Every year on the anniversary of my cancer diagnosis I put pen to paper and blinking cursor to text.
Except this year.
Today is a week since that date on the calendar: April 27th.
A week since the 4th time that date has caused me pause.
Did I not realize the date? Did I not want to acknowledge four years? Was I too busy to give space to capturing my thoughts?
*Pulls the curtain back for a full, unfiltered glimpse of what April 27, 2025 looked like*
The minute I woke up I felt the dam ready to break, and before I knew it I was full blown sobbing so hard I was trying to catch my breath in the shower. I sat myself down, water pouring onto me, hand on my chest and heart whispering, “You’re ok. It’s ok.” over and over to myself.
Here’s the thing friends, the body really does keep score. I haven’t wept like that since the day after my diagnosis (and that’s saying A LOT because heaven knows there’s been plenty to weep over). These last few months I’ve shouldered the weight of so much heavy and hard, and April 27th was when my knees — both literally and figuratively — finally gave out.
But you know what? Even on the cold floor of my shower I knew without hesitation that I was in fact ok. I didn’t question that fact for even a single moment. Year one post diagnosis I probably would have stifled the emotions or felt concerned about my state on the shower floor. On this side of the last few years I’ve learned a really important lesson: you have to let yourself feel it all. Every.single.emotion. It’s how you heal and re-find solid ground.
By noon on the 27th I was out for a long walk and found myself at the local flower shop buying everything I needed to plant my annual back porch pots. The good and bad, happy and sad…it can all co-exist, but I think the key is giving space to it all without shame of doing so.
These words are not to cause alarm (seriously, I truly am ok!), instead this is me continuing on my promise from four years ago to share the raw and real along with the blessings and beauty that come with a diagnosis and the lasting impact it creates.
Last year on my 3-year diagnosis anniversary I stated this, “I’m learning to love and appreciate my story, even when it was once a source of so much pain. Growth is beautiful.” I still deeply, wholeheartedly feel that (even if this year has felt way heavier on the pain piece).
Sticking with tradition, here’s some lessons I’ve learned since I reflected on my diagnosis last year:
- Grief rewrites us into someone we don’t always recognize.
- We endure the challenges put in front of us, and then we have to learn how to translate the impact (seemingly impossible more often than not).
- Despite my best efforts I often still find myself frustrated (and even angry sometimes) that people still do not understand so much of this journey while wholeheartedly acknowledging I cannot expect them to.
- It’s ok to let people know you are still here, just not able to be as present in certain seasons of life.
- Cancer and loss and grief are really, really hard. It’s uncomfortable, and not everyone should have the privilege of stepping into it with you (some simply cannot handle it). If someone is uncomfortable with your situation and your pure, raw self, let them be uncomfortable. Do not feel like you have to lessen yourself and all you bring in any given season for the comfort of others.
- Take care of yourself first and foremost. It really is true that you cannot pour into others if your own cup is empty and on the verge of shattering.
- Therapy is a Godsend. Highly recommend. As I tell my therapist often, “I really am ok, but I am here because I want to do the work of continuing to be ok.”
- Tragedy doesn’t ruin up, hopelessness does.
While I continue to be increasingly more and more grateful every single day I wake up with breath in my lungs, I can also say I equally find myself yearning for the beauty awaiting me in heaven.
But here I am. Still breathing. Still chasing after life. Still fighting. Still hopeful.
Praying fiercely for the 5-year mark I see ahead on the horizon (though hesitant to let myself get too excited about the milestone)! It’s a big (big!) one for those who have gone through a cancer journey.
Until then…
🙂
The Detour Chapter 