Journal on Healing

The silver white light heals my body. The sunshiny gold light heals my psyche.

My breast cancer was a psychic wound as well as a physical one. When I cried this morning, I could feel it coming from my surgery site in waves, this deep, wounded sadness. Apparently, I’m not done feeling it yet. I’m not entirely healed. This really doesn’t come as a surprise to me, but I do forget about it in the maelstrom of daily life.

I think I try to label this sadness as other things. I call it fear about recurrence or about money. I call it discomfort when I feel I’m not taking care of the site or my body in general. I blame it on my medications or my hormones. I classify it as something old that should have been dealt with already. Imagine that! I pressure myself to be totally over having my body rebel against me and having my life turned upside down. No wonder I’m still sad.

Well, lovely breast, it’s okay to be traumatized. You take all the time you need to heal. And when you need to cry, I will listen and make space for you.

Journal on Healing

Picture credit – 2497381

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It’s obvious that when the apocalypse comes, I will be one of the weak people. I will have no spin kicks with which to defend myself. I will have only the magic of my words and my understanding to protect me. I will be meat for the beast. (Unless I can engage him in conversation.) And I am fine with that. If my death at monstrous hands becomes imminent, I hope I can meet it in a lounge chair, sipping on a gin martini.

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