Windows & Mirrors
One of the hardest things to cope with during chemotherapy was also one of the greatest gifts. Hard to imagine that something so toxic could be benevolent but there it is.
It took one chemo treatment for my hair to begin to fall out. I remember the warm, early September day, driving with the window down. I ran my fingers through my hair and as I pulled my hand away, there were strands of hair between my fingers. There is a reality check that comes with that – you know it is going to happen but until you see the physical evidence you can still live in the world of denial where nothing like that will happen.
After the second treatment I lost the hair everywhere else on my body, which was a shock I had not really been prepared for. My primary focus was on needing a wig, head scarves, bandanas, and warm hats as the cold of winter would be setting in, and I spent at least 4 days out of 7 in freezing cold hockey arenas.
What really surprised me and turned out to be the gift was the loss of my eyelashes and eyebrows. The irritation of no eyelashes is real and proved to be a challenge. Eyebrows less so as makeup allowed me to at least create the illusion that they existed.
I had choices of course. If I left my eyes without makeup I looked like Little Orphan Annie on a good day if I had the wig on or a bright bandana. If it was just me walking around the house without anything on my head and passed a mirror I’d laugh because I looked like Uncle Fester from the Addams Family. There was very little I could do about the eyelashes but with shaded in brows, other makeup, the wig and attitude I made a difficult situation at least bearable.
The gift? Being able to see my eyes – the eyes I had always taken for granted. For the first time in my life, I actually saw my eyes. And I fell in love with them. Our hair is one of the first things people notice about us whether meeting us for the first time or by people we have known for a while. People notice when you get a haircut (or need one), or when you’ve changed your style. Prior to cancer, any time I would go through an unhappy or difficult experience, one of the first things I would change was my hair – the style, the colour, or the length, thinking it was a fresh start. When you are bald, it is the eyes that stand out and become the focus. There is such clarity with regard to the colour, the shape and the depth. You notice how the eyes smile when the lips do. How they deepen in anger and cloud with sorrow.
To this day when I meet someone for the first time, or I’m with someone I see on a regular basis, it is their eyes that I focus on. As trite as it sounds, our eyes truly are the window to the soul and the mirror to the heart. There is true, honest expression and emotion that we often miss when we focus elsewhere.
When was the last time you truly looked at your own eyes? What did you see?
Grieving and Vulnerability
Approaching the doors to the funeral home the other day for the remembrance of the father of one of my son’s dearest friends, memories of the times I had entered that building for the people I love came flooding in. A deep breath taken before reaching for the handle to step into the thickly carpeted floors meant to mask the sound of footsteps. And yet. There is sound, there is laughter and there is life. My breathing resumed. I am not afraid of death. I have walked too closely with it for too many years, and I acknowledge the role it plays in life. It is the memories, the sorrow and loss of grieving that keep me from breathing at times.
We paid our respects and then found the young man we had come to see and to hold tightly with love. The stories shared of the memories of this man who guided his life to this point. A highly respected individual with a personality that will live on for generations. The laughter of who he was and then we moved to the stories of the boys’ childhoods and teen years. The hockey teams they played on, the remembered antics that they got up to (some I was hearing for the first time) and plans made for the next few months to get together for some shiny and a trip they are planning for spring. Because grief is not only tears and sorrow. It is laughter and the joy of life. It says, “keep living, keep going.” The stories allow us to take the best parts of those we’ve loved and keep them close.
We returned home to three dogs who were visiting - who give so much joy with their unconditional love. One is a bit of minx and rather than feeling sorrow and sadness we walked into the house to find a bit of mischief had taken place in our absence. Laughter ensued and continued for the rest of the weekend.
That girl has opened my heart to a grief long buried since childhood about a beloved best friend dog of my own. That is a story for another time perhaps. I’ve always known why I never wanted to have another dog and my children understood that. I know too why we didn’t have one when my boys were children although they dearly wished to – too committed to their sports and travel and not being home. You do not have a pet of any kind if you are not going to be home enough to spend the time with them that they deserve. This dog of my son’s has been a gift sent to remind me that healing needs to be addressed, walls need to be lowered, and pain addressed. She follows me around; she yaps at me and demands my attention. I tell her all the time “I don’t know what you want” but she does not stop trying. I’m finally understanding. Being emotionally guarded to avoid potential heartbreak means denying joy and happiness. And the opportunity to experience unconditional love. Opening yourself to vulnerability can be risky. Sometimes you need to take that deep breath and take the risk. Grieving is part of that process. It is a reminder that endings usher in new beginnings with greater knowledge of what it means to live and to love fully.
