Part Three: I Can Do Hard Things

My strength comes from necessity. At every point I have chosen the combative path instead of relenting. This hasn’t always resulted in optimal outcomes, but I believe I have learned each bout. As long as I can remember, I have been somewhat tenacious. That’s not a brag. I have a load of experience in how this has actively worked against progress. But even when you exercise wrong, you still build muscle.

I’m not sure which stage of treatment I was in where I recognized out loud that I was doing the damn thing. I was able to immediately recognize the dissociation I was actively engaged in. It felt like I was watching myself cope through all of this. As those layers of understanding became more refined, I recognized the dance I was having with reason and emotion. I was performing for my final evaluation.

As plans to support going forward with surgery and subsequent treatment came together so smoothly, I was nervous. I got scared that something very bad was going to happen because of how easy things were going. Stepping a few steps back, I was able to have the perspective to recognize I was doing what I have learned to do. It was coming together with ease because I was prepared to handle it.

I’ve spent so many years faking it until I make it, I lost sight of recognizing it when I got to the making part. It’s not until now that I see it. Feeling any sense of security was scary. Shit, any sense of security still terrifies me. I am skeptical of any rationality I can conclude in my own head. Making as many decisions as I just did without a partner has really validated my independence. My daughter was my perfect voice of reason and listened whenever I needed it. As overwhelming as it all was, it all made sense.

This is another instance of not taking away any shine from past moments of clarity. I keep seeing the upgrades in how I see things. Finally, believing my own bullshit that I can handle hard things feels incredibly mature. This is the most organized my chaos has ever been. The bigger picture of self-awareness has really healed the peace breast cancer held hostage. It’s my deepest hope that I continue to embrace all these changes.

When my emotions unloaded their essays of sentiment after my last surgery, I sat for hours dumbstruck by reality. I was nervous I wasn’t going to recover quickly from this surgery because I was now post-chemotherapy. When I was up and moving within two days, I felt the relief of capability. I was doing it and it wasn’t beating me. This sucks, but I don’t feel ganged up on anymore.

Knowing what I have coming by way of treatment is going to leave these evolutionary shifts open-ended. Because of the way these past 10 months have progressed and the village I have, there will be hard days I know I’ll be able to endure. There are more very hard things coming. The only way to get more out of my life is to live it. I’m not done growing from this diagnosis. I’m grateful for the confidence (false or authentic) to feel capable. As I continue to protect my perspectives and use these newly enhanced coping skills, I am hoping to further improve my inner peace.

Please note: what I write comes from hours of reflection and thought. I meditate and journal my way through these experiences. What I present to you is a summary of sometimes very painful education. I would hate for anyone to read these things and interpret them in a way that demeans your own experience and processes. I hope you’re able to find relatability in a way that helps. Airing out my processes is part of how I cope. I’m very much a walking disaster!

Part Two: Understanding Acceptance (Emma’s Version)

Themes rang like bells throughout the year. Being an intimate partner with Grief, acceptance is no stranger. Each time I have come to terms with loss, I learn a deeper meaning. I have absolutely experienced grieving my identity. This time I had no one I could redirect blame. This time it felt very different. It continues to amaze me how this universe insists on specific lessons. In addition to feeling wildly inconvenienced by cancer, I immediately began wondering what the purpose of this was. At this stage of my journey, I believe acceptance is the center.

From day one, the speed at which I accepted the new nuances of being a cancer patient determined how quickly I was able to find any fragments of peace. This approach isn’t totally different than what I would usually do in crisis. What was different this time was each layer of acceptance was embracing my total deconstruction. I have spent a tremendous amount of time in the warmth of depression disguised as defeat. Every doctor’s visit introduced new elements of truth beyond my control to change.

As anger held control for a bit, I numbly signed paperwork. The tangible evidence of reality stared me in the face. The severity thickening as I drove away from my boys. The weakness in my stability to play with my granddaughters. The unpredictability of reliance frustrated me as my daughter and son-in-law prepared for big changes of their own. My passive dependence on my daughter. Her presence was instrumental in showing me the way to accepting things healthily. Seeing the evolution of our relationship allowed me to understand the big picture. I got knocked down from my tower quickly.

I have accepted the truth in the way self-control has fed my self-awareness. In no way does this equate to mastery. But it feels really interesting to understand the reasons why I’m this way. It’s interesting in the way that I don’t feel my previous feelings of confidence have become invalid. I have learned to accept that some of the coping skills I use are rooted in trauma. This doesn’t make them any less powerful. Understanding where they come from makes me feel a finer visual on why I am triggered. I feel like understanding why I do things makes it easier for me to recognize how to remove triggers more effectively. If not permanently.

