Tuesday Thoughts

I’ve completely abandoned my blog lately, and I guess the main reason (other than life being genuinely quite busy all of a sudden) is because I’ve been attempting to ‘get on’ with my life, find my feet among the post-cancer madness, and get back to some sort of normality – if that’s even possible.

So, in case you’ve not seen on my Instagram, let me fill you in with where we’re at. Back in June 2021 I received the best possible news that I was finally in remission from breast cancer. The surgeries (yep, ya girl went under the knife twice) completely removed any remaining tumour and pre-cancerous cells. Cue me driving home holding back the tears and cracking open a bottle of prosecco the second I got through the door. I’ll be forever grateful for the NHS, my hero of a surgeon, and all the amazing team who have looked after me this past year. Thank fuck for modern day medicine.

Now as much as I’d love to sit here and say these past few months have been a total breeze and I’m living my best, most authentic life etc. etc., that would be a bit of a lie. Don’t get me wrong, some of it has been incredible – I was a bridesmaid for one of my best friends, I got to tour the UK over summer with my boyfriend, we subsequently celebrated our 3-year anniversary (lord knows how he’s dealt with me for that long, the man’s a saint), I shot for Primark’s (!) breast cancer awareness month campaign, and I finally met some of the beautiful women in the cancer community who have been my rocks this past year.

And I know I should be feeling grateful, and I should be over the moon to be alive, running around with glee and singing life’s a gift to any poor sod I encounter. And it’s a weird one because I do feel all those things, I really do. But that doesn’t mean it hasn’t also been really fucking difficult.

People say that life after cancer is harder than life during cancer, and it’s true. Because when you’re in active treatment, every day is a new day, counting down to the next chemo infusion or the next surgery appointment. You go into survival mode. The adrenaline (or maybe it was just the steroids) keep you going and pushing on to the finish line. Now I’m on the other side of the line I feel completely lost. I keep looking back at the girl I was before, mourning her and desperate to be as carefree as her, but knowing I’ll never actually be her again. How am I supposed to just accept that this has happened? How do I even begin to process the trauma I’ve just experienced?

And then there’s the whole complicated relationship with my body. It goes without saying that it’s nearly impossible to feel good about your body 24/7. It’s so easy to cheerlead the other women in our lives through variations of “you’re so beautiful”, “SLAY BITCH”, and multiple flame emojis in the DM’s. But when it comes to our own bodies? It’s a different ball game. Where I used to have a beautiful boob with a nipple piercing that made me feel sexy and womanly, I now have a nipple-less, new boob (albeit perky AF) that looks nothing like the other one. I’m covered in scars across my chest and armpit, serving as a constant reminder of the hell and back my body has been through. I still suffer with severe brain fog, unable to finish sentences and forgetting obvious words. And then there’s the medical menopause attacking my body relentlessly, from constant hot flushes to the aches and pains of a 90-something year old, to the Sahara Desert vagina situ. I’m trying to be forgiving and loving towards my body, because ultimately it has been through so much and it’s still alive and kicking, but fuck me it’s hard.

And then there’s the mental scars. The dark clouds. The struggle sometimes to get out of bed and be productive. Try battling those thoughts with the absolute guilt you’re riddled with from you getting to be alive when some of your friends aren’t.

My lovely online friend Hatti passed away last month, and I’ve been struggling massively with her loss. She was the first person I ever reached out to online when I was diagnosed, and she was just my biggest supporter, always checking in and cheering me on from afar. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about her and yearn to see her name pop up on my screen.

I guess part of being in the cancer community unfortunately is the fact that people will inevitably die, but how on earth am I meant to just accept that? It’s so unfair, so indiscriminate. There is no pattern to it, no reason.

I guess this random Tuesday ramble doesn’t really have a point to it. I just had some thoughts I needed to get out of my head and where better to do it?

Someone messaged me recently to say that I’m always so positive and smiley, and the thing is I really do try to remain positive even when faced with the absolute worst. But it also made me think, I don’t want people to think that’s my reality all the time, because I can promise you it isn’t. The truth is, I’m struggling. And that’s fine, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I mean of course I’m bloody struggling – have you seen the year I’ve just had?! It would be pretty fucking weird if I was buzzing all the time.

But I am here, I’m living, and I’m very very slowly getting there on my journey to self-love and acceptance. Taking each step as it comes.