I feel small today.

But that’s okay.

This place matters, so I’ll listen.

*Post 915

A Road Walked by Many :: 10/6/17 :: Post 39

I have gained some insight into myself this week….why I have a certain internal response when I am told that “so-and-so had breast cancer, too” or when those that have walked the journey want to tell me how it was for them…or when I hear that my life is more than cancer….

…When I hear, “oh, it’ll grow back, it’s just hair”

…When I hear, “At least you won’t have to shave your legs!”

…When I hear, “You’ll have the best boobs in the business…”

…When I hear, “If you have to have cancer, this is the one to have…”

…When I hear, “Well, you do have the cancer that is the most well researched and funded, so you’re lucky.”

…When I hear (and even say to myself), “Chemo is actually NOT the enemy” or when I hear, “it’s so much better than it used to be.”

…When I hear, “You know, it could be so much worse.”

When I hear these things, I have this internal response that has been pretty consistent, palpable, and intensely protective… I want to physically back away. I want to fold together like a crunchy little roly-poly or a prickly little hedgehog.

Not because the person saying that particular thing has hurt me, though. I trust their heart is for my good and that they say things in love. Some have said they wish they could take it away from me….they want to save me from the pain of it all. I believe that these things said are only said out of hope and encouragement and wishing for me to feel even the slightest brightness in this deafening blackness.

But I feel a physiological response, a sensation in my spirit…a protective sheath that wraps around my heart.

When Chris and I were talking the other day, he mentioned that he found out a couple of other coworkers had battled breast cancer as well. I felt that feeling… I didn’t want to hear it… And then I said:

This road is walked by so many, but man, it is a lonely road.

Hmmm. It came out of my mouth so naturally in response to what had said. And it was at that point that we both gained some insight, some context for my strange-feeling response to people’s well-meaning comments.

There have be many before me that have had breast cancer. There are many right now that are fighting for their lives, too. There will be many more until Jesus comes back…

The road is walked by many.

Young and old… Rich and poor… Female and male… Mothers and women who don’t have children… Married and unmarried… Gay and straight… All colors of skin… Cancer doesn’t discriminate.

The road is walked by many.

Those things stated to me above – they are all truths BECAUSE people have walked this road. A lot. It IS well-informed….because people have walked this road. A lot. And breast cancer isn’t the only cancer….

The road is walked by many.

And, to that, cancer isn’t the only crisis…. That road is walked by many.

Yet the road is lonely.

Now, I’m not saying that I am isolated in this journey. I’m not saying I don’t have people walking with me. I’m not saying that I am ungrateful. And I am certainly not saying that I don’t need every.single.person that is in this with me. Lonely and isolated are two different things in regards to what I am talking about. And at no point do I want people scared to say things to me, to ask me how I’m doing, to shy away from curiosities. THAT would be isolating. And incredibly devastating.

That said, this journey is only something I can journey. People can try and relate. And God bless them for trying. People can wish it all away. And God bless them for wishing. People can share their hope for my best outcome. And God bless them for hoping. And at no point can I do this without any of that.

This journey is mine because I am me. The way *I* am made, the way *I* am created to see the world. The way *my* story is written because it’s *my* story. The way *I* process through things and the choices *I* make throughout the process. Although the road of breast cancer is walked by many….and while [we] may have had similar chemo drugs or surgeries or doctor’s visits, our stories are as unique as we are unique.

This is another strange tension to sit in – the solidarity in experiencing something collectively while acknowledging how very lonely it can feel.

I think anyone could probably relate to this though, because it’s all relative. If I’m on my own unique journey…so is another. If my story is being written…so is another’s. The bridges that come, the storms, the freight trains (or semi’s) – each are relative to the unique story in which they are experienced and furthermore, how those experiences encountered influence the next part of the relative story.

Everyone has a story.

There is solidarity in experiencing something collective.

And I imagine everyone has felt lonely a time or two, too.

A huge part of me writing about this tonight has been to give myself the permission to acknowledge and accept that every single step of this journey has been horrendous. To not minimize the enormity of this. To not ignore the fact that it IS my story, it IS my identity, it IS life-altering, it IS fundamentally changing my character. It WILL forever be a part of me…on the inside. And on the out.

So, no matter how anyone else journeys through cancer… or crisis… I will honor my unique encounters as they will most certainly influence the next part of my story.

Finally, while having cancer effing SUCKS, the changes I am going through will only make me stronger. Will only increase my love for people and their stories. Will only deepen my relationships. Will only strengthen my faith. Will only fundamentally change me for good.

Hashtag :: 10/6/18 :: Post 388

Strange emotions….

Edgy.

Overwhelmed by noise.

Crying.

Nostalgic for years past.

Unsettled.

Uncomfortable in my own head.

Prickly.

I’m also grateful. I have such amazing family. My mom and dad. My aunts, uncles and cousins. My husband and kids. My in-laws. Grateful I’m not alone.

#ablessedmess

October 6 of 31 :: 10/6/19 :: Post 751

Back when I was diagnosed, I remember people praying “God, if it is your Will, heal Amber. You are stronger and bigger than cancer and powerful enough to remove it from her body altogether, so God, do it, we ask You.”

I remember walking away from those experiences (yes, grateful for people’s earnest prayers on my behalf, but), incredibly confused. Is it God’s Will that I am sick? Is it His Desire that I remain sick and have to do chemo and radiation? Does He want to use me to better someone else? Why do I have to stay sick and ‘so-and-so” doesn’t? …Maybe that is simply an infant-faith and I just had AAAAAA LOOOOOOOTTTTT of growing up to do or maybe that prayer is just not quite heard the way the one interceding thinks it’s heard.

That said, today I had the opportunity to reconsider what true healing is. True healing can certainly include the magic of God through instant literal healing, but I think true healing can also mean that allllllllll of the other broken areas are addressed, too. In my story – true healing came with a reconciled relationship with my Haleigh, new perspectives on my priorities, a deep love and adoration for my husband, a new understanding of time by showing me the fullness of the space between the memory and the what-if, the practice of gratitude even when everything else is wrong, and so much more that will continue to come my way. True healing, in my story, wasn’t the magic of God’s instant and literal healing, it was His Will that I walked away with so.much.more.

Confusing, yes. And still the reality is, that this is the hardest and suckiest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life. And no, there is no guarantee that it will be the last… but God has brought healing. True healing.

Breast Cancer Awareness month…

…Day six – The fatigue of cancer and chemo is legit. As is the chemo fog. Give grace. And it doesn’t go away when chemo is done.