Unbecoming

What you don't know about me is that I am not as strong as I seem.  I am not a warrior who can handle anything. I am not the toughest person you know.  I have no choice. I can either choose to live my life as gracefully as possible (some days are much better than others), or I can cave in to that person who lives deep down in me, that dark place filled with insecurity, fear and helplessness. Some days it takes everything in me to not go there. 

What you don't know about me like many other cancer fighters and survivors, I live in mild to moderate physical pain every day. I don't know if it will ever go away, but I have to believe that if I keep up the lifestyle that I love as a runner and fitness/health enthusiast, it will eventually be much less. The physical challenges are a piece of cake compared to the mental ones.  The emotional scars could make some people not want to leave the house let alone get out of bed. But, that is not me either.

What's harder for me right now is what cancer has exposed. Some days, I want to be anonymous, the girl that just blends in. But, now I can't because I have my own story to tell.  So when you tell me about the woman who just passed away from Melanoma and battled hard for 7 years, this doesn't inspire me to be stronger, this reminds me of who I really am.  I am just a girl living and recovering from a Stage 3 diagnosis.  This really messes with my story, the story I've created.

When you told me, a cancer fighter, a very sad story like that, you abruptly pulled my head out of the sand, where I've been living in between each set of scans, blood work and so on. You reminded me that this sh** is real, and this could be me. You bring me back to that place where I play the numbers game.  "Okay, if I can at least get to the 5 year survivor mark, the girls will be 12, 15  & 16. Crap, that's a terrible time to die, it would be so much better if I can make it until they are in their 20's, when they need me a little less." Imagine that? You can see why I survive much better with my head somewhat stuck in the sand..

I have force-fed myself these past 9 months, holding my breath the entire time.  I am finally coming up for air. Not because I am stronger...not because I am more secure...maybe because I am finally unbecoming all the things I have built myself up to be and am becoming who I really was all along. That is about the only good that came out of sharing that story with me about a girl, just like me, fighting Melanoma.

I openly admit I am not as strong as I seem. I appear stone-cold stoic, broad shoulders, strong thighs and all...thanks perhaps to German heritage and a lifetime of athletics, but I am not as I appear. I stand tall at 5'10 but many days thanks to this disease I feel almost invisible. It is a lonely journey as most people don't understand unless they too have been stripped, yanked butt-naked out of the sand.

What I have realized after having my world shake with one story about a girl like me who lost her life to Melanoma...weak or strong...tired or motivated...I am a competitor to the end.  As I strip myself of all the bull**** and fluffy nonsense we somehow get tagged with at some point in our life, I un-become to perhaps become who I always was in the beginning. So tell me again about this horrible this disease I face each day with no cure. In my unbecoming way, I will grit my teeth and tell you, "Game on."

The start and how I picked myself up to continue the run....

Four years ago, I decided I was going to run my very 1st marathon so that I could qualify for the Boston Marathon and finally check that off my bucket list. I wanted to document my journey as a runner as I evolved from a runner who had never ran more than 14 miles at a time to someone who would attempt the impossible: BQ at my 1st attempt.  

That is how this blog was started. 

I wanted to document this journey of training and turning myself into "a real runner." I was so naive and brazen and ballsy. Looking back, I cannot believe that I had the audacity to set out and try to do something that is very difficult for seasoned distance runners, let alone a washed up volleyball player posing as a distance runner.

I also reinvented myself back into a writer along the way. At one point in my life, I had wanted to be a journalist. I don't know specifically where all the nos came from that prompted me to quit that way back when, but once I started writing again...some 20 years later, it was like I never stopped, My skill was rusty, but my passion was lit again almost immediately.

This was a big period of time when I felt like the girl I was meant to be all along. That girl was fearless and truly did not care what anyone thought of her. She most certainly did not shy away from a few well placed "fucks" in her blogs or in her day to day conversations with people either. That girl would never back down from a challenge, and she would not let assholes push her around or treat her like a door mat. She went big every single time...and only after going big did she go home.

I miss that girl.

Somewhere along the way this past year or maybe two or three...I have lost my way.

Maybe it was that 55% survival rate...(I like that it is a more full cup than empty, but let's face it, I am a perfectionist, 100% would have been so much better)

Or even worse, when the universe fucked with one of my babies....