Life is a series of lessons that move us towards a graduation. I’m ready to step into vulnerability, to remove the cotton wool of protection I’ve wrapped my heart in to embrace new lessons. There won’t be a new dog for me. But there are other risks and chances to take. And I’m looking forward to my next “chat” with that sheltie.
Is It Done?
Keeping a journal allows me to pour my thoughts onto a page which often brings the clarity I’m looking for. I might start from point A and before I know it, a stream of consciousness has spilled itself from my mind through my hand. There are times when I’m surprised by what evolves. A great many of those thoughts are so private that they are meant only for me and no other prying eyes. Having been the recipient of the diaries kept by family members who have passed, I know the pitfalls that can await if anyone else becomes privy to your deepest secrets, wants or desires. In the case of stream of consciousness, I use an art journal – the words are then covered over with paper and paint, allowing me to create a message or a story that is meaningful to me.
The question I often ask is, “is it done?” After applying paper, smearing paint, making marks with pencils and pens and creating a base layer from which to work, I’ll put the journal away and know that when inspiration calls, I can then use that page to weave a story using words and images. There are times though when the page itself IS art. It requires nothing else, no words, no added message or meaning. I can turn to that page and just feel the pleasure of looking at those colours and those markings. Sometimes the page is complete because there is nothing left to say. And sometimes the page is done because I no longer want to look at it. Created solely to safeguard my thoughts it fulfilled its purpose.
I see life in the same way. At times we might struggle to finish something we have started because we have made an investment of time or money. To finish reading a book or complete a puzzle. To follow a complicated recipe for a meal that we realize is just too much bother and above our skill level. To keep adding to a piece of art when there is no vision in going forward. We build something we believe we need or want – a story, art, a relationship, a partnership, a career. Sometimes we reach a point where we look at these things and ask ourselves “is it done” – as in has this fulfilled its purpose and is it time to move on to the next chapter. It does not mean it was a waste of time. We learn from every experience in life. Endings are not failures—they represent growth and open the way to new beginnings we may not realize we’re ready for. A fresh page on which to keep writing.
Anxiety
Life flows and carries us along with its highs and lows, with its happy moments and its periods of anguish and sorrow. At this moment in time, the world we know has been thrown into chaos, affecting some of us more than others. There are levels of anxiety from a mere noticing and feeling unsettled, to mid anxiety where we sense danger and upheaval to the strongest form of full-on panic. It is the unknown that unsettles us because there are no answers or reassurances ready to hand to allay the unease and fear.
Through some of the unexpected tumultuous moments in life we can hold tight and ride the wave until the storm passes or find solutions that work in the short or long term. We can make things worse by stressing ourselves about trying to find answers to situations that are out of our control. It is those moments of anxiety, when outcomes are out of our control that are the greatest test.
At one of my chemotherapy treatments, conversation around the room was about how we were coping. Some of the people in the room were being treated for cancer management, others of us in the hope that these toxic drugs we were being injected with would be our salvation. Travelers on a journey, we were in the boat together but not all heading towards the same destination.
A young woman sitting with an older man made a comment, about what, I don’t recall, but as soon as she had spoken, she looked aghast at us and said and I paraphrase, that she had “no business saying anything as she was not the one dealing with cancer, she was only there to support her father.”
The room was silent, until I spoke up in defense of her right to speak because she was in fact, dealing with cancer. While this woman’s cancer journey anxiety was different from ours, it was no less valid. Faced with a life crisis that was out of her hands, she wanted to support her loved one but did not know how to go about that other than sitting by his side and holding his hand. Like all of us in that circle, she wanted answers, she wanted to know the outcome, and she wanted reassurance that all would be well. That life would go back to how it was before their lives were turned upside down.
