The treatment process for cancer is like being stuck inside a revolving door. You enter into it, nervous and anxious as to whether you'll make it out to the other side, freedom so close to your finger tips, just to be dragged back in and spun around, landing exactly where you started. On and on the door spins, meanwhile you're trapped inside, struggling to break free, begging mercilessly for someone to help you out.
People say there's a light at the end of the tunnel with cancer treatment - that soon enough, it will be over. All of this will be put behind you and then you can move forward with your life. What people who aren't going through it don't understand is that you're stuck in the door, with no one to break you free, scared and ultimately alone. There is no light at the end of the tunnel when you're in that door - only spinning, anxiety, fear, and exhaustion. It's hard to look ahead to the future when you're just trying to make it through today. I can't even allow myself to hope for a future without cancer, because I'm not sure it exists. I'm starting to convince myself that no matter what I do - surgery, chemo, radiation - cancer will kill me. I'm afraid I'll be stuck in this door forever.
I know that with time, this fear will fade. That with each passing day of remission, I'll be able to have hope for my future, and cancer won't be something that's constantly on my mind. If anything, cancer should be a reason for me to live more in the moment and be less afraid - take risks, try new things, say yes to new opportunities - and I hope to get there one day. For now, though, I'm stuck in the door, being tossed into another phase of treatment.
One day soon I hope to find the strength to break the glass.
Monday, July 6, 2015
Friday, July 3, 2015
The art of letting things go
As I've said before, I have a really hard time letting things go. I've been known to hold grudges for extended periods of time, letting anger and hatred and hurt take precedence over forgiving, accepting, and healing. And that's no way to live. I even have a tattoo reminder of a balloon with the string saying "let it go".
One thing that cancer has given me is better perspective on how I should be living my life. I've always had the notion that life should be this linear process - go to school, graduate, get a career, buy a house, get married, have children - but I'm learning that life is rarely linear. It ebbs and flows, and there are immense challenges along the road that will frequently throw you off course. Like getting a cancer diagnosis at 27. I never could have expected this or planned for it, it just happened. I'm coming to terms with the fact that there's no real explanation for this happening to me, and the more I accept this, the easier it is for me to heal from it.
Yesterday, I met with my HR rep to put in for a leave of absence from my job. I've been considering doing this for a long time, but have hesitated out of fear of losing the job, and subsequently losing my medical benefits. However, after long, hard consideration, I decided I needed some time off in order to focus on my radiation treatment, and healing. I've been on the go nonstop since December, with biopsies, surgeries, doctor's appointments, chemo, all while trying to learn a new job. I'm exhausted. So, now is the time that I put myself first - which I'm also very bad at doing. I've had anxiety about putting in for this leave, and there was also some push back from family about why I shouldn't do it, but this is what's best for me.
While considering what I'd do on this leave, I started thinking about how I really want to work on my goal of forgiveness. I decided that life is way too short to continue to hold onto anger and resentment. It's weighing me down, and definitely not helping me lead a healthy life, which is so integral to my healing. Having emotional baggage does just as much damage as having physical ailments. Almost immediately after making this decision to let things go, I felt a weight lifted off of my shoulders. My heart started to fill with love, rather than hate or anger. I thought of so many people that I could forgive, whether they know they hurt me or not, and I started crying, simply for the fact that I should've done this much sooner. I've been deeply hurt by friends, significant others, and simply by events that have happened in life that are out of my control. And I'm tired of being angry. It's time to move forward.
I know that simply making this decision is only one step towards letting things go that are weighing me down, and I know that I'll likely have slip ups or moments of weakness where I'll be hurt over something that has happened in the past. But at least now I can recognize those feelings, accept them, try to turn them into positive feelings instead, and move forward.
One thing that cancer has given me is better perspective on how I should be living my life. I've always had the notion that life should be this linear process - go to school, graduate, get a career, buy a house, get married, have children - but I'm learning that life is rarely linear. It ebbs and flows, and there are immense challenges along the road that will frequently throw you off course. Like getting a cancer diagnosis at 27. I never could have expected this or planned for it, it just happened. I'm coming to terms with the fact that there's no real explanation for this happening to me, and the more I accept this, the easier it is for me to heal from it.