Maybe we can only handle so much until we break...

Maybe some of us run until we can no longer run anymore....

Maybe some of us drink until we cannot drink anymore....

Maybe we eat until we are so stuffed we are empty...

Maybe some of us create the picture perfect Pinterest version of how we think we are suppose to be, look, act...like a fucking Hallmark card....

Or maybe we write until we get through all those layers....tripping, stumbling and swearing our newly found Irish faces off (amazing the things you can find out in a modern DNA spit test)....

I don't think I am the only out there going through their own growing pains as they roll through the punches and take their victory laps.

It might take me the rest of my life to get through these layers that I have managed to build up these past couple of years. But I will get back to where I want to be and who I want to be...the whole me, not just the version you think you know. And frankly, if you don't like her, I might kindly give you the Irish goodbye and be on my way down this so called journey called life.

And that is how this blog continued to move on. Until next time....

Mean Girls: A trip down memory lane

 I have made several attempts over the past year to write about bullying and mean girls. Time and time again, I have decided to walk away from the computer....not ready to open those wounds. I sit here waiting for a phone call back from one of the principals at my daughter's school. I will leave it at that regarding any details because it is not my story to tell. And I won't get into the repulsive things that have occurred at our middle school to other students in the past year. That is their story to tell if they so choose.

But it does happen. In beautiful and wealthy seacoast towns where high school students drive BMW's and elementary school students have the latest Iphones. It also happens in little suburbs where nothing ever happens, and getting a McDonald's is a big deal....

Bullies do not discriminate, and students are bullied for various reasons. Make no mistake, not all kids who are bullied are shoved in a locker or threatened (well, actually sometimes they may threaten that they are going to kick your ass if you talk to their ex-boyfriend again), but all in all, it is often not always as some may imagine. Some girls who have been bullied are ironically sometimes on the inside of the "cool kids." They may be popular and have a ton of friends. They probably did decent in school, was a good athlete, and more times than not, are cute.

We had not coined the term mean girls back in the 90's...but yes, that's what they were. Some of the meanest people I have ever met in my lifetime....those upperclassman girls.

These were the type of girls that spread complete lies about you because they were still mad that you had dated one of their boys for like 3 weeks back in junior high. They couldn't stand you when you started dated a senior as a sophomore. Then, when "one of theirs" decided she was going to go after this particular boy, and he didn't dump you for the that girl, that fueled the fire.

And so that sophomore year, despite being somewhat stressful...was still fun because your boyfriend had friends who watched out for you. And when you decided to try out for a new sport, one of the captain's on the varsity team (one of his buddies) looked out for you, and kept those mean girls at bay. For the most part they began to leave you alone.

The sad thing is once a mean girl always a mean girl. And when you've crossed them, they don't let go. And school years end, and your senior allies graduate...

You start the year with a bang and end of making the varsity team. Even though some of these mean girls are your teammates, they hate you even more because you "start" and play more than "one of theirs."  Mean girls are territorial, and frankly, they make real shitty athletes because they cannot see past their own insecurities for the greater of the team. It's no wonder a team like that would barely have a 500 record.

What's ironic is sometimes, the biggest bully of all who never ceased to leave you alone, probably had the most in common with you...despite being cruel. Maybe this bully played the same sport as you, and maybe they had the same aspirations to be a journalist.....but you would never use your power as an editor to leave the last mark to hurt someone. But she would, and that's where all the differences come back into play. 

I seemingly forgot about my two years of being bullied once I was a senior. It felt like the world was my oyster. My team ended up runner up to the state title with the best record for that team in history. I finally earned that spot as an editor once I was a senior. It was an amazing year full of spirit queen crowns, athletic awards and for once, pretty decent grades. And to top it all off, I signed with a college team to play ball on scholarship. It was a whirlwind of a year, full of some of the best memories.

Once I left for college, I never looked back. Looking back on it now, I don't know why I just had the urge to dust myself off of that little suburb. I think now as I replay this all in my mind, perhaps my desire to start new was that I still had those wounds I had buried away.  Thinking of some of these girls now, I don't know what hurt me worse...how cruel they could be or that once my senior allies left, no one else was there to tell them to cut the shit....not my good friends, not my teammates....no teachers....people just either didn't notice or didn't want to get involved. Maybe that's why despite having an amazing senior year, I couldn't wait to shake myself off of that town....

