Navigating the Darkness
This one's tough. I've got a lot of thoughts and emotions swirling around, and honestly, I'm not sure where to start. The whole purpose of this blog was to have an outlet for all these feelings, a safe space to unload the weight of it all. But this share feels different. More intimate. More raw. So I've decided to keep this one off the socials, just for those who are truly walking this journey alongside me.
One question I'm often asked is how my family is holding up through all of this. And the real answer? I don't know. Cruz, he's old enough to grasp the gravity of the situation, yet sensitive enough to feel it deeply and has been very quiet. I'm hopeful he’s sharing and finding solace in his mom's comforting. As for Quinley, my sour patch kid, she's aware that Mommy's sick, that I go to the doctor for special medicine every week, and that the medicine makes my hair fall out. She's excited about the prospect of painting on my bald head, bless her heart.
But where things get murky is in my marriage. My husband, the one person who should be able to share his feelings with me openly, yet I have no idea. He, and I, have always struggled to be truly vulnerable and talk about feelings, even with each other. Instead, our communication becomes a frustrated outburst of demonstrated feelings we’re incapable of putting into words. So here we are, struggling to break free from our communication impasse. I had hoped this diagnosis might shatter those barriers, and open up channels of vulnerability we'd never explored. But I was wrong. Instead, I find myself feeling more isolated and misunderstood than ever.
And then there are those moments when people ask me how I'm doing. What a loaded question. How are you even supposed to answer that? My go-to response is usually a simple "I'm fine" or "I'm handling it pretty well, all things considered." But let's be real here. The truth? Well, it's a messy mix of feeling depressed, lonely, and utterly isolated with my emotions as I face a reality few can understand. Can you imagine if I actually gave someone that answer when they asked me how I was doing? I'm chuckling just thinking about how awkward that conversation would be.
So where does that leave me? Caught between the “roles” I'm expected to play and the overwhelming weight of my reality that I feel like I’m carrying alone. Pushing myself to utter exhaustion, but trying with everything I have not to show it, just to maintain some semblance of normalcy for my family. Feeling guilty for needing a moment's rest, for saying no to Cruz's friends invading my sanctuary, for missing out on Quinley's playdates. Some days, I just wish I could disappear, escape the suffocating pressure of it all. (Please do not call and put me on suicide watch, I mean this metaphorically…)
This journey isn't just about battling cancer; it's about navigating the darkness within, and confronting the demons that lurk in the shadows of our minds. We all have them. And while the road ahead may be daunting, I'm determined to face it head-on, and I will be fine. I will be different, but I will be fine.