Yesterday, I met with my HR rep to put in for a leave of absence from my job. I've been considering doing this for a long time, but have hesitated out of fear of losing the job, and subsequently losing my medical benefits. However, after long, hard consideration, I decided I needed some time off in order to focus on my radiation treatment, and healing. I've been on the go nonstop since December, with biopsies, surgeries, doctor's appointments, chemo, all while trying to learn a new job. I'm exhausted. So, now is the time that I put myself first - which I'm also very bad at doing. I've had anxiety about putting in for this leave, and there was also some push back from family about why I shouldn't do it, but this is what's best for me.
While considering what I'd do on this leave, I started thinking about how I really want to work on my goal of forgiveness. I decided that life is way too short to continue to hold onto anger and resentment. It's weighing me down, and definitely not helping me lead a healthy life, which is so integral to my healing. Having emotional baggage does just as much damage as having physical ailments. Almost immediately after making this decision to let things go, I felt a weight lifted off of my shoulders. My heart started to fill with love, rather than hate or anger. I thought of so many people that I could forgive, whether they know they hurt me or not, and I started crying, simply for the fact that I should've done this much sooner. I've been deeply hurt by friends, significant others, and simply by events that have happened in life that are out of my control. And I'm tired of being angry. It's time to move forward.
I know that simply making this decision is only one step towards letting things go that are weighing me down, and I know that I'll likely have slip ups or moments of weakness where I'll be hurt over something that has happened in the past. But at least now I can recognize those feelings, accept them, try to turn them into positive feelings instead, and move forward.
Some quotes about moving on and letting go:
http://thoughtcatalog.com/lorenzo-jensen-iii/2015/07/70-inspirational-quotes-about-letting-go-and-moving-on/
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
war zone
You know when you think of doing something, and you know it's a bad idea, but you do it anyway?
Well, I just did that.
As I think I've mentioned before, ever since diagnosis, cancer comes up on a daily basis. It's become unavoidable. It's the topic of every other TV commercial, radio commercial, the plot line in every movie, and it comes up daily in the conversations around me.
Tonight, I finished a book, and was looking for something to watch. I scrolled through the channels on TV, and didn't find anything intriguing, so I picked up my tablet and opened up Netflix. I saw an intriguing movie with Kate Hudson as the leading actress, so I clicked on it to read the description. It was about a woman who was diagnosed with a terminal cancer and how she lives her life until she dies, and how she falls in love. I knew I shouldn't have watched it, but I knew what I was getting myself into, so I did it anyway. A lot of the story hit home perfectly. The dread, the terror, the acceptance. It really is just following the road map of the 5 stages of death and dying - Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. More often than not, the phases don't follow that exact pattern, but the emotions are spot on. I cried several times throughout the movie, and I'm grateful that I watched it at home, in bed, in solitude.
Today, or yesterday, rather, was exhausting. I had my radiation simulation, which I haven't been dreading at all. It just felt like another doctor's appointment that I had to attend. However, on my drive to the radiation center, I started crying. Two of my friends, Chris and Alicia, happened to text me at the exact same time asking how I was doing. I let them both know where I was heading, and that I was on the verge of a panic attack. I tried to slow my breathing down, to stay calm, to soothe myself, but nothing worked. So I hid behind my sunglasses as I drove, and let the tears make their way down my cheeks. I pulled up to the parking lot, and I sat in the car for a few more minutes, letting the last of the tears fall from my eyes, and then chasing them with a kleenex, trying to clean up my face. I walked in, checked in, sat in a chair, and tried to hide my face as a few more tears escaped. Not too long later, a nurse introduced herself to me as Terry. I'm sure she could see the fear and dread in my eyes. She told me to undress from the waist up, put on the vest, opening in the front. She had me lay down on the table, and started to position my arms. It was when she was explaining to me the process of how the CT scan would work, that I started crying, somewhat uncontrollably. She rubbed my leg, and I apologized. She asked why, and got me a tissue. I don't know why I always apologize for my emotions, but I do. I know that in this situation, they're completely valid, and no one would blame me for crying, but I'm supposed to be strong. Crying doesn't come with that territory. The doctor on premise came in, marked the areas where they'd be doing the scan, and told the nurse to stop making me cry. They were both very sweet, and compassionate.