My story is not unusual, and it's actually probably tame compared to the things that happen today with social media and all. But, it was not okay. And it is not okay today. 

I made myself a promise when I had my very first baby girl in my arms, I would bring her up to be kind enough to see the good in all and strong enough to stand up for those not as strong as her. I can only hope when she is not feeling as strong as we have raised her to be, she will have someone to be by her side as an ally.

18 summers left....

There is a phenomenon that is taking a life of it's own thanks to our very accessible social media platforms out there...as if us moms don't already have a guilt trip at least once each day about leaving our children for work, trying to work from home or being a stay at home mother full time. We are faced with decisions every single moment of each day in this so called 18 more summers left with our children, and in every single moment, I guarantee most of us are doing the best we can in that moment of that day....even when it means we've left our poor children to eat cereal for dinner, and told them that no...we are not dropping $50 at their favorite burger joint because it's summer vacation, and there's no food in the house. Or "GASP", we've fed them dino nuggets in front of the tv and called it "dinner and a movie night" just so we can sit in back with our significant other and be left alone briefly.

In my 18 summers left this summer, (well technically that would be 9 years for one, and 4 and 5 years left for the other).....it has been a beautiful week where I live.  Beach access is a quick 10 minute drive. You know how many times I have taken my children to the beach the past two weeks?  Once...and it doesn't even count. This is one of the many days we have had in our very imperfect 18 summers left. Out of guilt, I brought 2 out of the 3 girls who were home to the beach. I felt guilty that I had not taken them anywhere fun that week. For the most part, they had spent the entire week playing/reading/instagramming around the house while I worked. So I pack these two lovely children of mine (and I do mean it, they are adorable and funny when they are on), and I pile up the surf boards, a bag of snacks and off we go to make some memories of what little we have left. 

When we get to the beach, and we assess that the ocean is more lake like and probably not worth taking the boards down, we decide we will stay for a bit to swim and hang out. Well, let me reword this...one of them decides we must swim, the other just wants to hang out in the sand, and I just want to take a walk on the beach since we are there and actually found a parking spot. If I was one of these perfect moms who feeds her children organic foods all the time, sends them to athletic camp and arts camp and foreign language camp, and I cherish every single moment with them on summer vacation, then, I probably would have gone in the water with the stubborn one. But frankly, I was quite comfortable, didn't feel like dealing with the salt in my hair and maybe, just maybe I was feeling as stubborn and bitchy as she was going to get.

My "no" to going in the waters prompts the "we need to swim" child to begin complaining loudly and incessantly so that every person within 50 feet can hear her. The kid who usually complains is just sitting there quietly for once but then she decides to kick some sand at the whining little turd. I can't say I blamed her; I kind of felt like doing that as well. Well, this obviously did not end well, and a brief sand fight breaks out which I quickly squash by announcing "pack your shit up, we are out of here" in my best I am not f***ing around voice. And yes, I am that mom who not only drags my kids off the beach within 10 minutes of arriving because they are being a-holes but I will also use a 4 letter word here and there when they are really having a day.

And so, back home we went....a completely wasted moment to take pictures and hashtag how charming and perfect my children are and how we are just having a fabulous day in this only 18 summers left kind of way. This is real life people.  I know all the real moms out there have had their own version of this, and if you haven't, then we can't be friends, like ever. And if you are a new mom with your 1st child...trust me, if you have more children...you can say all you want "I would never"...but you will. And guess what, it's okay.

We are all going to be okay as mothers. We are going to have the best summer days, and we are going to have the worst summer days. We will feed our children from the farmer's market, and we will heat up a frozen pizza as well. We will have days that are full of education and adventure, and we will have days we just let them be with whatever device they are occupied with. We are doing the best we can, and don't fall into the trap of thinking anything less than that. It is okay to be that real mom. That is what real 18 summers and counting really is.

Later that evening, after dinner, my husband and I were cleaning up and getting ready to have a glass of wine and hang on the patio when I heard it....the bounce of the basketball, the shriek of delight.  I quickly run to the front of the house to peek out the window and see my 3 girls playing a game of horse together. I want to go grab my phone and take a picture...but truth be told, we all know that this game could end with someone whipping the ball at someone else's head so I stop, and just watch, holding my breath. This is my 18 summers....

