Our daily routine is affecting us more than we know it. Small actions that we have on repeat impact the quality of our lives. There is something of a ‘make you-break you’ kind of thing. Have you heard about the boiling frog apologue? It is this amazing metaphor to the inability or unwillingness of people to react to or be aware of threats that arise gradually rather than suddenly.
The process of creeping normality explains why we accept high impact actions with harmful effect to happen when they are taking place gradually, little by little, often without us even noticing them. Add the social media noise and the post truth current to it and you find yourself in a boiling pan, smiling confident towards the future. This makes me wonder if we are really equipped to see the bigger picture?
I am not planning to go into the macro context of our present lives, as I find myself in this microenvironment where the same principles of creeping normality apply. You know, lighting that cigarette even though you’ve recently had a heart attack, ordering that glass of red wine despite having watched Huberman’s podcast on alcohol, or consuming gluten when diagnosed with an autoimmune disease. The list is endless. Is it a lack of self-preservation that leads to these types of decisions? Then why are some individuals more inclined toward self-preservation than others?
Our brain is equipped to keep us safe, a fact I’ve experienced first-hand and observed in free diving training.
When you free dive being aware of your body’s signals is crucial. Missing these signals leads to CO2 intoxication and a state of unconsciousness. Training partners can rescue you in such cases. If you dive with a friend, which is the recommended way to do it and this happens, that person will cover your nose and mouth and get you out of the water safely.
During pool training, you can observe how the conscious mind might urge the diver to continue, while the subconscious sends signals using the body to surface. This battle between mind and body is visible as the body of the diver slowly floats out from the bottom of the pool to the surface. The diver will never be aware of this signal if they are disconnected from their body. It’s a poignant metaphor: some listen to their bodies, others to their minds, but felt very simplistic, so I wanted to understand it better.
This led me to reflect on my own experience. A year ago, four days after my 39th birthday, I was diagnosed with stage II thyroid cancer, with metastasis. I had been monitoring a lump on my thyroid, but at that time, there seemed to be nothing to worry about. My last check-up, eight months prior to the diagnosis, had shown everything to be okay.
‘I think I am going to die this year!’
It was a Sunday evening, and I was having a birthday dinner with my family. During the dinner, something happened that I couldn’t explain to myself until I witnessed the free diving pool accidents.
I was talking to my brother about general things, nothing specific. I think I was telling him how much I loved the food. We were dining at a beautiful, intimate little bistro in the heart of Bucharest, and I was feeling very happy. Suddenly, I heard myself say to him, in a trembling voice, ‘I think I am going to die this year.’ As soon as the words left my mouth, I was overcome with immense fear. Firstly, I had no idea why I had said that. Secondly, my brother looked at me in shock, asking, ‘Why are you saying this? Where is this coming from?’ I didn’t know, but I sensed something was wrong.
The only thing I could think of was the lump on my thyroid and how I had postponed my bi-annual check-up by two months at that time, and I was planning to postpone it by another two. To summarize, my decision before my birthday was to have it checked in April. The dinner was on February 19th. On February 24th, the surgeon, after reviewing my scan, decided we needed to operate as soon as possible. My surgery was on March 23rd.
During February, my body was sending me all sorts of signals that something was wrong. I underwent all the blood tests related to those specific symptoms. I experienced a severe rash, which I initially thought was some kind of allergy. In reality, my immune system was in distress, attacking my thyroid, which led to the rash every time I consumed gluten — a connection I was unaware of at the time. The only pieces of information I had were: I had a rash, and the blood tests indicated it was not an allergy. I still believed it was an allergic reaction because the symptoms subsided whenever I took Aerius. This belief persisted until that evening, on my birthday. Another point worth mentioning is that the doctors I consulted for my ‘allergy’ failed to connect the dots properly. Looking back, with a bit more understanding of how certain test results were related to the cancer, the logical step would have been to check my thyroid
The way my body signaled a need to surface was through a rash and that voice. I am forever grateful for it, as that voice led me to ask my radiologist if I could schedule my overdue, not so bi-annual, eight months within the year check-up. Needless to say, I feel lucky and grateful for this subconscious cry for help.
What made me hear that voice? I’ve pondered this question many times, and each time, I arrive to the same simple answer: my love for life. Hearing myself say, ‘I think I am going to die this year’, triggered a state of self-preservation and alertness in me. That Sunday night, I decided to quit alcohol, and by Monday morning, I was calling my doctor for an appointment. I had no idea what the following days and months would bring.
