As I moved through the diagnosis into the treatment phase, I kept a certain reserve for all the things happening to me and against me. This reserve I set up and carefully protected was more like a line in the sand, a margin that separated me from the breast cancer. Yes, it was invasive of my body, but I disallowed it to be invading of my emotions. People would say to me, “You have such a positive outlook”, or “You’ll beat this thing with your humor and your uplifting spirit.” I’d smile and agree and then turn my face away from the wind. Month after month I endured and lived through the chemo, counting down each session and marking it from the calendar. After the surgery, I waited three days to cry. I waited until I was home from the hospital, sitting on my couch, alone in my private setting. I cried like a lost baby. I sobbed without control. Afterwards, when I could weep no more, I wiped my face dry and, again, put away my emotions. On I went, week after week, showing up for radiation treatments, lending good humor and a smiling face to the docs, the techs and the other patients in the waiting room. Today, as I approach this one year anniversary of when the entire slow-motion journey began, I have rooted around and discovered something so amazing, so all-powerful. I finally feel what this disease is all about and why it came to roost within me. From my recovery has come the very essence of my spirit, at a depth I have never been to. I have acquired pure will and grace to be less fearful and more celebratory as I step through each moment at a time. I realize now the reserve I built was not a denial but a gradual acceptance. Today, I face the wind, I breathe the knowledge. I share in the hope. I seek out each second, each measure in this nowness, each true moment that provides me the freedom to faithfully believe my body, mind and spirit will work in concert to fill me up and guide me carefully. This I know…I will sustain within this territory I have mapped; this terrain that belongs to me.

Reflections

Today, I logged on to myskirt.com for the first time in awhile. The essay contest popped up on the screen and grinned at me. I immediately knew I would stop right then and there, work tasks set aside, and write. An hour later, here I am ready to press the submit button. Writing this essay seems like a logical step for me; a simple way to reveal thoughts and processes I have experienced this past year. This I know, the realization of a tagged denial process being instead a gradual acceptance plan for my breast cancer has been the highlight of my day. Thank you for the opportunity.