As I write this today, March 9, it is the one year anniversary of my cancer surgery. The one year anniversary of the beginning of a journey to healing. As I remember it, it’s fuzzy. It’s a blur. I was in a lot of pain prior to my surgery, so I was actually looking forward to getting the surgery.

I made a simple voice memo the other day. I heard a recording of my voice and it stopped me in my tracks. Brought instant tears to my eyes. You see, I forgot. When I hear my voice in my head, I sound like me. I sound like I have always sounded. But that’s not what I sound like now.

<p class="" style="white-space:pre-wrap;">We are all sponges. I recently heard this theory of self-care that resonated with me. When we take care of ourselves, we absorb water like a sponge. Then throughout the day as we navigate life’s tasks of work, family, etc, etc, we are slowly - or quickly - squeezing out the water. Or, more literally, squeezing out our energy, our capacity for work, our good mood, our tolerance for frustration, etc. If we don’t take time to adequa

Having cancer is like living in a bubble. It’s sleep, wake, doctor’s appointments, repeat. I’m not sure how people manage to work or have any semblance of a life while going through cancer treatment. You’re operating under a new normal that doesn’t feel normal at all. It changes you in ways you don’t expect, and fighting that change is futile. It consumes your thoughts and your energy for anything other than treatment and recovery.