‘Why me?’
During this period, I never found myself asking ‘Why me?’ While I was certainly analysing the factors that lead to my condition, it was clear to me that my lifestyle choices played a huge role. I had been aware of the lump for some time, and I was diagnosed with Hashimoto’s autoimmune disease. Even so, I continued to consume gluten and lactose products - despite my lactose intolerance. I found every excuse in the book: Italy isn’t Italy without pizza and pasta, and France loses its essence without the cheeses, croissants, and baguettes. And the wine — how could one dine in Montepulciano without a glass of Brunello, or visit the Champagne region without indulging? There was always a reason to enjoy alcohol, gluten, cheese, or even large amounts of sugar, as in a tempting tiramisu.
Unknowingly, I was slowly boiling myself, little by little, harming the very thing I cherish most: life itself.
Anxiety is a symptom, not a cause.
The body is a mechanism not built to function with alcohol, cigarettes, and refined carbs. There’s a direct connection between these substances and stress, and vice versa. They can cause significant stress to the body. Yet, when we’re stressed due to external factors, these substances often become our go-to solutions to alleviate anxiety and stress. They’re normalized ‘predators,’ part of the creeping normality process. Consider the belief that one glass of wine benefits your heart — it doesn’t actually. Or take the anecdotal stories about an uncle who lived to be 90 while smoking three packs of cigarettes per day — perhaps this uncle had an extraordinary immune system that could have allowed him to live even longer. His choice led to a lifespan of 90 years, possibly in poor health, but no one discusses the quality of life in such anecdotes. How can we address these specific aspects like quality of life, background, etc., when people cling to anecdotal evidence?
We tell ourselves these stories because we believe it’s easier to control anxiety with alcohol and cigarettes than with therapy, exercise, and diet. In reality, anxiety often worsens when you drink and smoke. This is why you might find yourself drinking more than just that proverbial one glass or smoking three packs a day. Anxiety is a symptom, not a cause. If you’re only addressing the symptom and not the underlying cause, managing it becomes increasingly difficult over time. I understand that it might seem easier to take a puff from a cigar than to learn breathing techniques or practice yoga or meditation. It’s simpler, yes, but not healthier or safer.
Even though I was regularly attending therapy and exercising, I was still missing the bigger picture. I wouldn’t call my disease a wake-up call, as that wouldn’t be entirely accurate. I was in the midst of a process and just postponing taking action. I knew what I needed to do, yet tomorrow was always there, waiting for me. However, being diagnosed with cancer during my journey of self-discovery turned out to be significantly helpful. I moved through the five stages of grief relatively quickly, enabling me to make the right decisions for my health. This experience also allowed me to embrace vulnerability, something I had never done before. I found myself crying in my husband’s arms for days, a stark contrast to always being the strong, composed one. For me, this was a significant change.
We push our limits as often for the wrong reasons as we do for the right ones.
I will never forget how everything went silent around me during that time and it was in this silence that I managed to see the bigger picture. Perhaps meditation would have been an easier path than cancer to quiet everything, but then again, we are here to learn and take advantage of every opportunity that we get to become a better version of ourselves. I had been disconnected from my body for a long time and this disconnection was one of the why’s of my illness. I had treated my body as if it was separate from me.
We push our limits as often for the wrong reasons as we do for the right ones. Maintaining a strong connection with our bodies can help us realize whether we are pushing ourselves to the brink or simply evolving into better versions of ourselves.
I re-lived this experience of silence and deep connection with my body while free diving. With one breath, you plunge into the immense blue ocean, relying on your ability to quiet your mind. If you fail to do so, any fleeting thought can jeopardize your descent. Moreover, diving is a sport grounded in honesty. If you deceive yourself about who you are, you’ll likely struggle to embrace the lessons the ocean offers with each dive. The ocean stripped away my sense of entitlement, and for that, I am profoundly grateful.
Descending into its depths, I confronted my deepest fears, and silencing them empowered me to trust myself more than ever.
I call cancer the creeping normality and I never forget it.
I call free diving the depth of presence and I chose to practice it.
I call life the will to live and I nurture it everyday.
Awareness, in its many forms, is a life savior. If something feels off, listen. If all seems well, still listen. Our lives, changing daily, demand nothing less than our full attention.
Nurture life!