Are We Raising Entitled A**holes??

We live in la la land. No, really...I am fortunate enough that because both my husband and I have worked hard and maybe had a little luck on our side, we are raising our children in perhaps the pinnacle of the universe all wrapped up in a perfect bubble full of seashells, peace signs and picket fences. I love where we live. But, I am increasingly beginning to wonder if my children have any idea what life is like outside of their charming life...

Are we raising kids that are going to end up entitled a**holes?

Make no mistake, we have had our own share of major family crisis and are still living with some challenges.  But what I am talking about here is the superficial day to day way of life, the experiences my children can have and the possibilities of opportunities are endless...whether it be through their school, community or their family.

 To name a few, in school, they can travel abroad to learn the foreign language they are studying...or for a long weekend, they can travel to NYC to experience the big city with their classmates...

Many people they know have ski houses, lake houses or both.  A lot of families take not just one big vacation but several throughout the year (which make no mistake, I will keep busting my ass because I'd love to be able to take my family on several vacations a year).  Just about everyone here belongs to at least 1 of the many country clubs at the beach or golf course.

There are many luxuries that a lot of hard working families in our town are able to afford.  I worry that my kids think this is completely normal (I'd love for them to work their asses off so they too will have all that as well if that is what they want) but do they appreciate the simple things that they have on a day to day basis?  Do they have any idea that there is a whole other world beyond life in this bubble?

Of course, like all parents, we want our children to have better than we did...but at the same token, we are living in a world, at least in my bubble...where these kids are offered even more amazing opportunities that I could ever imagine...some that I wonder "are they necessary???"  And I worry that they may be missing the flip side of some down to earth and humbling experiences?

With all that in my mind, when we suddenly found ourselves in need to work on a rental property of ours, we decided we would hire our two older girls to help us out and get an apartment ready after it had been trashed. This particular income property is well outside the bubble of where we live, and the neighborhood is as real as it gets. The apartment they started working in (along with my supervision) had basically become what I tongue in cheek call "The Crack Shack."

Our former tenant (a grown man in his 50's mind you) had started hanging around the wrong people...and just like that, had taken the wrong path himself and was now in all kinds of trouble with the law. He was in jail for violating a restraining order (apparently he beat his girlfriend), once she moved out (good for her), he kept spiraling further down and became addicted to heroin.

I am sure this type of stuff happens in our bubble in some way...but for my girls to have to walk in that apartment and clean up...this provided a whole level of just telling a story of what happens when you hang around the wrong people and make bad choices. They could feel every bad choice in this apartment with their senses:  The smell that reeked like a mix of animal, smoke and God knows what else.  The left over needles that  had nothing to do with a chronic disease.  The profanity of someone yelling down the street to their kids.  An apartment that looked neglected and abandoned...not a place someone had previously called home. 

I was surprised that the girls went to work and were quick...working hard and efficiently.  When I offered to them to take a break at one point, only one of the them took my offer. The other said "I just want to finish this and go home."

I hope this little experiment/experience paid off. I was able to give a bird's eye view of a different life. Life on the other side of the picket fence.  And, they had to do some work that not even I enjoy doing in those kind of conditions. I think they came home to our own house and realized that we may not have the biggest house, but it is a nice house that we take pride in keeping nice, clean, and comfortable.  It is in a neighborhood other walks of life outside this town would call where the richies live (hardly the case for us, but a reality in the housing market we live in).

I am not a parental expert.  While I do have a Masters of Education, sometimes I worry that I have forgotten to teach my children the most important lessons of all.  These girls who did not come with any manuals can be exhausting and wonderful and little sh*ts too.  Sometimes,  I think I am doing a good job, and many times, I think I have really missed the mark and f***ed them up. But, they are still alive, they say please and thank you....and they work hard in school and in their extracurricular activities.

But, I want them to have it all. And by that, I want to make sure they don't become entitled a**holes. I want them to have compassion for all people. I hope that they will work very hard so they can fulfill all their dreams. But with that, I hope they still appreciate finding a couple of extra bucks in their jeans and maybe buy a cup of coffee for their elderly neighbor. I dream that they will do something really big with their life and be in the position to help others less fortunate and still shower their own children with amazing experiences.

