Buy the Shoes

Taking a look (not that far back 😉) through the archives.

This was the best way I knew how to celebrate my birthday after a cancer diagnosis ushered me directly into a global pandemic.

I called Dave Bigler at Saratoga Portrait Studio and Alayne Curtiss at Make Me Fabulous took the day off, and let myself forget how rapidly my world and the world around me had come unhinged.

Sometimes we need that.

It’s not denial - it’s a healthy defiance. Celebrate big. Every chance you get.

And for the love God, just buy the shoes! ❤️👠

All I Had

I was not expecting the calm that eventually rolled in like a fog this October. ⁣
⁣
I felt muddy. Trapped. I struggled to pray, to rally, to put up a fight. ⁣
⁣
And I think that’s a mistake we all make sometimes - thinking we need to do more. ⁣
⁣
Thinking we can manifest a victory in our own strength. Thinking God is ignorant or indifferent to our plight. ⁣
⁣
Thinking it depends on us.⁣
⁣
Instead, I called to mind something I felt God put on my heart the first time around. I meditated on it for a bit, and left everything else with Him.⁣
⁣
If you’re wrestling with something you can’t see your way out of, might I suggest you stop for a moment?⁣
⁣
You weren’t meant to shoulder it. ⁣
You can’t overcome it on your own. ⁣
And there is rest to be found in letting go.⁣
⁣
Three weeks of waiting; a simple petition for help. It was all I had in me. And it was enough. ⁣
⁣
Because He is enough. ⁣
He was already on the way. ⁣
⁣
And I felt it the strongest when I gave up the fight.⁣
⁣
Matthew 12:21 - The mere sound of his name will signal hope.
⁣⁣

October

October didn’t go as expected, but not much of this journey has.⁣⁣
⁣⁣
As a survivor, you’re always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Wondering if that dormant volcano will awaken and erupt once again.⁣⁣
⁣⁣
So when the nurse walked back into the room after my scans, shut the door and sat down, I didn’t need her to say that something looked suspicious and they wanted to biopsy as soon as possible.⁣⁣
⁣⁣
I’ve been down this road before.⁣⁣
⁣⁣
And as much as you train your mind not to wander off; as much as you settle it on victory, the body keeps the score. ⁣⁣
⁣⁣
In those first moments, it doesn’t care about breathing or waiting to see. Trauma cements a path through the brain.⁣
⁣
The mere sound of the word ‘suspicious’ signaled a threat to survival.⁣⁣
⁣⁣
But I am more than the limbo I lived these last three weeks.⁣⁣
⁣⁣
I am the sum of my resolve to show up for every test, march on through the wait, and advocate for myself and others with room to spare.⁣⁣
⁣⁣
I wrestle with the unknown until hope rises. I fall apart and carry on. I celebrate the wins, big and small, wherever I can get them.⁣⁣
⁣⁣
It’s not just what a survivor does. It’s who a survivor is.⁣⁣
⁣⁣
To that sweet soul of a nurse who sat next to me and rubbed my back without uttering a word while I sobbed, and then rearranged her schedule to squeeze the biopsy in on her shift - thank you.⁣⁣
⁣⁣
Your kindness in that moment was such a precious gift to me this Breast Cancer Awareness Month. ⁣⁣
⁣⁣
This fourth anniversary of mine.⁣⁣
⁣⁣
That and finally hearing my two favorite words in the English language:

All clear.⁣⁣

Sometimes I Miss Her

Sometimes I think about her. The girl I used to be. ⁣

The girl who never felt burned out.⁣

Who was energized by a full calendar, not reduced by it. ⁣

Who never saw the inside of a doctor’s office or knew a single statistic by heart.⁣

The girl who didn’t think twice about “wellness” or “balance” or “self-care”.

Because she felt free. And freedom was its own medicine. ⁣

I think about the girl who never had to brace herself for that “tough time of year”.⁣

The girl who didn’t have to hibernate in October or shield her eyes from all things pink. ⁣

The girl who when she heard that someone had cancer, didn’t feel empathy burning a hole in her chest. ⁣

I think about the girl who never asked, “if something like this could happen, what else could?”⁣

Because she didn’t have a “something like this”. Her somethings were reasonable, manageable.⁣

The girl who assumed it would all work out for the best.⁣

Who didn’t know any better.⁣

Who never saw it coming. ⁣

Barreling along like a freight train. Destined for impact.⁣

Sometimes I think about her. The girl I used to be. ⁣

And I miss her. ⁣
⁣
Photo: NYC, August 2019, two months before diagnosis ⁣

Breast Cancer Healer

I often see it in their eyes before I hear it in their voices.

“Oh, you had cancer? Oh, I’m sorry.”

Then they go on their way, not having any idea how difficult it is to reconcile my past experience with my current reality.

It’s a daily reckoning.

This print by Jessica Bond (Salt and Gold Collection) called ‘Breast Cancer Healer’ takes me back to the beginning and the vulnerability I still feel some days.

Weak.

Not able to defend myself.

Incapable of balancing the weight that is breast cancer on my own.

But in those early days I was also carried in ways too innumerable to contend this reminds me I always will be.

As much as I’m grateful for the time and distance slowly growing between me and my diagnosis day, I will never forget the season I sensed that something otherworldly had stepped in to fight on my behalf.

The force of God’s power to face head on what no else could.

The magnitude of His felt presence in the deepest caverns of my heart where there was nothing left.

That time He gently gathered me up and said, “I’ve got this.”

He went to battle on my behalf, even as He cradled me in His arms.

Isaiah 46:4
I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.

What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger…Sometimes

They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

Sometimes.

And sometimes it startles you from a sound sleep, heart pounding and breathless, wondering if what didn’t kill you will darken your door once again.

Lately, I feel as though everyone around me was given a full tank and I am running on empty.

Like I trained and tried out, but I didn’t qualify.

Sidelined.

The way otherness always makes us feel.

I watch as my peers post their milestones, breakthrough moments, and life events.

Meanwhile, I’m a walking encyclopedia of medical statistics and warning signs. A half-hearted running list of do’s and don’ts, questioning if it matters. Can anyone really know what makes a difference?

It’s a strange sort of half-life. Being the cautionary tale - the one people don’t want to end up like.

When it comes to cancer, will I ever have the last laugh?

I’m reminded there’s a difference between being buried and being planted.

One represents an ending. The other, eventually a beginning, but more so a safe-keeping.

God himself is tending to the ground above me, just like a gardener tends to his land.

Would a gardener plant a seed and not monitor its movements? Of course not.

He is deliberate in choosing the right location - just enough sun, not too much shade.

He waters it. He prunes it.

He guards it from frost. He clears away the dead leaves to make way for new life.

He provides it with everything it needs to flourish.

He does this day in and day out. He doesn’t expect the seed to perform without his help or blossom over night.

God is in no danger of forgetting to care for me daily any more than a gardener would plant a seed and leave it to shrivel in the sun.

I know this to be true even on days like today when the trauma triggers and I feel buried.

This is not my 'hallelujah, endure for a little while, and then it will all work out’ post because that’s not where I’m at today and I think it’s important to be honest with ourselves and each other.

This is my ‘I’ve been through a lot and some days are still hard’ post.

Does a seed ever experience guilt over not being farther along? How deep it’s planted? How often it rains or how long it takes to emerge from the damp, dark soil?

Not at all. It allows the gardener to do his work. It leaves the details to him. It gains its strength in the safe-keeping.

And when the time is right, it blooms.