It’s an odd feeling to look back at myself 4 years ago, just a few months shy of my first Rebirthday, and remember how hard the Summer months used to hit.
The sounds of the crickets and the spring peepers would churn up a dark feeling of dread in the depths of my gut. In some desperate attempt at “control” I would go through my calendar from the year before, trying to remember exact dates of when the symptoms started, how I felt, etc. I grasped at anything to try to piece it all together and make sense of it. I tried to figure out what caused it — was it my small jaw, my misaligned teeth, my affinity for coffee on night shifts, my queerness, that one time I had Mono in high school?
And when I wasn’t trying to explain WHY this happened, I fell into depression mourning my life before cancer — my “normal” life. Life when I didn’t have to worry about what I was eating or how long it would take or if I would choke. Mourning the way I could kiss my partners, the ability to just wake up in the morning without my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth from dryness, and not having to constantly remember to have water, a mouth lubricant, or some other saliva-enhancing product with me wherever I went. When an earache was just an earache and not the harbinger of a 2am tailspin ending with Googling “tongue cancer recurrence.”
But slowly, inconspicuously, like the green leaves returning every Spring, these feelings began to change. Instead of fighting the feelings, I began embracing them. I became curious about why I was experiencing them and what they were trying to tell me. I slowly began learning how to accept this new version of me, side effects and all.
Gradually, I realized I needed to give the old me a proper goodbye. I realized I no longer had a need for carrying her around, and she gladly took the opportunity to fall into rest. This reduction of deadweight freed the new me for more learning, more emotional capacity, and more acceptance of what was my new normal.
It’s interesting that in our society, we see death as such a horrible thing to be avoided at all costs. Perhaps this is part of the reason why its so hard to let go of things that no longer serve us — relationships, jobs, friendships, habits, etc. We are taught to cling tightly to anything we have, even if its not good for us, and in doing so we have no room left for the better things that await us. Mother Nature shows us this lesson in many ways if we pause to understand. Think about a plant growing with dead limbs still attached. If it isn’t pruned, those dead branches that no longer serve it will bring its demise. When those dead branches are removed, the plant has the capacity to thrive even more than before.
As always, its important to remember that we have the power of AND on our sides. Is it easy to say goodbye to something, especially a huge part of ourselves? Absolutely not. Quite frankly, it sucks. It’s painful and sad and difficult. However, it’s also poignant and beautiful and serene, if we allow ourselves the grace to see it that way. There is no rulebook in life saying a certain event can only make us feel one way or the other. Human beings have an incredible capacity to hold multiple seemingly oppositional emotions at the same time.
I suppose this entire post goes back to my recurring theme of death and rebirth, the phoenix falling to the ashes and rising again. Only now I am recognizing that this process didn’t only occur when I was diagnosed and first entering survivorship, but it is a continual cycle of small deaths of ego and rebirths of new versions of myself that allow me to continue to grow and thrive in my “new normal.”
Its an odd feeling to look back at myself 4 years ago, just a few months shy of my first Rebirthday, and now feel a sense of gratitude, peace, and serenity toward it all. An odd feeling, but a good one.
One Life, One Chance 