I want my girls to understand that it is okay to want things but it is even better to work for things that are not things(does that make sense?)...and while fabulous vacations are great rewards for hard work (trust me, I dream of us going to Austria as a family), sometimes the rewards for hard work can be as simple as knowing you are doing the right thing, doing a good job and appreciating all the things in life.

I don't know if we are doing it right...but we are doing the best we can and hopefully, they will take something out of these lessons we are trying to teach.

Post Ski Season Blues

It's mid-April, and I find myself hitting my post ski depression. I am going through all the ski bags,  pulling out smashed granola bars, rotten carrots and old hand warmers...doing laundry and then, hanging out all the zip ups, coats, vests, race suits and neckies.  Then, it is time for the final emptying of the Thule box and loading up the garage with what feels like 100 pairs of skis and poles. It's a shit ton of work but definitely satisfying to not have to look at the ski bags scattered all over the house. I am so done.

Race season is officially over for us, and I have already spent April so far freezing my butt off at various LAX and soccer games. Many a cold mornings on a field I have caught myself thinking, geez, today would be a good ski day.  On a day where it's a whopping 40 degrees and our behinds are stuck to metal bleachers, I think, well, on the mountain it would be mashed potatoes by noon anyway so we're really not missing anything.

I'll also make jokes that thank god it is over because I don't think I could handle all the jetting around, packing up and unpacking and 8 hour days at a mountain in the cold. I also will say it is so time for it to be over because towards the end of the season, my ski pants start to get a little snug from all those adult apres moments you don't get on a lax or soccer field but you relish in those long cold ski/race days.

The irony is that I am not a die hard skier by any means. I pretty much married into what my husband calls "his passion". I never was a winter girl; I use to spend the miserable 6 months of New England winter counting down to the days it would be "doable" to freeze your butt off at the beach in a bikini.

But then, when we had children, Jamey started teaching the girls how to ski once they were old enough to walk, and they immediately took to it and shared their father's love. Combine that with many days put in night skiing with their grandfather...a passion was born. And so, with much begging and pleading by our two older girls, we joined a race club and so began the winter rat race.

What I discovered once my girls started racing, is that there is so much more to it than the sport itself. It lends itself to have some pretty special and unique qualities.  Don't get me wrong...it is hard work, and I mean hard work...as an athlete, as a parent supporting the athlete, and it is a lot of blood, sweat, tears and $$$...but this crazy sport that is unlike no other for too many ways to list (for this post) and some I cannot explain, it is special, and it creates memories and experiences unlike any other. And so the dreaded April is upon us, and it is over...my April post ski season depression sets in.

I miss the excitement of loading up the car and going away every single weekend. I miss the discipline and the organization it takes to get all those meals ready. I miss seeing the same faces back and forth from the parking lot to the mountain and back...even if I don't know them all well, I know them...we are in it together as we drag another set of freshly tuned skis back to the lockers. I miss the knots in my stomach as we watch all our racers come down on race day because they are ALL our kids, and we all get so nervous and excited watching them fail and fly.  I miss the hot Irish coffees at the top, and the cold, hard ciders at the bottom at the end of a long day. I miss seeing my ski parent friends, and I know my girls miss their winter best friends. 

It will be a long spring but once the summer heat sets in, it will sweeten the sadness and longing I have for those cold, blustery days at the mountain I feel now. And before we know it,  September will hit,  and we will be pulling out the equipment to see who has grown, who needs what, and we will be counting down the days to opening day. And then, when those first leaves start to fall, I will breathe a sigh of relief that yes, winter is coming.....

On the outside looking in

I see you with your sad eyes. I don't know if she's still "sick" or in "remission"...which for those of us who've had cancer know that remission is just a word that makes other people feel better. We know it means no evidence of disease. It doesn't mean we are cured.

We walk around some of us fumbling more than others. I was one of those emotional wrecks...wearing my emotions on my sleeve...writing about it and sharing about it. Yelling out to the world, yes, I have had Stage 3 Cancer, and here I am. I hated the thought of people whispering and wondering so I was not aloof. I beat them to the crappy cancer punch line. I'm not sure which one you are...tripping and stumbling or walking the straight and narrow.