I understand the role I play in my own growth. I am learning that simply surviving a crisis doesn’t equate to growth. Everything hard I have gone through before this, pales in comparison to the difficulty level. Accepting the root cause of Emma has opened new neural pathways. This helps me identify areas I can improve with more structure instead of anxiety inducing criticality. There hasn’t been a single day that I haven’t felt compelled to write something in my journal. I’m taking note of constant discovery.

There are months yet for me to live through before I will feel like I have fully accepted my new body.  Just because my brain has found the way to get through this doesn’t mean it’s going to be a cake walk. This is absolutely kicking my face inside out. The way accepting the reality of a bilateral mastectomy meant embracing body dysmorphia. The sooner I accepted chemotherapy was happening, the sooner I was able to accept my bald head. I get to choose how long I want to stay angry, sad, or anything non-progressive. It’s up to me when I want to see what it feels like when I’ve accepted it. This is a daily effort right now.

Accepting the entirety of what cancer has taken from me is a lesson in patience. The details of this are revealed in very weird ways. The usual ways to be physically validated have been removed from the list of acceptable forms. I am having a very real struggle with feeling pretty. This is just one feature of my insecurity. It’s going to take time. Being insecure isn’t new. I’ve spent years hating something about myself. My ego is extremely weak these days.

I need to accept the new version of my role as a mother. This will only take time, too. This cancer took the air out of a balloon I spent years inflating. The carelessness in my complacency left me in a state of shock over the absence of my children far more piercing than the cancer diagnosis. I am still learning how to be a long-distance parent. There will be mistakes learning this one. There is comfort in how things have gone so far. It’s not perfect, but it’s working.

If you would have told my younger self that I would battle cancer as a single mother, I would have wondered what I did in my life! At the start, that sentiment was absolutely going through my mind. There was a lot of crying in loneliness. The support and love I receive through calls, texts, cards, gifts, visits, etc. is a lifeline. As I advanced through treatment, it was the exactly perfect amount I needed. The acceptance of needing to be alone has been a really beautiful experience. Having the openness in my heart during this year has made so many things manageable. I am now able to recognize the need my spirit had for the quiet time. I was provided with the perfect amount of support in all its forms.

I would have preferred getting to this kind of understanding didn’t require such upheaval, but I’ve reached a point of accepting the truth in obtaining wisdom requires breakdowns of versions. I feel like my operating system has just gotten a giant upgrade with new levels and features. It’s up to me with how quickly I move through these coming phases.

Part One: Perspective

At this stage in life, I am much faster at getting over the ‘why me’ phase of a crisis. With the cancer diagnosis, my guttural laughter and maniacal voice screaming, “Of course I have cancer,” drowned most of the would-be pity party. My brain so quickly went into business mode. Years of experience stepped up and took lead. I didn’t have time for cancer. I had even less time for sadness. I left novels worth of emotions wanting for months. It doesn’t seem like a long span of time, but for two months I was intensely involved in each second of my world. The vice grip of that many major muscle movements in my life compressing my soul is still slowly loosening. When I finally was able to exhale after ten months of pressure and changes, the first things I noticed was how much my view of my world was altered.

One by one, I watched my coping mechanisms dwindle into obscurity. They were pulled away from my hands as I screamed like a toddler. Within a few weeks of diagnosis, I discovered that my usual tools used to survive catastrophe were no longer effective or I couldn’t do it because of the cancer or therapy. This forced me into an awakening I wasn’t prepared for. Honestly, I have been somewhat arrogant in thinking I have things enough figured out that I can handle anything. My arrogance hadn’t considered removal of these skills I’ve spent years cultivating. Here I was in a battle with Goliath armed only with my substance.

I felt blind for months. Honestly, the vision is blurry even today. Since everything I was comfortable in was removed, I have had to look at everything differently. I felt stripped. Metaphorically and physically. The haze came in the second I felt a surgeon’s marker on my skin. My body was no longer mine. My soul hovered over my body and watched in disbelief. When my body was done being mauled, my soul rejoined. No longer disconnected, but now everything is strange. Familiar like distant cousins.

I’ve written about the curiosity I have with getting to know the version of myself after cancer treatment. Living in those exact moments as I write this, feels a way I could not have even come close to have predicted. The discovery of who I really am, has been fascinating, exhausting, thorough, and dense with humility. One of the first new perspectives I have gained is experience in being both caretaker and patient. I want to hold my younger self tightly. I feel more connected to the memories I have with my father. They’ve evolved.