In times of crisis and chaos we often must listen to experts, those who have the education or training to move us forward. What we need most is to trust. To trust the process, to trust that others have the answers, to trust in something bigger than us. To trust in ourselves. The outcome may not be what we hope for but the stress we feel as we go through crisis and uncertainty only makes things worse. The waiting can be excruciating but it is sitting in stillness until we know the outcome that we need. Once we have an answer we can move forward, make plans, and create a new path if necessary.
In the meantime, stepping into the silence of nature can calm. Listening to music soothes. And laughter helps at the hardest of times. It seems counter intuitive, but it works. At the hardest moments of my cancer journey, when either or both of my children were deeply stressed and worried, I reminded them that I was still here, living in the present. We were still going to their sporting events; they still had responsibilities and there was no slipping under the radar. And on the bad days, we had props. I bought fake noses & glasses shortly after my diagnosis for all of us and when the tears had been shed for too long, they were put on until the tears had turned to laughter and we got on with the business of living as best we knew how.
Anxiety is a very real part of life. It is also presents us with the possibility of valuable life lessons.
Exit
Weeks ago, I listened to a group discussion that gave me pause for thought. One speaker made an inflammatory comment, deliberate or without thought, sure to draw the ire of listeners. Before things escalated, the moderator stepped in to defuse the situation and gave the speaker a chance to reconsider or clarify their remarks. The speaker ignored the gift of this opportunity and in fact, made it worse by making a joke. It was not the outrage I felt about the comments that made me sit back and think. It was the gracious gift of the “here is the way out” moment.
How often in life do we head down the wrong path and even when we realize we have miscalculated we keep going because ego steps in and dictates, “I’m not wrong, the map must have a misprint.” Or how we persist in our decisions even after admitting a mistake, simply to avoid appearing foolish. How prideful must we be to see an off ramp in the near distance and rather than take that step to find a way out we ignore it and continue because we can’t admit to ourselves or anyone else that we were wrong. How much further down the highway will we drive when we realize we missed our exit? Will we take the next one, turn around and find a different route to take us to our destination? Can we, if we misspeak or behave in a thoughtless manner toward someone else, hear when we are offered the opportunity to stop and think before speaking again or is “being right” more important? And can we apologize when we have gone too far?
So many of the lessons we learn in life come from the mistakes we make if we have the wisdom to step out of our own way and truly listen. If we’re in water deeper than we can keep treading, close to going under, and someone throws out a life preserver or a hand and says “take this” are we humble enough to grab it and say “thank you”?
What possibilities exist if we take the off ramp, or the hand that is prepared to lead us out of difficulty?
Giving Thanks
Thanksgiving is about celebrating the harvest, giving thanks for abundance and the food on the table. It is about sharing with others the bounty you may have that someone else does not. That’s the general idea.
What about giving thanks to the people in your life? Not for. We can give thanks for the people in our lives silently or in prayer or however you find it easiest to communicate innermost thoughts. What about actually saying the words verbally or in writing that express what that person or the people in your life mean to you? To those who have offered comfort or solace? To those who have stood by you at times when the road ahead looked bleak and unforgiving? To those who have been teachers or mentors? To those who make you laugh? To those who understand you, sometimes when you are having difficulty understanding yourself? To those who remind you to never take yourself too seriously? To those who brighten the room when they walk in? To those who send a text or mail a card just to say “been thinking about you?” and it made you feel remembered? To those who are getting a coffee or a tea for themselves and often remember to get one for you too because they know you’re busy and they remember how you take it? To those you sometimes take for granted?
You get the idea. The list is endless. Add your own and remember to give thanks, not just on Thanksgiving — every day.
Persistence & Perseverance
There are times in life that will try our patience and our fortitude. Trials that beset us, frustrate us and oftentimes force us to change plans or directions and sadly at times, to say there are no options left. If we are lucky (blessed might be a better word), we learn ways to manoeuver around those obstacles and challenges.
Once again today I find myself challenged by social media, when I was informed that my ability to like or comment on people’s posts on threads was restricted. Even creating a post of my own was impossible. When I first rejoined threads in late spring, I had this same issue. I let them know that they had made an error in the little box provided and tried to figure out how to circumvent this restriction. An internet search taught me how I could still post within that restriction, and I remembered how to do that this morning. I persist because it’s what I know how to do, although I didn’t always.
