There's a thing that happens when you get diagnosed with cancer. Or maybe I'm a total nutter and it's just me. Not sure, but it seems the further along I get in my treatment, the fewer actual hoots I give about what people think.
Sorry. As I type that, I can hear how smug and self-righteous I sound...yuck.
What I mean to say is—I've developed a (slightly) thicker skin about certain things.
Like this blog, for instance. Under normal circumstances, I would NEVER, EVER even entertain the idea of starting a blog. Mostly because I'd fret incessantly over the possibility of coming across as snobbish. Or self-absorbed. Or insecure. I'd worry that my posts would trigger collective eye-rolls and Facebook friends unfollowing me en masse.
I do care about people, they're lovely. I just don't have the energy to waste worrying about what they think of my drawn-on eyebrows. Or, more to the point, what they think about my ideas, my writing, or this silly blogging shtick.
Which, hooray for me because I always worry about what other people think. Especially when it comes to writing.
But now—eh. So what. I have cancer. (Fair warning: I will be pulling out the cancer card here as frequently and unabashedly as suits my fancy. Again: the not caring thing.)
To be human is to suffer. Unless you're Kate Middleton and you get to marry a prince and stroll around London looking like a (classy) Barbie all day. But JK because she has two toddlers, so actually her life is more probably a holy terror, and my sentence about human suffering still stands.
When I first considered writing out our story, I had to come up with concrete reasons to do so. As it stands, this is what I have:
1. On a practical level, I'm blogging to keep friends and family in-the-loop. I thought about weekly email updates, but that seemed way too '90s. (still, what a grand decade that was!)
2. A more selfish reason: I wanted to document our lives for our own personal "time capsule," so to speak. Something tangible that would remind us of that crazy year when we both lost our hair.
3. Lastly, I am telling our story with the hope that it might help a brother out. I can't say who is going to bother with this word-vomit, but if I'm able to reach even one person who is struggling with a similar situation, then that's the ticket!
Typically, I don't go for self-help books. But someone very smart gave me a copy of a memoir called On Fire by John O'Leary, a man who was burned as a child over 100% of his body and lived to tell the tale. His story is incredible.
Anyway, he talks about the importance of embracing your own story and sharing it with the world. He says revealing our unique trials is not done to "seek sympathy, but to free you from longing for it...It's not [told] to perpetually remind others about your brutal childhood, lousy marriage, crummy health, shabby job, or rotten life. It's certainly not [used] as a crutch as to why you remain stuck in the rut today. Nope, we [tell] it proudly to learn the lessons within it, celebrate the scars resulting from it, and do even greater things because of it."
I'm an extremely private person. When conversing with acquaintances, I have a knack for steering the conversation away from myself. I'm a weird bird, ok. I'm not comfortable talking about ME. But when big, hard, terrible things come tearing into your world, your walls start crumbling.
Cancer, in particular, breaks down your sense of control. You literally LOSE CONTROL because there are things you can't do anymore. There are elements that can make you feel in control to some extent (watching your diet, researching your disease etc.) But cancer is gonna do what cancer is gonna do.
He's a real jerk like that.
Cancer breaks down our carefully constructed worlds. And my private self still doesn't like talking about it. But this:
I'm definitely not jumping up and down shouting, "Look at me! Look at all these hard things I'm going through! My story is so sad and you should read about it and be INSPIRED! I'm awesome, BTW."
But I like to write. I like to write, and I want to remember this part of my life. So I'll tell my story. And if part of it brightens your day, well, then cool. At the end of the day, I do want people to think I'm an alright person, that I'm not a total jerk for starting another "cancer blog." Buuuuut. If that is what you think, that's cool too.
Like this blog, for instance. Under normal circumstances, I would NEVER, EVER even entertain the idea of starting a blog. Mostly because I'd fret incessantly over the possibility of coming across as snobbish. Or self-absorbed. Or insecure. I'd worry that my posts would trigger collective eye-rolls and Facebook friends unfollowing me en masse.
