straight line, it never is. After all, it does not restore us to what we were; it simply teaches us who we are becoming.

We have a beautiful saying in Persian;

"If you can't cut off a bad hand, kiss it."

In other words, if you can't do anything about it, gracefully accept it.

The other evening I went to a dinner party. After the meal, the music began - laughter, rhythm, and the kind of joy that once belonged to my dancing feet. I watched from the sidelines, my arm resting, my spirit observing.

And what I saw was… beauty!

Each of my friends dancing in her own rhythm, each body telling its own story through movement.

Before, I would have been the one spinning in the center; expressive, admired, slightly proud. But that night, seated in stillness, I saw something I’d never noticed before:

Everyone dances beautifully when you stop being busy admiring yourself.

Perhaps this is what humility looks like;

When life asks you to be still and look so you can finally see.

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The Blessings We Forget

These days, I can no longer wash my hair properly, fasten a dress easily, or sleep without waking in pain. My neck and my other shoulder are doing overtime and with every movement, I am reminded of what I once took for granted. It is exhausting and frustrating yet, every morning, when I get out of bed, I realize how blessed I am that the rest of my body still listens to me, still serves me faithfully.

These past months, I’ve learned that gratitude is not a simple response to what goes right, a mere reaction reserved for our victories. Gratitude can arise from the most inconvenient places, our challenges, our misfortunes.

If we can count our problems, it means they are still few.

So let us be grateful - deeply and consciously - not someday, but today;

for all that still moves,

for all that still works,

for every part of us that quietly carries us through life,

and for the thousands of miracles still at work inside and around us.