The few months of having no kids in the house provided me the time and space to get some things done that I’ve wanted to. By the end of a workday and then doing mom duties immediately following, any home improvements outside of a little purchase don’t exactly get done. Then there’s the added reality that when they’re actively here, expenses aren’t spent on home stuff like that. Today, I walk through nearly every inch of my home and say in my mind, “I love it here.”
The little changes I’ve made and aesthetic choices I’ve made are feeding years of longing in my soul. I’ve given into the whimsy I hide. I like flowers and candles. No. I love flowers and candles. I want them everywhere. I want the entire house to feel like you’ve slipped into a fantasy novel. I’ve noticed that I’ve been slowly giving into that little girl that wants it, still. It’s been a lot of fun to say ‘Yes’ to these childish little wants.
Is it possibly tacky? Of course. That’s the spirit of it all! I have this cancer journey to blame to finally allowing my inner pink lover to explode all over my home office. Complete with pink rugs and pillows. My sweet friend threw up sparkly pink all over me and I LOVE it! My office now has been designed to look not far off from what a 17-year-old designing an office would do. Pink everything. Hard stop on anything fluffy though. Because while there is a sweet and pink little delight inside, there is also my inner Wednesday Addams. So, the office is pink and black. With spooky season coming up, I’m letting the touches start coming out now. Let’s just say I found pink chenille pillows with spooky white smiling ghosts.
The self-discovery that continues to unfold is less overwhelming and more welcoming. Less “Oh shit,” moments and more, “ya, I get that.” Embracing the ever-moving world is less traumatizing though, no less absolutely irritating and enraging. I’m less surprised. Not gonna lie, it may feel a little more cynical than usual, but it’s not negative. I’ll allow it. I think I’m allowed some cynicism at this stage. This sit down forced on me has been violently enlightening. I have zero choice but to accept who I am or go insane. Or address what I can with the wisdom I have to admit to having. Oof, sometimes responsibility is a jerk.
I came across a Tik Tok of a woman making fun of herself over the fact she still needs to talk about her cancer journey, though it has passed. “If I don’t talk about it, I suffered for nothing.” Instant poke to my chest. Relevance is something we really need. Whether its fed externally or internally, we need to feel relevant. If we can’t reconcile with bullshit internally, we naturally seek it out! At the risk of giving far too much credence to this newfound cynicism, sometimes shit just happens and it sucks.
At the end of the day, I have cancer and I’ll be dealing with this is some form or fashion for the remainder of my life. Whether it’s testing, treating, or cutting, I will need to worry about a shoe dropping for this, until I die. I have long since come to this understanding. Still working on the acceptance, but I’m getting there. In the meantime, I am finding more solace in discovering my home aesthetic and feel. In the meantime, I’m going to have this shitty thing happen while I color with pretty markers. I’m going to turn this accident into something that makes me happy with how I handle crisis. I didn’t choose to have cancer. But I can certainly choose how it effects who I am.
