A year ago today I was fragile but hopeful.
I had been out of the hospital for only 4.5 months and was slowly starting to regain my footing.
My appetite had started to come back, my hair was starting to grow in, but I continuously struggled to feel comfortable in the outside world.
The trauma was still front and center, cancer continued to monopolize conversations, and my relationships were noticeably strained.
For the first time in months, I was able to step outside of my own personal experience with this disease and recognize how it affected those around me.
It was no longer I had cancer but We had cancer.
As I started to empathize with my family and closest friends, I quickly realized that the process of healing, rebuilding and coping was happening in different ways and at different paces.
Cancer may have left my body but it did not leave my life.
The hopeful fragility I embodied last year perhaps remains true today.
I may be more comfortable in the outside world, but I still have moments of displacement.
I may be no longer tiptoeing into the sunlight, but I still have moments of caution.
I may not think about cancer on a daily basis, but her memories are beautifully detailed into the scars that lie beneath—and will forever be a part of me.
Perhaps balancing fear with hope, fragility with strength, illness with health is what life is and should be all about.
This balancing act, this juxtaposition. this existence somewhere in between what was and what is, is exactly where I am supposed to be.
A place of gratitude, a place of uncertainty, a place of hope.
Here is to another year filled with remarkable moments.
To those that stood by me throughout this journey—thank you from the bottom of my heart.