Hard

One of the hardest things about this journey for me is being a young, active woman trapped inside a body that’s failing her.

From the moment I found out I was pregnant at 19, I had my life all planned out — and I was so excited for it. I was young, yes, and he wasn’t planned, but he was the greatest gift God could have given me. That tiny heartbeat gave my life direction and purpose.

I dreamed of being a young, energetic mom — and one day, a young, fun grandma. That was the vision I held onto. And for a long time, I lived it. Until 2018, when cancer showed up and changed everything.

At first, I didn’t slow down. I refused to. When treatment ended, I picked myself back up and kept going. I told myself I was fine. And for a while, I really was — maybe a little more tired, a little more aware of my limits — but still me. Still strong. Still moving.

Fast forward to 2023. The word recurrence hit like a brick to the chest. I wasn’t ready — not mentally, not physically, not spiritually. I don’t think anyone ever is. I didn’t realize how much fighting for my life, again, would take out of me — not just in body, but in spirit.

Most days, I feel “okay.” I do what I can, I find joy in the little things, and I’m genuinely happy to be here, surrounded by love. But some days… some days are just hard. Getting out of bed feels impossible. The exhaustion runs deeper than tired — it’s in my bones, my muscles, my soul.

Knowing I have a whole tribe of people (and critters) who count on me keeps me pushing forward. Their love is my fuel. But even that kind of strength has limits. You start noticing how often you need to sit down, how many breaks it takes to do the simplest tasks. You start planning your days around your energy instead of your excitement. You learn to say no to things you want to do, because your body says you can’t.

At 42, that’s a hard truth to face. I’m young. I’m alive. I should be able to do what I want, when I want.

But cancer doesn’t care about “should.”

It doesn’t care that I have dreams, or plans, or a heart that still aches to live life fully. And when you’ve been reminded how fragile life really is, missing out hits different. It hurts.

On the days when it feels like too much, I remind myself to rest. To breathe. To focus on the good — the laughter, the love, the moments that make all of this worth it. I remind myself this season won’t last forever.

But man… some days… no matter how much faith or gratitude I hold onto… it’s just hard.