Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): Great news! “Fuck cancer! Enjoy rainbows!” stickers are on their way to my mailbox! All of you lovely humans will be receiving your orders soon. I am guessing my shipment will arrive either end of this week or early next week, depending how quick the mail system is working in our favor. Just in time for red devil chemo #4! I love good timing. Also happy 4/20 for those of you who participate! I found out yesterday that my medical marijuana card was approved. Again, I love good timing.

TO THE LONG VERSION!

Lately I have dreaded anyone asking me how I am doing. Do they actually want to know how I am really doing or are they just asking because it is the polite thing to do, a reflex greeting? As humans, we walk into spaces and we greet folks and we ask them how they are, expecting a canned response. We want to hear “I am great! How are you?” and not, “Oh my cancer is fucking up my whole life today. I’ve cried like five times and my bones hurt so bad that I cannot sit for long periods of time.” *Cue half smiles, shifting eyes, and a crab walk out the nearest door*

Realness and vulnerability is uncomfortable, especially as it relates to chronic illness and disease. They can be hard to relate to if you’ve never personally experienced them or have seen a loved one endure. However, these conversations and moments are important to listen into and be present for because we can learn to build empathy in these shared spaces. We simply are looking for connection. “Connection is why we are here,” according to my favorite storyteller-researcher Brené Brown. (If you’re reading that name for the first time, oh my gosh! Your life is about to change. And you need to watch her stellar TEDx talk right now.)

When I am open and honest about how I am really doing, I worry that it is too heavy for someone to hear and guilt and shame wash over me. Should I have not shared how difficult it was for me to get up this morning? How showering has become my only safe space to not feel like I am in pain? I realize that not everyone knows how to respond. It isn’t like we were all given a high school course on how to foster healthy and safe conversations around difficult topics, but it should definitely be a class. I mean I guess that is why therapy exists, but therapy is not readily accessible to all folks and there are still stigmas that surround therapy and what it means to go. We need more spaces for emotional intelligence to be explored, appreciated, and learned! But, I digress… you get my point I think. Ultimately, I feel bad making others feel like they have to care about my deep dark thoughts that they really didn’t ask for so sometimes I just wish nobody would ask me anything at all.

I think people want me to be fine, which is a normal response in this scenario. Hell, I want to to be fine! It is a good wish and intention. I am young! I’ve got a decent support network. I was relatively healthy before my diagnosis. But “fine” doesn’t exist in my vocabulary right now. Even on the days I am “better,” I am not fine. I oscillate between the lowest depths of hell and twenty feet above that. I am scared to share the version of myself that has cancer. I am scared to share how I really am feeling. I feel like I am too much and yet feel like I am not enough. The inability to connect and relate with others and my fear that others do not want to connect with me can feel incredibly isolating at times.

“And shame is really easily understood as the fear of disconnection: Is there something about me that, if other people know it or see it, that I won’t be worthy of connection? ” – Brené Brown

You need to watch the TEDx talk right now.

Life feels immensely short now. It feels shorter than normal. We all know our time here on this planet is but a speck in the grand scheme of the universe, but cancer just makes it feel even smaller. I have a fear I will not make it out of this diagnosis alive. I crave meaning and depth in every interaction I have now. Every moment I have to exist is suddenly the most precious thing I have ever owned because I don’t know how much time I have left. I want to be heard and given space to share things about myself that drown me at night when I am alone. I want to be seen! I am more than my cancer diagnosis, yet it is the one thing that is dramatically consuming my life at this time. Simultaneously, I want to give space to others who are willing to share with me. I want you to be heard and loved and feel safe enough to share with me, too. I am not fragile. I have capacity to care for others regardless of my situation. You do not need to protect me or feel like sharing what you are enduring in life is a burden for me because I can create space for you, too. Your lived experience is just as valuable as mine. My need for connection is just as valuable as yours. Sharing and connection can be healing.

I want to clarify that nobody in particular triggered this blog post, so please do not think you did something wrong by simply being human and asking me questions. This blog post bloomed out of my therapy session and a conversation with my mom. Existing with cancer is fucking hard. Pretending to be fine is a survival skill, maybe even a coping skill, both in the real world and in my own head. And I just hope if you ask me how I am, that you really want to know.

Today’s song lyric of the day is brought to you by The Raconteurs.

“You don’t understand me.
But if the feeling was right you might
Comprehend me.”

– You Don’t Understand Me, The Raconteurs