Learning to live in the AND

This journal entry is an evolution of sorts, since I wrote the first part in the middle of my long writing hiatus when I couldn’t figure out why I hadn’t written in so long. I finished it just now, months later, and I’m glad to see the progress.

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I’ve been in a bit of a sweet spot lately, coasting on stable scans and the longevity of my meds. While it’s a great place to be, it’s also a dangerous place to be. Closer to the “shoe dropping” (there will always be more levitating shoes), and the higher the coasting, the longer and harder the fall when it’s my turn for bad news.

I’ve been vacillating between a few different mindsets and I guess I’m not sure where to land. For a few months, I was feeling pulled toward full-on blind hope, desperate to believe in my core that I will be an anomaly and live for another 40 years. Ignore the statistics, distance myself from the terminal part of this illness, and assume I’ll be fine long-term. There are crazy miracles that happen, why not me?

I can’t shake the realist in me though, so I’m blocked from fully living in that space. I also see some of my Peeps struggling with disease progression or life-altering side effects, and I am terrified of losing more friends, and those same things happening to me. It’s like the Ghost of Cancer Future showing me what’s to come through the suffering of my friends. How can I fully live in hope without ignoring my cancer friends and denying them my support because I can’t be exposed to the possibilities? Those are at odds with each other. I’m not better or luckier than anyone else in this club. I’d say I got dealt a pretty unlucky hand by joining the club so young.

I also can’t shake the curiosity about the data on alternative and complementary lifestyle changes I could make, but don’t. Do they really work? The real question is are they worth all the work and trouble to put those into place? Why am I afraid of committing to them? Maybe because I don’t want to change so many habits – though I know they’re healthier even without cancer – if it isn’t going to help. Many of them feel like extra work and depriving me of things I enjoy- like sleeping, eating whatever (especially sweets), sitting on my butt watching TV. I want to enjoy my life, not feel like it’s 100% revolved around maintenance to keep me alive. But why wouldn’t I want to focus my life around keeping me alive and healthy?? What’s my deal? I’m resentful of having to consider these as life or death choices. There’s no way to know for sure if choosing door #2 will lead to a longer life, but I would choose it in a heartbeat if that outcome could be promised. I know everything behind door #2 is healthier and better for me, but still, after 3 years, I’m still standing on the outside, wondering why I haven’t gone through. It’s like a years-long tennis match in my head and I don’t know who is winning.

“Cut out sugar, eat plant-based!”

“Food is medicine, heal yourself from the inside out!”

“Exercise is the most important thing to keep your body and mind healthy!”

“Meditation reduces stress and leads to finding peace.”

“The brain is powerful and can literally change your physiology on a cellular level.”

“Life is short, eat the cake!”

“Don’t deprive yourself of what you enjoy! Enjoy it while you can!”

“Rest, don’t overdo it, your body needs energy to heal!”

“You can’t think yourself into health. Mindset won’t save you.”

“If a positive attitude and willingness to live was a cure, no one would die from illness.”

And here’s the part where I’m developing mindfulness around the inner turmoil. When overwhelmed and in trauma, it’s easy for our brain to default to this OR that, black OR white. Polar opposites feel like the only options. However, as I’ve been learning from working with Sabrina at Heart in the Moment (and listening to We Can Do Hard Things podcast), there is a lot of space between those opposites. All of the above can be true. So instead of picking a side, I’m finding my way through the middle. The moderation. The AND.

I can eat healthy AND still have sweets.

I can exercise to build strength at my level AND rest when I need to.

I can practice mediation, even if it is an irregular practice, AND not expect it to cure me.

I can carry hope for myself AND support my cancer friends, knowing my story isn’t their story.

I can long for a future AND experience the present.

It isn’t always easy to find the AND space, yet the more I practice thinking and living there, the more at peace I feel. Remembering the AND feels like someone turning off the heat when the pot is boiling over. It’s very grounding for me. When I find myself overwhelmed with opposing sides, I can take a few deep breaths* and know I don’t have to choose. It can be both. It can be both for you, too.

*easier said than done at times