A Year Stronger
Two days ago I recognized the one year anniversary of my breast cancer diagnosis. Which means that I have struggled to communicate what this experience has been like for exactly one year and two days.
In some ways, my breast cancer treatment was unremarkable. I have the most commonly diagnosed type of breast cancer, a type that has been heavily researched and studied. I was guided through a standard protocol, no drug trials or experimental approaches. At the recommendation of a friend I read Radical: The Science, Cultural and History of Breast Cancer in America. Finishing the book left me feeling raw, and thankful, and questioning, and humble. Hundreds of thousands of women before me experienced torture, literally, to advance the science from which I benefitted. Remarkable doesn’t even begin to describe their sacrifice.
I don’t mean to suggest that my experience fighting cancer was easy. Not at all. It was harder than hard. Recovering from surgery was hard. And suiting up to report to chemotherapy was (insert curse word here) hard. Daily radiation was ridiculously hard. Telling my son his mommy was sick was gut-wrenching. The emotional and physical toll is unending.
But it was the same type of hard that millions of people experience every single day. No more, no less. I have wallowed in “why me”, searching for “the meaning”. I don’t have answers to either of those. Maybe that comes at the end of year two.
What I have been able to understand is how this fight has personally impacted me. The last year has been about me learning to lean into others. At first I pushed off help, dismissed offers of assistance. A result of too much pride, or foolishness, or both. But the day came when my body just couldn’t pretend I was okay, and I needed to say yes. Yes to meals being prepared. Yes to family coming to help. Yes to my husband taking care of it all. Yes to words of encouragement, cards, flowers and well wishes. I learned to lean into support, remove my self-imposed superwoman cape, and say Yes.
In my Social Emotional Learning trainings, I often share the words of Iyanla Vanzant. Watching one of her shows, I heard her say, “You can’t make a withdraw if you haven’t put in a deposit” (or something close). I have likened this quote to the work of teachers, pouring into relationship building with their students first, before making any corrections. After all of this time using that metaphor, it took one year and two days for me to realize the inverse was also true. And this new truth had been showing up in my life.
Once you have made your deposit, you can make a withdrawal. I have spent over 40 years depositing into my relationships, with my family and friends. I have supported others, showed up when it counted, followed through as promised. And it was okay to make a withdrawal. To accept care without feeling any guilt or shame.
We all experience pain, heartache, disappointments and failures. And in those moments, we all choose to either fold in or reach out. I am glad I chose the latter, to become open to the embrace and care of my community. To all of the friends and family that have and continue to support me during this breast cancer journey, happy anniversary to us. We are all one year stronger.