One of my favorite coping mechanisms is my instant ability to make the best of a situation. The gift of trauma. Flipping into business mode saves my emotional sanity. This is the root of my independence. The beating, breathing core of how I maneuver.  When those elements became harder and harder to manufacture, the depression came creeping out like a wolf to sleeping sheep. Vulnerability invaded like a vicious wave. Fight or flight kicked in and I reclused. I didn’t want to be a burden on anyone. I pushed through emotional torment alone and terrified.

The aftermath of such positing has revealed consequence by introducing me to a new version of me. It didn’t kill me. It has been hard to evaluate so much information about myself. With so much time in bed with my thoughts I didn’t have much of a choice. These days the norms I used to enjoy don’t quite scratch the itch anymore.

There were many surprises when it comes to how I found comfort. My bed was my cozy spot. The cuddle space with my kiddos. Crawling into the fluffy bedding has been where I got to feel best at the end of a long day. That space has been corrupted now. It slowly became a confinement and lost its luster. Many times, I found myself wandering around my house just looking for something to replace that feeling. How do you explain that to someone?  I was constantly worried that I was complaining too much. This just heightened my independence to figure out new ways to self soothe. Even if it meant weeks suffering.

I felt like I was fumbling through the entire process. Everything felt so disjointed and awkward. Typical of me to seek the center of attention, these were not conditions I felt comfortable having eyes on me. Not knowing what to do is awful by itself, let alone doing it with an audience. My boys were used to seeing me have all the answers and plans. Being unable to sustain that expectation, I hid. At the peak of this frustration, the boys were with me, so I created places to hide. There were many days I felt toxic to be around.

The boys displayed so much grace when I was disappointing in delivering activities that required more than I could muster. I beat the hell out of myself when I couldn’t do so much as go for a walk with them. Coping through crisis by going on little adventures with the boys wasn’t an option. We had to find new ways to enjoy time together cooped up. We had struggle moments, but we survived. Idle time introduced me to better communication with my kids. Cancer put a different perspective on my relationship with them. They see me more than I realized they did. I also see them with so much more intention in removing my biases. I feel like I see them better than I ever have.

I wonder now how much of this is relatable with my father. I imagine he did have similar internal battles going on that he felt much better isolating in and not sharing in them. I hope he saw me doing my best and didn’t fault my ignorance. This is all in my own head, but being so like him, I can’t help but feel that he did mental gymnastics just like me. Going from the one who took care of everything to near total dependence had to of taken a severe toll on him. While his cancer story is completely different than mine, I’m certain we would exchange a great deal of solidarity.

Things are simpler now. Simple in understanding, not simple in nature. Putting the world back into focus is taking me some time, but this is an exercise in patience not acceptance. I see the world with far less scrutiny. My opinions have altered so substantially that I can’t really be bothered with mundane. Small talk doesn’t interest me in the slightest. It feels interesting to find patterns in behavior. I see them quicker. This has made me somewhat petulant. I’m working on that.

I have found fascination in the relationship I’ve gained in survivorship. This one I’m only just now getting acquainted. If I’ve learned anything about myself this year, it’s my need to settle into acceptance as efficiently as possible. I feel empowered to be able to say I beat cancer. It’s mixed intricately with humility in ways I’m discovering daily. In the pursuit of being understood, survivorship puts me in a very specific box. It’s made introduction back into social settings a challenge.

Now I’m the girl at the party with cancer. Cancer is becoming a part of my identity. I’m figuring out how to have a healthy relationship with this reality. It’s going to take time for this to be part of my story instead of The Story. The teeter totter of living with a cancer diagnosis is a tether right now. I’m learning to accept this reality and thread it through my life instead. This is way easier said than done. People are lovely and I have been met with nothing but generosity and love. Without them, I would be telling a very different story right now. Finding comfort in being understood has become trickier than ever before.

Perception is reality. Never have these words been truer. My coping skill of finding the best in things got a major level up. It was deconstructed and instead of letting the emotions replace reality with delusion, I have found a new control in shaping what I permit to influence my view. My emotions and logic have found harmony. My coping skills are returning to me all grown up. The journey continues to be extremely independent and therefore making it a challenge to be supported. I don’t know what I need. I’m working through this new view on life and translating what I once knew into what is real now. I haven’t lost who I was before cancer. I am however, not the same.

“You never know what a person is going through, regardless of how much money they make or however great a life you think they're living.” – Terrell Owens