I see you with your furrow...that wrinkle that never goes away when your life consists of doctors appointments and chemo....and weeping in the dark when you think everyone is asleep. I use to think I was the only one awake in the middle of the night. I still don't sleep but that is because I have other battles to fight. Funny how life can be ironic...or is it...giving more grief to some and only joy to others? Is it because we can handle it? Or is it because they cannot?

I stopped writing about cancer because I was starting to feel content with my head in the sand for 89 days until my next blood work and pet scans. I still feel content not thinking, writing or talking about it. I have a daughter with a chronic disease...the kind of disease that is 24 hours a day for the rest of her life...unless they find a cure. It is the kind of disease that nobody understands until they have it....just like mine was.  It's the kind of disease where the medicine that keeps her alive is the same medicine that could kill her...and I always have to have my game on. A person can only do so many honest truths in one day...so this is the one I choose. But still.....

I see you wanting to hide among the crowds of all those shiny, happy people. I, too, spent many days doing the same. But now, I am getting better at faking it until I make it because I have a daughter who needs me to be here, and to be one of those shiny, happy people too. I never was the girl who lit up the room. I find some overly shiny, happy people fricking annoying and fake as hell. But I do like to laugh loudly and inappropriately, & I am drawn to people with substance and sad eyes...so maybe in my own way when I laugh too loud or make some sarcastic offensive joke...I too appear to be shiny and happy in my own distorted way.

I use to count the ages of my children now to when and if it came back... like a mathematical equation I would plug in "if"...if this f***ing disease came back for me again with a vengeance to take me out....what would be the age that they could best heal their hearts....how much time could I buy...would they forget me...

I see you and I know you have some of those thoughts...about buying time and keeping your children safe. You feel alone in a sea of people. You sometimes dream of cutting off those annoying ponytails because she will probably not live to grow one again. I see you, and I feel guilty because today I am one of those girls. Today I am N. E. D.,  and I am playing the role of survivor very well. Just know that I see you, and I wish I could tell you it's going to be all right. But I know that might not be true....so I say nothing. I just look you in the eyes and smile...saying nothing because sometimes in a sea of words there really is nothing good to say...except I see you.

The Calm after the Storm: Tips for you still in that storm

To my fellow Storm Troopers,

You will find the calm after the storm. I promise you that. Just remember this, make sure to let it in. And make sure that this is your prime focus. When you are done with your treatment, that doesn't mean you don't have healing left to do. I'm not talking about the physical stuff either. You will always have physical remnants of having had cancer and fought it hard.

I am talking about that pain and those scars that come emotionally. If you are anything like me, those are the wounds that hurt the most. I can limp my way physically through just about anything. but what goes on in my head...that's a whole other story.

These are my wishes for you as I continue to work on them for myself:

1.  You don't have to be an inspiration all the time. I know it helps; I'm the master of faking it until I make it. But it's okay to just NEED to be present with the true feelings you are going through...like anger, like fear (the worst kind when it comes to cancer)...and it's okay to some days, just not be okay. Your family, your friends, your tribe can be your inspiration on those days when you have no more to give. We have your back.

2. You need time to heal.  If you can, and this can be extremely difficult depending on your finances...but if you can, take a leave of absence from work. I did not do this. Instead I dragged my sorry ass to work 1 week after having an experimental inguinal lymphodectomy surgery. I could barely walk without a limp. I had drains hidden under my dress. And worse of all, I ended up with an infection. But, I continued to go to work in the hospitality industry with my painted, shiny face full of  mascara, lip gloss, and artificial hope. And I continued my job helping others find happiness and health while I died a little bit each day, continuing to just fake being okay.
Do you see my point here? I was like a robot, and all it did for me is just prolong all the emotional healing I would need later when my daughter was diagnosed with a chronic disease that led me to almost losing her. Even after that...after that ambulance ride, I still didn't learn. I should have taken the time. Time away to heal. Don't be the person who stayed for a job that eventually would toss you away in the same manner that you tossed your health away. You do you. It's that important.