Terry did my scans, and as I went through the machine, a few more tears escaped, and rolled down the sides of my face. When the scans were done, she started asking me about how I found my lump - everyone seems to want to know, given my age, and I never have a problem telling them, once I get past the crying. She then did my tattoos - markers for the radiation area. I'm not happy about having more reminders on my skin of what I've gone through, but I have no choice. They're small - they look like little black freckles - but still. It's just one more thing on my body that I didn't ask for. One more reason not to look in the mirror. One more reason for someone not to find me beautiful.
Alicia said it best, as she usually does.
"Your body is a war zone and one day all those scars and marks will tell the story of how you fought and won. Which doesn't help now when you didn't agree to be fighting at all."
I think the experience was emotionally draining because every new chapter is like starting over. I have to relive the pain of what I'm going through. This is why I wasn't terribly excited about the end of my chemo - because I knew radiation was next. And even after radiation, I still have to endure the Herceptin infusions once every three weeks until next March. Maybe then I'll feel some relief. Maybe then I'll be able to start working towards how to live daily life without focusing so much on cancer.
The one thing about the Kate Hudson movie - it gives me hope that someone can still be capable of loving me, despite my having had cancer. I desperately need to believe that.
I remember texting a close friend earlier this year. I think it was before I started chemo. I had gone for a walk, and I sat down under a tree, and started sobbing like a baby. My message said "I don't want to die." I still don't want to die. I'm afraid that no one will want to love me because of that possibility. I'm still trying to convince myself that that's not true.
Well, I just did that.
As I think I've mentioned before, ever since diagnosis, cancer comes up on a daily basis. It's become unavoidable. It's the topic of every other TV commercial, radio commercial, the plot line in every movie, and it comes up daily in the conversations around me.
Tonight, I finished a book, and was looking for something to watch. I scrolled through the channels on TV, and didn't find anything intriguing, so I picked up my tablet and opened up Netflix. I saw an intriguing movie with Kate Hudson as the leading actress, so I clicked on it to read the description. It was about a woman who was diagnosed with a terminal cancer and how she lives her life until she dies, and how she falls in love. I knew I shouldn't have watched it, but I knew what I was getting myself into, so I did it anyway. A lot of the story hit home perfectly. The dread, the terror, the acceptance. It really is just following the road map of the 5 stages of death and dying - Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. More often than not, the phases don't follow that exact pattern, but the emotions are spot on. I cried several times throughout the movie, and I'm grateful that I watched it at home, in bed, in solitude.
Today, or yesterday, rather, was exhausting. I had my radiation simulation, which I haven't been dreading at all. It just felt like another doctor's appointment that I had to attend. However, on my drive to the radiation center, I started crying. Two of my friends, Chris and Alicia, happened to text me at the exact same time asking how I was doing. I let them both know where I was heading, and that I was on the verge of a panic attack. I tried to slow my breathing down, to stay calm, to soothe myself, but nothing worked. So I hid behind my sunglasses as I drove, and let the tears make their way down my cheeks. I pulled up to the parking lot, and I sat in the car for a few more minutes, letting the last of the tears fall from my eyes, and then chasing them with a kleenex, trying to clean up my face. I walked in, checked in, sat in a chair, and tried to hide my face as a few more tears escaped. Not too long later, a nurse introduced herself to me as Terry. I'm sure she could see the fear and dread in my eyes. She told me to undress from the waist up, put on the vest, opening in the front. She had me lay down on the table, and started to position my arms. It was when she was explaining to me the process of how the CT scan would work, that I started crying, somewhat uncontrollably. She rubbed my leg, and I apologized. She asked why, and got me a tissue. I don't know why I always apologize for my emotions, but I do. I know that in this situation, they're completely valid, and no one would blame me for crying, but I'm supposed to be strong. Crying doesn't come with that territory. The doctor on premise came in, marked the areas where they'd be doing the scan, and told the nurse to stop making me cry. They were both very sweet, and compassionate.
