I’m sitting here in the quiet. A place that I have grown to yearn for and love but a place that didn’t actually really exist for me until cancer. Sure, I had times of a 5% slow down in the day-to-day because not every day can realistically be Mach-20, but to choose to STOP and BE NOTHING but QUIET is just not a very practiced practice and it wasn’t until I was recovering from my mastectomy that I stopped long enough to experience this. I mean, I really had no choice. And I learned to choose the quiet.
By choosing to be quiet then, in the midst of the blackest of unknowns, I learned a few things:
I learned that there is deep value in the place where I felt almost literally at the end of myself…stretched to near snapping…so weak that even blinking felt insurmountable. This taught me that I only know the depth of strength when in the depth of weakness—and He meets me there, where deep cries out to deep.
I also learned that there is something very special about living right on the edge between what is known and what is unknown. But, Amber, what does that even mean? It means that I think us humans are really confident in what we know, so much so that we use that knowledge to color what we don’t know. It means that we pride ourselves in expert status on “a,” “b,” or “c” because we’ve worked hard to get there and we take what we know and apply it to what we don’t. [Hello, isn’t that living life?] Yes. It is.
But. If we aren’t careful, it also means that we get comfortable in tomorrows…
Cancer diagnosis and treatment stopped time for me, starting with my massive mastectomy recovery—unable to move much. To shower on my own. To brush my own hair (that I was counting down the days of having). To drive a car. Or put on socks. Or even paint my nails. And it was in these moments of time-standing-still that I look back now and realize how sweet they really were. Moments in time where I truly didn’t know if a tomorrow would come. I lived on the very edge of what I knew (because it was each minute that passed) and couldn’t do anything but soak up what it had to offer since I had no way of expecting tomorrow, let alone predict it. I was getting real-time, whether-I-liked-it-or-not practice at this really important sentiment: What we spend our time and energy on in what we think we know distracts us from what is actually known and cheats us out of what not knowing can teach us.
It is here, in the “what not knowing can teach us,” that I learned the most—Resilience. Trust. Faith. Gratitude. Active surrender. It is here that is getting harder and harder to practice the deeper I get in survivorship because unless I actively choose the ‘quiet,’ (now not made easier by recovery or treatment) tomorrow becomes far too comfortable and I’ll miss the sweet moments on the edge of the unknown.
*Post 889
Sad… :: 9/10/17 :: Post 10
I’m so sad today. Every time I am awake I am crying. Sometimes it’s a little sob. Other times it’s waves upon waves of grief.
I’d rather be sleeping. When I sleep, I feel nothing. No pain, no fear, no sadness…there is peace and stillness in my soul, mind and heart. And then I wake up. And reality crashes into me again. Every move hurts. Every deep breath hurts. Every shifting in my chair hurts. And then the meds……so many meds. I hate taking them. And then the drains. Every time we empty them I have to look down and see nothing but bruises and swelling and suture tape. It’s devastatingly sad. It breaks my heart. It crushes my soul.
This freight train is the hardest hitting one so far.
And I just cannot quiet the tears.
I know I won’t always feel this way but right now I am hurting from the inside out and I am daunted by the long long long road ahead. Thank you to everyone who is praying for me. For the meals. For the check-ins.
The Known of Right Now :: 9/10/18 :: Post 361
My social media post today:
17 of 18. Today I’m intentionally living 5 minutes at a time…….
It’s human to look down the road and try and predict what’s coming so that the mind and heart can be prepared for what may come. And there is something important to acknowledge in that place – walking blind is hard and living in the unknown is wrought with complex emotions.
Conversely, choosing to live in only the known of right now brings with it a strange freedom. I came to chemo today with the weight of the world on my heart….a big week ahead with the saturation of the blackness of the unknown, palpable. And as I’ve had to sit here and wait…soooooo long…..for everything, I have had to intentionally choose to breathe into the waiting. And as I’ve practiced living the current moment only, God has showed up. My oncologist had amazing encouragement for me, helpful clarity came from conversations with her and my nurses, a connection with a new friend brought laughter and celebration, and the rest and quiet of the morning on the front end of this big week has been a gift.
I am grateful for this strange freedom that is inherent in this right now.
Waves :: 9/10/19 :: Post 726
Waves come and go in this journey…waves of grief, waves of uncertainty, waves of frustration, waves of anger, waves of insecurity.
Today I spiraled into deep insecurity.
It’s rough here.