Last Thursday I had a really good cry. I can assure you it was a good, long, ugly cry.
And it felt so good.
That day was the one-year anniversary of my last targeted chemotherapy infusion. It’s been quite a year, a tough one for many. But given how 2019 was for me, 2020 has been a breeze. I’ve been happy. It seems almost suspiciously happy, the kind of happy that you don’t think is humanly possible. Most of the time it’s a carefree feeling. I’ve not been bothered by the small things, and when I am, I can quickly cope with what is going on. Don’t get me wrong– I do have challenges, but it’s almost like there is a protective shield around me where the little things can only get to me for so long.
Maybe that’s joy and not so much happiness.
I feel lucky to have found so much resilience. It’s good to move on from our traumas. There’s no reason to wallow over the past. You often hear about cancer survivors living in fear after they finish treatment. We live with the physical consequences of our treatment, and we fear the cancer could come back for us at any time. That’s part of the reality, but somehow, luckily, that fear of recurrence hasn’t taken over my life. I’m quite surprised by my resilience, by my natural ability to get on with it and not look back. I don’t live my days fearing the cancer will return. I don’t know why. It has just been that way for me.
As important as it is to move on and get back to life, it’s also important to remember the struggle.
Back in August, I was so excited when the anniversary of my diagnosis came and went without notice. That felt like a sign that I wasn’t letting this cancer define me. It made me feel strong and powerful, like I was me again. But last week, I wanted to remember. I wanted to honor what I’d been through.
The idea of “forgetting” most days but having intentional commemoration days or moments, seems like a good balance. I’d like to live most of my days forgetting I had cancer (although it’s always a part of you, which I’m sure fades with time,) and take some days to remember my journey.
That feels healthy. Living in denial and trying to stuff down painful memories and discomfort doesn’t seem good; and wallowing in the past doesn’t seem healthy either.
Maybe we can see our pain differently.
When I was younger, I used to love sad movies. I loved the emotional release from crying over a beautifully sad story. Then something shifted, and I avoided sad movies at all costs. For years I thought life was often too sad as it is, and I didn’t want create any unnecessary sadness. So I avoided sad movies and books where characters suffered or tragically died at the end.
Cancer changed me, though, and now I love crying (sort of– I’m still a little uncomfortable crying in front of others.) I don’t see it as a sign of weakness, and I don’t always connect it with a really bad feeling, like sadness or anger. I’ve taken the label off of it. Sometimes it’s just a pure emotional release, and that feels good.
Last week I cried in my room upstairs alone. As I was putting myself together to go be with my husband, I thought, “Why do I need to put myself together?”
So I entered the room, still a little weepy and warned my husband that I was okay, not to be alarmed, and I was just having an emotional release. I didn’t want him to worry or pity me. I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t in pain. In fact, as I mentally relived the pain I had gone through, I felt extremely grateful for today.
Embracing or re-framing what our pain means, diminishes its power.
There’s a new power with that… Maybe that’s why I feel so free and impermeable these days.
I have to tell you something crazy.
Nine years ago and one year ago, both exactly one week to the day before Thanksgiving; I freed myself from the two most difficult life traumas I’ve ever experienced.
That’s F*cking weird, right?!?!
Nine years ago, the Thursday before Thanksgiving, I turned in the key to the last dental office I’d ever work in. This Facebook memory pops up every year, giving me that perfect reminder I need to remember how much happier I am today.
People always remark on the happiness and the smile on my face. It’s true. I was happy. But at the same time, there was a lot of sorrow and grief, and in that moment a lot of anger towards the office I was leaving. I had a lot of healing to do. Walking away from the life I always thought I’d live was not easy.
When I left dentistry, I had been blogging about my challenges in my career for a while. It was powerful to release my emotions and negativity through writing. That allowed me to connect with others and turn my negative experiences into positives. People loved when I shared my struggles. They shared their own in our little community. But at some point, I had nothing left to say. Once I had started to move on, I couldn’t write about my struggles in dentistry any longer– even if that meant sacrificing active engagement from my readers.
It was time to look to the future and share hope and positivity.
Just like I can’t live everyday wallowing in the trauma from having cancer, I couldn’t wallow in the trauma of feeling like a dentist-quitter.
This time of year is always one of reflection. For those of us in the US, it’s a built in feature of the Thanksgiving holiday. And with the end of the year coming, it’s a natural time for everyone to take stock of what’s happened and prepare for what’s next.
There comes a time in life when we have to move on. We can’t live in the past or in fear every day. I always thought I would remember every date and every detail of my horrific cancer journey– just like I would remember all the details of leaving dentistry. As the years go on, some of the details of my dental journey are fuzzy, and I know this will happen with cancer.
It probably means nothing that this has all happened right before Thanksgiving, but as humans, creating meaning helps us. For me, the serendipity of this timing is the perfect reminder.
We should remember our past struggles. We shouldn’t stay stuck and punish ourselves, but we can use the memories to remember how bad it could be. For me, knowing what I’ve been through helps me appreciate today. When I started to feel almost normal after my cancer treatments, I felt a high and a gratitude that I’d never experienced in my life. I knew in that moment I didn’t want to get conditioned into losing that again. I never want to go back to taking the simple things for granted.
I hope the gift of remembrance always keeps that gratitude alive, and how lucky am I to have this built-in reminder every year at Thanksgiving.
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