Terry did my scans, and as I went through the machine, a few more tears escaped, and rolled down the sides of my face. When the scans were done, she started asking me about how I found my lump - everyone seems to want to know, given my age, and I never have a problem telling them, once I get past the crying. She then did my tattoos - markers for the radiation area. I'm not happy about having more reminders on my skin of what I've gone through, but I have no choice. They're small - they look like little black freckles - but still. It's just one more thing on my body that I didn't ask for. One more reason not to look in the mirror. One more reason for someone not to find me beautiful.
Alicia said it best, as she usually does.
"Your body is a war zone and one day all those scars and marks will tell the story of how you fought and won. Which doesn't help now when you didn't agree to be fighting at all."
I think the experience was emotionally draining because every new chapter is like starting over. I have to relive the pain of what I'm going through. This is why I wasn't terribly excited about the end of my chemo - because I knew radiation was next. And even after radiation, I still have to endure the Herceptin infusions once every three weeks until next March. Maybe then I'll feel some relief. Maybe then I'll be able to start working towards how to live daily life without focusing so much on cancer.
The one thing about the Kate Hudson movie - it gives me hope that someone can still be capable of loving me, despite my having had cancer. I desperately need to believe that.
I remember texting a close friend earlier this year. I think it was before I started chemo. I had gone for a walk, and I sat down under a tree, and started sobbing like a baby. My message said "I don't want to die." I still don't want to die. I'm afraid that no one will want to love me because of that possibility. I'm still trying to convince myself that that's not true.
Thursday, June 25, 2015
Big girls cry.
I'm currently sitting in The Chair, getting a liter of IV fluids, because I had the pleasure of enduring diarrhea about 15 times over the course of a 24 hour period earlier this week.
I'm sitting here, and I'm crying. I couldn't tell you why. I know I've cried while sitting in this chair before. Today it feels different. I'm tired. I turned off my alarm and accidentally fell back asleep, then woke up again 20 minutes later to rush out the door. I have no makeup on, so I probably sort of look like a cancer patient today, what with my barely-there eyebrows. I think my nurse can tell I'm exhausted. After she started my IV, she dimmed my lights for me, got me blankets, and closed the curtains around my nook in the infusion room. Now I'm listening to Bon Iver, crying. I know that I don't really need an excuse to explain my tears. I just feel like the weight of the world is bearing down on my shoulders, and I'm ready for a reprieve. I'm crying because I'm alone. Because this sucks that I'm even here. I could list so many more reasons to explain my tears, but I won't. Instead, I'm just going to sit here in my little temporary cocoon, accept the pain I'm feeling, let myself cry as much as I need to, and then when the bag of fluids is done, I will try to move past these feelings.
The nurse asked when my last chemo was. She congratulated me when I said it was last week. I wish I could be as happy and excited about this milestone as other people are for me. Not many people understand my anxiety and fear about it except for the friends I've met along the way that have gone through it as well.
I'm sitting here, and I'm crying. I couldn't tell you why. I know I've cried while sitting in this chair before. Today it feels different. I'm tired. I turned off my alarm and accidentally fell back asleep, then woke up again 20 minutes later to rush out the door. I have no makeup on, so I probably sort of look like a cancer patient today, what with my barely-there eyebrows. I think my nurse can tell I'm exhausted. After she started my IV, she dimmed my lights for me, got me blankets, and closed the curtains around my nook in the infusion room. Now I'm listening to Bon Iver, crying. I know that I don't really need an excuse to explain my tears. I just feel like the weight of the world is bearing down on my shoulders, and I'm ready for a reprieve. I'm crying because I'm alone. Because this sucks that I'm even here. I could list so many more reasons to explain my tears, but I won't. Instead, I'm just going to sit here in my little temporary cocoon, accept the pain I'm feeling, let myself cry as much as I need to, and then when the bag of fluids is done, I will try to move past these feelings.
