I had this whole post laid out until I trashed it in favour of a picture I found online somewhere that says it just right.
Just the other day I was thinking how umpteen years ago, I left behind the yoke of “cancer survivor” in favour of getting on with life. One of the toughest things I’ve had to do is pick up that old baggage again and not be able to put it down after 3 damn years. I realise others are dying from the disease and I’m grateful I don’t live in a similar cloud of doom.
But every now and then when I push myself a little, like with a new exercise programme, only to crash after a couple of weeks, it subtly reminds me that it’s still affecting my life. Being reined in like that makes me mad.
Every day, I consciously choose to make the life I want and not to identify with where I’ve been, at any stage during the past 3 years. I see the disbelief flash across eyes when I say I’m not over this disease. I sink down into an internal haven and wish to myself that I could put the bags down. I walk between knowing/accepting that I have this illness and being gentle with myself, and not dwelling on it and not allowing it to have power over me. Sometimes it wins.
Living with it isn’t for sissies. I have a new level of respect for all of us in the same boat. When we harness the mass of internal war wounds, we have a depth of life experience that deserves great honour.