As we close another chapter and leave summer behind, I’m reminded of how far we’ve come this year and the mountains that have been climbed.
Most days, I live in gratitude and humility for the lessons cancer has given me. But I am still learning to manage the fear and worry that creeps in.
Two nights ago, I dreamt the tumor had returned, and I woke up with a heaviness in my gut. I couldn’t regulate or focus, and for the first time in a while, I struggled to function.
I thrive in a high-vibe frequency, but I also get pulled into a lower one—one that feels familiar and fills my mind with doubt and fear.
The real work begins when I’m in that dark place. Do I stay and sit with the darkness, or do I pull the light into my life?
I haven’t mastered the full integration of all these pieces of myself, but I’m determined to get to know and shine love on the deepest, darkest parts.
It’s midday on a Sunday, and as I lie in bed with Bert by my side, I see what love really looks like. Simple, pure, and constant. He’s been glued to me since I started feeling off on Thursday, his nuzzle against my chest reminding me that love doesn't ask for anything in return—it just is.
The shift from feeling good to feeling drained happens fast. My body is sensitive, my mind when in this place on edge, and when I hit empty, it feels like I’ve crashed. I’m still learning how to be okay with that, how to accept rest without guilt.
Yesterday, I needed to rest. But rest means admitting to others I’m not okay, and that doesn't always go well. Framed as laziness—again. It’s a recurring jab that hits hard. sometimes it feels like I’m on the clock, like I have to earn my right to stop. This inner battler battle craves connection and craves control. The tension is constant.
Cancer makes life messy. My body asks for care, for understanding, for time. But I let myself down too often, handing over my power every time I say yes when I should be saying no. It’s a pattern I’ve lived with for years—being unseen, unheard, undervalued. That old wound runs deep, back to when I wasn’t believed or held as a kid I suppose.
I read something today: “If you give a person too much too soon, they’ll fall in love with your hand, not your heart.” That hit hard. I’ve been begging for my heart to be seen, but too scared to show it. Too scared to believe it’s even worth seeing.
Being called lazy hurts because part of me believes it. My sense of self is fragile, easily shaped by others. When someone tells you you’re lazy, it’s hard not to believe them, hard not to question if maybe you don’t deserve the care you need whilst simultaneously remembering you have cancer.
But I can feel this chapter closing. The days of self-doubt are numbered. The tension inside me is shifting, and something new is coming. I’m ready for it.
For now, I’m here in bed, saying goodbye to summer and perhaps for today that is enough.