The nurse asked when my last chemo was. She congratulated me when I said it was last week. I wish I could be as happy and excited about this milestone as other people are for me. Not many people understand my anxiety and fear about it except for the friends I've met along the way that have gone through it as well.
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
Forgiveness
I wrote this to a friend the other day, and figured it was worth writing here, too.
"I can't even look in the mirror for too long because I don't recognize the reflection. I admire Harmony's ability to be thankful for her 'after cancer' body. I hate mine because all I can remember is the body that cancer took from me. And I know that it doesn't help that I feel like cancer took a lot of other things from me too - my state of mind, my body, some of my relationships, being happy, and the ability to find silver linings. I need to find a way to forgive cancer for taking those things from me."
The last line is the most important.
I need to find a way to forgive cancer, so I can move on and move forward with my life. But, I know that won't be easy, especially with such a long road of active treatment still ahead of me.
One of my new years resolutions was to be more forgiving, of myself, and of others. Cancer is no exception.
"I can't even look in the mirror for too long because I don't recognize the reflection. I admire Harmony's ability to be thankful for her 'after cancer' body. I hate mine because all I can remember is the body that cancer took from me. And I know that it doesn't help that I feel like cancer took a lot of other things from me too - my state of mind, my body, some of my relationships, being happy, and the ability to find silver linings. I need to find a way to forgive cancer for taking those things from me."
The last line is the most important.
I need to find a way to forgive cancer, so I can move on and move forward with my life. But, I know that won't be easy, especially with such a long road of active treatment still ahead of me.
One of my new years resolutions was to be more forgiving, of myself, and of others. Cancer is no exception.
Monday, June 22, 2015
Fairness
I'm struggling this week. Struggling with survivorship, with wondering if chemo was enough to rid my body of cancer, with being alone at night and not having someone to comfort me and wipe away my tears while also trying to suppress my doubts about the efficacy of my treatment.
Let's recap on Mondays chemo...
My infusions have been delayed by at least an hour every single time, so I didn't expect my last infusion to be any different, and it wasn't. My appointment was at 10:30, and we didn't get started until after 12:00. Once again, my oncologist had to decide whether to keep my dosage of meds the same or lower them. Ultimately he decided to lower them, but even though he approved the lower dosage I still had to wait for the pharmacy to approve it, which is what always causes the delay. While I waited, I received magnesium through an IV, which was a first. Apparently my levels were low. Eventually, my meds were released by the pharmacy, and the last infusion was officially under way, and by around 3 or 4pm, we were heading home.
This past week hasn't been too bad as far as side effects are concerned. I'm pretty sure the extra magnesium threw my stomach off, so trips to the toilet have been more frequent than usual, and I almost feel like some adult Depends wouldn't have been a bad idea. Luckily, I haven't had any accidents, but there have been close calls. When Friday rolled around, which is usually my worst day after an infusion, I kept counting my fingers and realizing that it had been four days since I'd been in "the chair" and was amazed that I didn't feel horrible. I'm still feeling tired, and simple tasks exhaust me, but I haven't had much nausea or heartburn, and the neuropathy in my hands and feet seems to be a little less. I am, however, still having bloody noses. I woke up in the morning with one, and then also woke up around 2 am with another one. What's strange is, it's always on the same side.
My exhaustion hit pretty hard yesterday at father's day dinner at my grandparents house. After about 3 hours there, I was starting to fall asleep at the table, so I had to go lay down on the couch. Not too long later, my family and I were driving home, and I spent the rest of the night in bed.
