I am f*cking strong

I am really fucking strong.

I take a lot of pride in my strength even if it is not strength that I ever wanted to earn. I did earn it and it is mine. Which is why I think that this last week has been so hard. Because for the first time in a long time I have felt vulnerable, I have felt weak, I have not felt like myself – physically or emotionally.

I know that this will pass, that I will feel better soon and look back on this time and think, “well, that sucked – but look how much stronger I am now. But that day is not today, and I am not sure it will be tomorrow either.

Being in pain or uncomfortable is something I can push through, that is mind over matter. What is currently taking its toll on me is the exhaustion. Particularly the fact that I didn’t expect to still be feeling its effects a week post-surgery. I purposefully chose the less invasive surgery: a lumpectomy over a mastectomy, in part because that was the doctor’s recommendation, but also because it was a simpler procedure and recovery.

There are other layers to this of course. PTSD in particular. Being back in an operating room but not with Adelaide. Realizing how many surgeries I put her body through, what those recoveries must have been like for her. But I had no idea, no reference point. Was I gentle enough with her during her recoveries? Were all those procedures really necessary? My rational brain reminds me over and over again that we did the best we could with the knowledge we had at the time. But it’s hard to stop a tailspin when the vortex is already in motion.

My mother also reminded me this week that I have never been truly sick like this. Sure, I’ve had colds, sinus infections, covid. I’ve learned to decipher whether any difficulty breathing I experience is from life-long asthma or anxiety. But is this even sick? I don’t feel this way because of the cancer, I feel like this because of the surgery to remove the cancer. This is just from my body HEALING. Which just makes me feel even more ridiculous and weak. And then I start to question if I was ever really all that strong to begin with…

I’ve connected with several friends this week who endure chronic illnesses. By no means do I think I even remotely understand their experiences of living with life-altering or debilitating illness – but I’ve had a taste of it and I hate it. To all those batting chronic pain and/or fatigue: for what it’s worth, I see you – you are all fucking rockstars.

In the meantime, there are deadlines looming and meetings I don’t know if I’ll have the energy to attend. My brain remains as active as ever, planning and coordinating, but my body lacks the energy to follow through. At least when I was experiencing deep grief after Adelaide died my brain and body were in agreement on their lack of desire, energy and strength. The current disjointedness between my mind and body is beyond frustrating and quite frankly depressing.

Normally, I would dissect these emotions and tie them up in a quippy bow well before they ever became a blog post. That way I could continue to project the strength I feel and wish to be known for. But sometimes the strongest thing we can do is to admit that we are human. That strength is tested and WILL falter and WHEN it does that is how resilience is earned. Not by using our existing strength to push through and rise above, but by acknowledging the feelings of weakness, and then – eventually – choosing to grow even stronger.

In short, I’m fine. I still feel ridiculous even acknowledging these feelings because I’m going to be ok. But I also know our emotions don’t have to be justified to affect us OR for those affects to have real consequences. This week I am feeling those consequences. Hopefully, next week it will be less so, and continue to taper from there.

By no means am I looking for pity here, that’s about the last thing I want. I think I’m just really tired of having to be strong and get stronger. Less “why me?”, and more “what the fuck”.

Seriously, though. What the actual fuck.

ID: Kelly laying in bed on white bedding, wearing a blue and white button down shirt and covered by a gray comforter. She is making a grumpy face.