I’m doing this for myself.
And when I say “this”, I mean writing and posting here. But, really, at this point in time, I can and should extend “this” to include, well, everything.
I write here to help me focus my thoughts, to try to make sense of what’s going on with my body, my health, my sense of self. Without some sort of outlet or direction, the half-formed thoughts just kind of bounce around in my head. Bang. Bang. Bang. Nowhere to go. No room to grow. But if I can push them out into a word, a sentence, a paragraph, a post, no more rattle and bang, bang, bang. Or at least until the next half-formed thought bursts through.
And here, I am my own audience. I have to be. And I’m learning how to be my own best audience. I don’t judge myself what comes out here. Or, at least, I’m working on not judging. The anonymity helps. I try to be honest about what I’m feeling, not performative. I could keep all of this in my private journal, I suppose … But the idea that someone might read this — but that both of us will remain anonymous — also allows me to, perhaps, dig a little deeper and to try to find my own humanity in the midst of all of this. Paradoxically, having this writing be public (and yet without context and comment) makes me re-center myself again and again, without guilt or without feeling as though I’m being selfish. It’s one thing to write about myself in the privacy of my own journals; it is quite another to continue to focus on myself in a public (albeit anonymous) forum.
And perhaps I’m hoping that some of this will carry over into how I’m coping with cancer and the treatments and even just how I treat myself in life in general. I must center myself, again and again. And when I say this I mean that I must bring myself back to the center of the narrative. Yes. I have to be the “main character” and, more importantly, I have to see and value myself as the main character. I’m not a show runner or writer or producer or even a key grip or caterer. I’m the main character; the entire story revolves around me, my needs, and my motivations. And as uncomfortable as it may feel to accept that role here and to give up attempting to be in control or even to be a support person, having cancer has forced me to not sideline myself. I still wish I didn’t have cancer. If I woke up tomorrow and someone said, “I can take away this cancer right now,” I’d certainly take them up on their offer. I don’t think I will ever be someone who is able to be grateful for cancer. But for right now, perhaps, I’m one step closer to accepting that living with cancer doesn’t necessarily mean stagnation. In fact, maybe it can mean the opposite: growth.