I'm not looking forward to starting radiation in a few weeks. I'm already tired thinking about it. I just want my life to level out a little bit. This year has been incredibly hard, like a constant tornado of crap, and I just want my life to have a moment of calm for once. I feel like the cow that was being tossed around by a tornado in the movie Twister. You know how they say there's a calm before the storm? Last summer and fall felt like that calm for me. I was at my happiest - content with all aspects of my life. Then fall rolled around, and the biggest storm of my life to date came rolling in, and it hasn't stopped yet. When I was first diagnosed, almost every person I told responded with, "This isn't fair. You shouldn't have cancer." and I would tell them "Life isn't fair." Because it's not, and I had no explanation as to why this happened to me. Now, I've finally allowed myself to agree with this popular opinion. This isn't fair. It's not okay that I'm 27, young and healthy, and I got cancer. It's not okay that people even younger than me get diagnosed with cancer or other incurable diseases.
I'm (not very) patiently waiting for the day when cancer doesn't consume me and my thoughts on a daily basis. I know that day is probably far off in the future, but the fact that I know it's there helps me to look forward. I've made it through so much already in the last 6 months, that I can get through 6 weeks of radiation. I'm just going to have to push forward the same way I've been doing - one day, one hour, even one second at a time.
For the cow reference:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2dQgjrrEeHA
Let's recap on Mondays chemo...
My infusions have been delayed by at least an hour every single time, so I didn't expect my last infusion to be any different, and it wasn't. My appointment was at 10:30, and we didn't get started until after 12:00. Once again, my oncologist had to decide whether to keep my dosage of meds the same or lower them. Ultimately he decided to lower them, but even though he approved the lower dosage I still had to wait for the pharmacy to approve it, which is what always causes the delay. While I waited, I received magnesium through an IV, which was a first. Apparently my levels were low. Eventually, my meds were released by the pharmacy, and the last infusion was officially under way, and by around 3 or 4pm, we were heading home.
This past week hasn't been too bad as far as side effects are concerned. I'm pretty sure the extra magnesium threw my stomach off, so trips to the toilet have been more frequent than usual, and I almost feel like some adult Depends wouldn't have been a bad idea. Luckily, I haven't had any accidents, but there have been close calls. When Friday rolled around, which is usually my worst day after an infusion, I kept counting my fingers and realizing that it had been four days since I'd been in "the chair" and was amazed that I didn't feel horrible. I'm still feeling tired, and simple tasks exhaust me, but I haven't had much nausea or heartburn, and the neuropathy in my hands and feet seems to be a little less. I am, however, still having bloody noses. I woke up in the morning with one, and then also woke up around 2 am with another one. What's strange is, it's always on the same side.
My exhaustion hit pretty hard yesterday at father's day dinner at my grandparents house. After about 3 hours there, I was starting to fall asleep at the table, so I had to go lay down on the couch. Not too long later, my family and I were driving home, and I spent the rest of the night in bed.
I'm not looking forward to starting radiation in a few weeks. I'm already tired thinking about it. I just want my life to level out a little bit. This year has been incredibly hard, like a constant tornado of crap, and I just want my life to have a moment of calm for once. I feel like the cow that was being tossed around by a tornado in the movie Twister. You know how they say there's a calm before the storm? Last summer and fall felt like that calm for me. I was at my happiest - content with all aspects of my life. Then fall rolled around, and the biggest storm of my life to date came rolling in, and it hasn't stopped yet. When I was first diagnosed, almost every person I told responded with, "This isn't fair. You shouldn't have cancer." and I would tell them "Life isn't fair." Because it's not, and I had no explanation as to why this happened to me. Now, I've finally allowed myself to agree with this popular opinion. This isn't fair. It's not okay that I'm 27, young and healthy, and I got cancer. It's not okay that people even younger than me get diagnosed with cancer or other incurable diseases.
I'm (not very) patiently waiting for the day when cancer doesn't consume me and my thoughts on a daily basis. I know that day is probably far off in the future, but the fact that I know it's there helps me to look forward. I've made it through so much already in the last 6 months, that I can get through 6 weeks of radiation. I'm just going to have to push forward the same way I've been doing - one day, one hour, even one second at a time.
