It started the day before, in a doctor’s office.

The Mister and I sat side by side as the doctor explained that my medication would still cost about $4,500 a week even after insurance. Then she added quietly that she wasn’t sure if insurance would cover the procedure I’ll likely need when all of this is done.

Her words hung in the air like a weight.

That night, the fear caught up with me. I cried and asked The Mister, “How are we going to do this? How do we make it work when the cost of staying alive feels impossible?”

He didn’t try to fix it or sugarcoat it. He just held me close and said softly, “Don’t worry. We’ll make it work.”

Then he kissed my forehead and added, “We always do.”

And somehow, I believed him.

But the next morning, the worry was still there, sitting heavy in my chest like a stone I couldn’t set down. I moved slowly, quiet and distracted, the kind of quiet that comes when your mind won’t stop racing but your heart is just tired.

The Mister noticed it right away.

He looked at me, really looked at me, and said, “Come here.”

When I stood, he wrapped me in his arms, a long, grounding hug that steadied both of us. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then he whispered, “You need to get outside today. Let’s go for a drive.”

So we did, and that’s just where it led us to Manitou Springs, a little mountain town just outside Colorado Springs that I’ve loved for years. But this visit felt different.

Manitou is famous for its natural mineral springs, fountains that bubble straight from the ground, each with its own distinct taste and personality. Some are carbonated, some still. Some sharp with minerals, others faintly sweet. Locals and travelers wander from spring to spring with bottles in hand, filling them to take home. Some sip and smile. Others spit it out and laugh.

That day, The Mister and I visited three of the springs. Each one was different in taste, in sound, in spirit, but together they felt like small pieces of medicine from the earth itself, grounding and quietly healing in their own way.

As I stood by one of the fountains, cool water running through my fingers, I thought about how this land has held healers and seekers for centuries. Long before the town existed, the Ute, Arapaho, and Cheyenne tribes came here to drink and bathe in the waters they called the breath of the Great Spirit. These springs were sacred, a place of peace where even rival tribes would lay down their weapons to heal.

Generations later, when tuberculosis swept across the country, people came again, drawn not only by medicine but by the sense of something larger that moved through this place. They came to change their surroundings, to slow down, to live differently. And somehow, in doing that, many found strength again.

Standing there that day, I realized I’ve been doing the same thing.

I’ve been changing my life, my surroundings, my energy, choosing peace over chaos, boundaries over burnout, and trust over fear. I’ve been learning to put down my own weapons: stress, guilt, toxic people, the urge to over-give.

Healing for me is both medicine and mindset, trusting the doctors, but also trusting the quiet things that make me feel alive.

And who knows, maybe the water did cure me, at least in some way. I did feel better that day. Maybe that’s the thing about healing. It rarely looks the way we expect it to, but somehow, it finds its way in.

When the day was done and we drove away, the sun was starting to dip behind the mountains. The air was soft and gold, and for the first time in a long time, I felt calm.

The Mister glanced over, smiled, and said,

“Look, you got color back in your face. Manitou Springs was good for you.”

I pulled down the mirror and looked at my reflection, and he was right.

There was color in my cheeks again. I reached up and touched my face, feeling the warmth beneath my fingertips, and smiled.

“Yes, I do,” I whispered.

And in that small, simple moment, everything came rushing through me, the fear, the fight, the release.

I’m healing because I’ve done the work.

Because I’ve changed my life, my habits, my circle, my peace.

I’m going to be okay, not because the doctors say so, but because I finally feel it.

🤍

Darlin Denton