I do care about people, they're lovely. I just don't have the energy to waste worrying about what they think of my drawn-on eyebrows. Or, more to the point, what they think about my ideas, my writing, or this silly blogging shtick.
Which, hooray for me because I always worry about what other people think. Especially when it comes to writing.
But now—eh. So what. I have cancer. (Fair warning: I will be pulling out the cancer card here as frequently and unabashedly as suits my fancy. Again: the not caring thing.)
The biggest reason I avoided blogging about our struggles initially, though, was my distress over it appearing like some thinly veiled pity party. The absolute last thing I want people to think (hm, maybe I still care a little bit) is that I need constant sympathy or that I'm trapped in victim mode. Please, don't get the idea that I think our family's situation (while difficult, sure) is any more painful or challenging than anyone else's.
Because we are NOT special, not in the life-is-hard category. Every day I hear stories or read things about atrocities and tragedies my mind can barely work out. I can't watch the news without crying. So no—we are not unique in our suffering.
Because we are NOT special, not in the life-is-hard category. Every day I hear stories or read things about atrocities and tragedies my mind can barely work out. I can't watch the news without crying. So no—we are not unique in our suffering.
To be human is to suffer. Unless you're Kate Middleton and you get to marry a prince and stroll around London looking like a (classy) Barbie all day. But JK because she has two toddlers, so actually her life is more probably a holy terror, and my sentence about human suffering still stands.
When I first considered writing out our story, I had to come up with concrete reasons to do so. As it stands, this is what I have:
1. On a practical level, I'm blogging to keep friends and family in-the-loop. I thought about weekly email updates, but that seemed way too '90s. (still, what a grand decade that was!)
2. A more selfish reason: I wanted to document our lives for our own personal "time capsule," so to speak. Something tangible that would remind us of that crazy year when we both lost our hair.
3. Lastly, I am telling our story with the hope that it might help a brother out. I can't say who is going to bother with this word-vomit, but if I'm able to reach even one person who is struggling with a similar situation, then that's the ticket!
Typically, I don't go for self-help books. But someone very smart gave me a copy of a memoir called On Fire by John O'Leary, a man who was burned as a child over 100% of his body and lived to tell the tale. His story is incredible.
Anyway, he talks about the importance of embracing your own story and sharing it with the world. He says revealing our unique trials is not done to "seek sympathy, but to free you from longing for it...It's not [told] to perpetually remind others about your brutal childhood, lousy marriage, crummy health, shabby job, or rotten life. It's certainly not [used] as a crutch as to why you remain stuck in the rut today. Nope, we [tell] it proudly to learn the lessons within it, celebrate the scars resulting from it, and do even greater things because of it."
I'm an extremely private person. When conversing with acquaintances, I have a knack for steering the conversation away from myself. I'm a weird bird, ok. I'm not comfortable talking about ME. But when big, hard, terrible things come tearing into your world, your walls start crumbling.
Cancer, in particular, breaks down your sense of control. You literally LOSE CONTROL because there are things you can't do anymore. There are elements that can make you feel in control to some extent (watching your diet, researching your disease etc.) But cancer is gonna do what cancer is gonna do.
He's a real jerk like that.
Cancer breaks down our carefully constructed worlds. And my private self still doesn't like talking about it. But this:
"In our own woundedness, we can become sources of life for others." - Henri J.M. NouwenI don't know if that applies to me. I just don't know.
I'm definitely not jumping up and down shouting, "Look at me! Look at all these hard things I'm going through! My story is so sad and you should read about it and be INSPIRED! I'm awesome, BTW."
But I like to write. I like to write, and I want to remember this part of my life. So I'll tell my story. And if part of it brightens your day, well, then cool. At the end of the day, I do want people to think I'm an alright person, that I'm not a total jerk for starting another "cancer blog." Buuuuut. If that is what you think, that's cool too.
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