For the cow reference:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2dQgjrrEeHA
Monday, June 15, 2015
My truths
In an effort to rekindle some of former positive energy that has been lost in this rabbit hole called cancer, I decided to make a list of some simple truths about myself. It doesn't matter if anyone else believes them or not, I need to remind myself of them in order to remember who I was before cancer, during cancer, and who I want to be after cancer. Are you ready?
I am strong - both mentally and physically. Life hasn't been easy, but it's the things I've endured along the way that have molded me into the person that stands here today.
I love deeply and passionately. Sometimes that gets me into trouble, and my heart gets broken pretty often, but those lessons have taught me how to love differently in the future, and also how to love myself.
I am kind. I hold doors open for people, say thank you, return things that have been lost, and smile at others randomly, just for the pure joy of seeing their return smile.
I have learned a lot about the world through books, school, and travel. I can't wait to explore more places (I have ideas of where to go after treatment is over. What's your vote?)
I'm a homebody - but I like that about myself.
Although, as I've gotten older, I've gotten better at saying YES to life. (Example: I went to a nude beach last sumer. And I participated. Sorry mom and dad, if you're reading this.) Life is too short not to live it exactly how I please, and I plan on going on many more adventures from here on it. Next up this month: zip lining and rock climbing.
My beauty is not solely defined on the reflection in the mirror, or how well my clothes fit, or the number on the scale. I am beautiful because of so much more than those things. My willingness to share my pain with you, raw and unedited, makes me beautiful. The strength I've shown, but have hated to admit, or have a hard time seeing myself, makes me beautiful. My perseverance to not make cancer my entire life makes me beautiful. My scars and what they represent make me beautiful.
I am more than my cancer.
I'd love to add more to this list, but I have a hot date at the infusion center, so I need to go get ready. Will you do me a favor - tell me some of my truths from your perspective. I'd love to hear them, because I've admitted in the past, I'm pretty bad at recognizing the good qualities I possess. But, I think that needs to change. Starting now. I'm an awesome, badass warrior. And I think it's time everyone, including me, knows it. (Okay, maybe more people know it than I realize, and it's really only me that needs to be caught up to speed.)
I am strong - both mentally and physically. Life hasn't been easy, but it's the things I've endured along the way that have molded me into the person that stands here today.
I love deeply and passionately. Sometimes that gets me into trouble, and my heart gets broken pretty often, but those lessons have taught me how to love differently in the future, and also how to love myself.
I am kind. I hold doors open for people, say thank you, return things that have been lost, and smile at others randomly, just for the pure joy of seeing their return smile.
I have learned a lot about the world through books, school, and travel. I can't wait to explore more places (I have ideas of where to go after treatment is over. What's your vote?)
I'm a homebody - but I like that about myself.
Although, as I've gotten older, I've gotten better at saying YES to life. (Example: I went to a nude beach last sumer. And I participated. Sorry mom and dad, if you're reading this.) Life is too short not to live it exactly how I please, and I plan on going on many more adventures from here on it. Next up this month: zip lining and rock climbing.
My beauty is not solely defined on the reflection in the mirror, or how well my clothes fit, or the number on the scale. I am beautiful because of so much more than those things. My willingness to share my pain with you, raw and unedited, makes me beautiful. The strength I've shown, but have hated to admit, or have a hard time seeing myself, makes me beautiful. My perseverance to not make cancer my entire life makes me beautiful. My scars and what they represent make me beautiful.
I am more than my cancer.
I'd love to add more to this list, but I have a hot date at the infusion center, so I need to go get ready. Will you do me a favor - tell me some of my truths from your perspective. I'd love to hear them, because I've admitted in the past, I'm pretty bad at recognizing the good qualities I possess. But, I think that needs to change. Starting now. I'm an awesome, badass warrior. And I think it's time everyone, including me, knows it. (Okay, maybe more people know it than I realize, and it's really only me that needs to be caught up to speed.)
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