3.  But you should find something that takes your mind away when you need it.  For me, that is running...and not any old running. When I head into my trails (they are mine in my mind, and I've even added my own paths to extend the run), I am alive. I am at my best. My head clears, I know what is right...I am me...broken, imperfect...but beautiful all the same. I find my calm after the storm. You can find yours. It doesn't have to be a physical activity...just something that lights your mind on fire. Gets those true positive juices flowing.

I will head into this summer, I am positive... with a really big "no evidence of disease" anniversary. There will be no party, no cake. I may or may not even share it with people depending on how I am feeling. But I will be there. I am positive this will happen, and I will relish that calm after the storm when I leave that hospital knowing it didn't break me.  And though it has not been the most graceful dance with the devil, I have danced and survived. You will too. You will dance again to your own calm dance after the storm.

Rise Up: 4 Life Lessons from a Cancer Survivor

A lot can change in a year, and wow, this past year has been something.

As a Stage 3 survivor, I will continue to rise and as I do, I find myself in disbelief when I relive all that I have gone through, survived, and have built myself back up from.  I recently went on one of my runs in the trails all by myself where I let my mind go...back in time. I actually connected all those moments that felt like my worst nightmare coming true....the grim diagnosis, various doctors/hospitals/surgeries, blood work and scans.  Me, not being able to walk down my driveway, having my daughters' see my tears each morning as I tried to put on a brave face....emptying those damn drains that were stitched in my leg as a reminder that this was serious business...and what literally felt like rock bottom, lying in my own vomit on the bathroom floor thinking maybe this is when I give up. I remember that moment feeling like I was in the middle of a fire, and it was going to eat me alive.

But it did not. I found a way to get up; I found a way to rise up.

One year later, I am physically back to doing the things I love...running and any activity gives me that physical release that makes me feel alive. I am back; the new version of me anyway.

I have more recently began to find my voice again and recognize that emotionally, I am getting stronger as well. I am less and less afraid of many things and because of that I find myself wanting to yell from the rooftops and tell everyone I know those simple reminders of a life well-lived.  Most importantly, I find I must speak up so I can be a living example for my girls...and so this one is for them.

1.  You have a voice, and your voice matters. I found this to be extremely important during my plan for treatment. Had I conformed, I would have gone with the surgery that was always the protocol of treatment.  If I had gone with this "protocol", I would also likely STILL be in some kind of physical therapy. Thank God I spoke up. I asked questions. I asked for better.  You should too- in every problem or conflict that you find yourself trying to solve. Ask questions, use your voice.

2.  You are worthy of love and respect. So am I.  Not because I am a cancer survivor but because I am me, what you see is what you get...a mix of reservation and wild...a genuine heart with a slightly sick sense of humor.  Throughout your life, remember that not only do you deserve love, regardless of what scars you may or may not have from life....you are worthy of respect as well.

3.  You are going to fall. In fact, you may fall or fail several times throughout your life. But, you will do this because you are trying. You are swinging away. You are trying to make things happen. Cancer felt like a fail to me, a major fall. It still pisses me off...the uncertainty of whether this beast...a Stage 3 Cancer will return. The reminder every 3 months when I trek down to the cancer center for my tests and scans so long as I am still on this earth remind me as well. And of course, those moments of weakness when I let my guard down and I cry. Remember this, all you have to do is get up.  It doesn't have to be perfect, it doesn't have to be pretty,  just keep getting up after each stumble or fall.

4.  Find your tribe.  If you don't know who your people are yet, you will quickly realize especially after you stumble or fall. These are the people who come over with ginger ale when they find out you are so sick post surgery that you can't hold a thing down. They will also look you in the eye when you say you are fine and ask you "really?"  They can be family or friends or if you are fortunate like I am, they are a mix of both.  They love me when I am at my best and love me even more when I am at my
worst. They accept me for the ups and downs that this cancer survivorship leaves me with...the highs of living life out loud...the lows of endless medical bills and worries of recurrence. They are there for it all. They are my people. You will find yours.

So cancer or not, we are all going to have some stumbles or all out face plants along the way in this little journey called life.  We have a choice; they can make us or break us.  And the fact is, in this so called life or journey, none of us are getting out of here alive...so we might as well make the best of it while we are here.  We can survive or we can use every opportunity we have to rise up.

#heycancernotthisgirl