One year today

"Close your eyes, fall in love, stay there" - Rumi

September 17, 2019

Exactly one year ago I heard the words "you have cancer", and my world was changed forever. I had a life, a home, a direction, all of which in that moment ceased to be options for me. The old roadmap was obliterated, and I needed to shift gears fast! Somehow, with a lot of help and support I did it, and today, I am cancer-free, reunited with my children, and re-creating a whole new life. Happy ending to that story, right?

Except... this is not the end, just like receiving that diagnosis was not the end. This is just the beginning, and I have to admit it is so very scary. Strange though it may seem to many, this whole journey with cancer has had for me many parallels with my experience of pregnancy, childbirth, and now I see even parenting. I shared in another post about my name that this process was somehow about birthing a new me. Now I feel a bit like I'm in that post-partum stage where you are supposed to be so happy and excited with your baby, and everybody is congratulating you, and really all you feel is overwhelmed and exhausted, and somehow, sometimes, very alone.

As I look at the new life I am creating for myself I realize how very little I know about where I'm headed. The notion of long-term planning, which my father in particular has tried to instill in me from a young age, seems to have become ever more elusive, and I find that the only possible way right now is one day at a time. For a moment (OK, a few weeks), I allowed the exhaustion and overwhelm to take over, to the point that I stopped the practices that keep me grounded and connected, to myself, and to love. Those same practices (breathing and meditation mainly), that kept me going through the darkest moments of my cancer journey, somehow for a while stopped being priority. And I began to feel that maybe I was even getting depressed (a place I know well, and that I visited on and off for twenty years).

Thankfully, with a little help from my friends, I pulled out of a steep downwards dive just before hitting the ground. Just yesterday I had the good fortune of two conversations that did exactly what I needed: 1- a woman friend who in two hours, made me laugh, shared her deepest concerns, held all of my worries, and brought me back to basics. 2- a man friend who called me out on some very dangerous beliefs about life, including "life is supposed to be fun", and spoke to me in the language of my heart, so that after twenty minutes I felt 100 kg lighter and so filled that I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

"Life is not supposed to be anything", my friend so kindly and clearly reminded me. As I allow these words to sink in, a strong pressure is released from my shoulders... the pressure of being a perfect parent, to my children, and to myself, the pressure of having to feel happy, and the pressure of knowing.

Sitting with the unknown, fully embracing it and relaxing into it, is perhaps one of the greatest challenges for many people - it requires accepting that we are not in control. When faced with this unknown around a cancer diagnosis, the stakes felt outrageously high. The crazy thing is that, now on the other side of this diagnosis, it seems even more difficult to release into the unknown, experiencing a sense of urgency to get everything "right", or else... the big black wolf will come and get me. So, OK, that is what is happening now. I am scared. It's not surprising, I've been through a lot. When the pre-conceived notions of what is supposed to be happening are released, there appears room for whatever is. Lovingly holding each and every one of our emotions, without judgement is perhaps the biggest gift we can give to ourselves. In the same way that you hold a crying baby, cuddling, murmuring, singing, swaying, until she is comforted; I can hold space for myself, and let anything and everything be. That is self-love.

And also... with the fear, with the exhaustion, with the digesting of a strong and complex year...on this day, I celebrate that I am alive, that I am able to feel a whole range of emotions, and I say THANK YOU to all who walked with me, holding my hand literally and from a distance. I could not have navigated these stormy waters without you. I am moved beyond what words can express. I love you.