In 2023, I stepped away from life. I shut down the anxiety and despair. I avoided unnecessary humans and only focused on my sanity.
Why?
Because my safe existence evaporated. Everything that could go wrong happened. They say bad things happen in threes. I lost count of the “bad things” and feeling overwhelmed, I stayed down for a year instead of climbing to my feet. And I’m okay with that. Sometimes we should stay down, lying quietly while questioning our purpose and figuring out who we want to be. There is no shame in falling to your knees and hugging yourself for a moment. My moment lasted twelve months.
Christmas of 2022, I visited my parents, who I hadn’t seen in eight years. I flew across the globe, excited to be home and have a break (I hadn’t had a vacation in a decade). The last five years was filled with harships and I just wanted a hug from mom and dad. The first night in Johannesburg, my dad had a heart attack. I sat with him in ICU for two weeks and sadly had to leave my ill father and return to the States. My heart broke, but my manager wanted me back.
Except he didn’t… I was laid off a week later due to “the economy,” along with five sweet colleagues.
That was a blow, and I immediately rushed to apply for a new job. Being recently divorced as an immigrant, I needed work immediately. With no family or friends in the States, I couldn’t lose my apartment with no place to go. Feeling depressed, I berated myself. I should be with my frail parents — not living in Utah while struggling alone.
It’s funny how when you think it cannot get worse, life says… “watch this, b*tch.”
It started with an itchy underarm. I thought it was my deodorant. Then some discomfort in my left breast. I googled. Not breast cancer because that doesn’t have pain. Then I saw a TikTok of a woman who had pain and all my symptoms including sweats and itchiness. And she had the Big C. That instinctual part of you that whispers warnings at two am had me calling my doctor.
Two days later, I had a mammogram and the cancer diagnosis came soon after.
What do you do in America without finances and resources while fighting active cancer? You cry and then laugh and then step off of the hamster wheel for a while.
I found part time work. I got on medicaid and limped through 2023. My entire focus turned to survival. Everything else came last. I stopped writing. I stopped caring about what anyone thought. My career goals fell away. My existence centered on surgeries, hospitals, and treatments. I also found a therapist and for the first time in my life, I no longer felt too proud to address mental health. Free appointments — please sign me up!
In therapy, I cried and blabbed about my past marriage, my divorce, my cancer, my unemployment… and then I started feeling hopeful.
I picked up a paintbrush for the first time in years and I threw my pain onto the canvas. Is my art great? Not sure and I don’t care. For the first time in my life, I have a purpose. I want to spread awareness about breast cancer.
Society tells us to be consistent “warriors”. Podcasts preach about working yourself into burn out — the “Get Back on the Horse” scare mongering tactics that benefit growing economies. If you fail, you may end up living under a bridge. And if you’re not giving “your all” to work — to someone else’s company — then what is your value?
Many of my friends fighting breast cancer, are expected to keep up wifely and motherly duties. “You’ve just had chemotherapy? I’m sorry, but what’s for dinner?” Patriarchal family units don’t like change. Men are six times more likely to leave their wives after a cancer diagnosis. They expect productive partners who should never tire or get sick. There are some good husbands who care for their spouses, but it’s still a lonely journey for most women.
For a year, I never got up from where I had fallen. And I’m still here. I survived. I’ve developed more emotional resilience and a burning clarity of where I want to spend the rest of my days. And it’s not in my current location or community. Burnout is everywhere these days. Physically and mentally we ache for rest, yet we soldier on as if that’s a bragging right. Many Americans have a shell-shocked look in their eyes, resulting from years of unrelenting labor with little rest.
What has cancer taught me?
- Not to care what others think. I’ll do what I want to make myself happy.
2. Life is unpredictable. Don’t put off your dreams. Set goals and find your passion.
3. Living so close to death taught me about life and forever changed my soul. I’ve also developed more empathy for those with illness and disability.
4. Never sweat the small stuff. It is ridiculously insignificant. And if you’re in a situation where you walk on eggshells, with a partner who sweats the small stuff, find your peace and freedom. Because I’m convinced that living under extreme stress for years has contributed to my cancer.
As I’m heading into 2024, I’ve slowly rolled to my feet. Will I be back to my pre-cancer, perfect self?
Hell no. I like the brave, scarred person I am today. I fought cancer alone — I feel fragile yet hopeful.
Here’s a photo of my “Cancer Phoenix” which is still not finished due to additional surgery. I’ll be adding cancer ribbons that will flutter in the wind, symbolizing the resilience of my fellow pink sisters on their respective journeys.
