Today is exactly one year since my diagnosis. I remember— it was a Monday, and I took the call between meetings. I can picture where I was standing in the house and the quality of the light near my desk.
Yet here I am. It almost seems like a lifetime ago. I’m sitting on my sofa, in front of my fake fireplace, another warm glow, and enjoying a cup of coffee. Thinking about how much has changed.
A year ago, Anxiety lived with me 24/7. It set up shop and probably helped me power through the whirlwind of doctor appointments. It certainly kept me on task with researching my disease and what could help. It made me singularly focused.
Now, I have a new appreciation for peace and acceptance in my life. The simple phrase “it is what it is, you’ll do the next best thing” has become my mantra. I’ve also learned to regroup when I feel Anxiety knocking at my door; I move, I breath, I listen to 432 Hz. My therapist told me “anxiety lives in the future” so I work on connecting to the present. As a cancer survivor there will always be the “what if” question of recurrence- but fearing it doesn’t change a thing about what is or is not. And so the more I can choose things that bring me joy, the better I’ll feel, and the more connected I’ll be.
A year ago, and before my diagnosis, I may have been considered a high-strung person. I’m driven, have high expectations of myself and others, and wanted everything to be the best it could be. And there’s nothing wrong with any of that, in my opinion. Except that for me, this often created a level of stress in my life that was unhealthy, despite how “healthy” a person I was.
Now, I’m working hard on prioritization, increasing my perspective, and using my empathy in a new way. This means I’m asking myself “in the grand scheme of things, does this matter?” And “what’s the most important part about this?” And other similar queries. I can actually feel the lowered frustration and the increased access to humor and joy.
Sometimes I wonder how different I feel to others, now. Do I still seem like “Lara”, the one they’ve known?
I’ve heard versions of this from many cancer survivors- there’s an in-between phase. You’re not the old you, but you’re not done processing what you’ve gone though. The new you is still developing.
Stay tuned for Lara 2.0. We hope you’ll like the upgrade.
Just a photo of the Bay. Seemed appropriate.