I learned a great lesson about persistence from my older son, who as a child of 4 was determined to make a friend of a boy who lived across the street. Repeated rebuffs didn’t stop him from trying. He would knock on the gate at that house and be told by the other boy to go away, he didn’t want to play. Home he would come, and I’d suggest just playing around the house for a bit and within 5 minutes, off he’d go to that other house, knock on the gate to be sent home once again. I don’t recall how many tries my son made to be admitted into that backyard, but I watched each time, hoping he’d either admit defeat and find peace, or granted entry to what it was he was hoping to find. I think both of us jumped a little with joy when we saw that gate finally open.
Perseverance came to me through cancer treatment. Chemotherapy was a challenge to say the least, but I was blessed in that I was never ill and never missed treatment. The “red devil” (doxorubicin) is so toxic that it is injected into a vein in the hand by the nurse wearing protective gloves. I had 4 of that, one every 3 weeks and other than losing all my hair, no serious side effects. Taxol, after the red devil was finished was a large bottle of nasty that took almost 4 hours to drip. 4 of that once every 3 weeks. Worst side effect - intense bone pain, managed by Tylenol 3 and 2 days of remaining prone or sleeping on the couch. Neuropathy is a major side effect, and again I was blessed that mine was minor, though persists somewhat to this day. It was radiation that taught me true perseverance.
Chemotherapy didn’t upset me the way that radiation did. I needed 30 hits of that, 5 days a week for 6 weeks. The zapping lasted all of 10 minutes. But I almost quit before I even had the first one. Arriving at the Princess Margaret Hospital in Toronto for that (2 choices for radiation in the region at that time - Sunnybrook or PMH and my doctor chose PMH) was anguish. At the hospital where I had chemo, so much else was happening including babies being born. It wasn’t just about cancer. Princess Margaret is all cancer, all the time and it is an incredible facility. The fact that the machines break down all the time, all day long, means that my 4 p.m. appointment was pushed to almost 7 p.m. and as I sat there waiting with dread I nearly bolted, deciding I’d just not do radiation. In near tears, I phoned a friend who was still at her office in the area. She arrived within minutes and sat with me to keep me in that chair until my name was called. If you have a friend like that? Cherish that person. And I figured out that if I made all future appointments for first thing in the morning, the machine hasn’t had a chance to wear out. That meant getting up at an unholy hour to get to the hospital, but I did it for those 6 weeks. And the bonus was having the remainder of the day free for other things.
Being frustrated in my movements by a social media platform pales in comparison to being stopped in my tracks by a life threatening disease. There is no comparison. I can live without social media. But I’ve learned through the gift of experience that there are options and ways around difficulties and obstacles thrown in my path. The possibility to say “I’m done” and move on to something else or the possibility to keep fighting for what I know I can do or what I want. I’m like the gum stuck under a shoe. Once I’m there, I’m hard to get rid of. So, I will persist and persevere with this social media platform until the day I decide there is something better waiting for me elsewhere.
Suspended
Waking in the early hours of this morning to learn that my social media accounts on Instagram and Threads have been “suspended for violation of their terms” was a bit of a shock to say the least. I post very little on Instagram and while I am prolific on Threads, there is nothing I can think of that would prompt a suspension. Perhaps someone doesn’t like my content and reported me. It happens to others — as I’ve said before — why not me.
It reminds me of my childhood. I was very quiet in the elementary years, for various reasons and one of those was because in my home, if you spoke out of turn or spoke up, a reprimand was sure to follow. So my sister and I learned about silence. And staying under the radar. There was a day when I was in grade 2 when two girls in front of me in the line to enter at the bell were talking and laughing. The teacher on duty looked towards us and she wrongly called me out and told me to step out of line to await her reprimand. I admit I was shaking when she did that because I knew she was wrong and then I cried because the two girls who were guilty of this “crime” did not take responsibility. Worse than being wrongly accused I was afraid because I would now be late for school. I didn’t know which offense to be most frightened about. When I pled my case and was taken to my classroom, that lovely woman stood up for me, explaining it would be almost unheard of for me to be talking when I was not supposed to. An apology was issued to me but I never thought well of Mrs. Young afterwards. Imagine I still recall the lasting impression she made on my life, and I can recall how that incident felt all these years later. To this day I do not take kindly to being falsely accused of anything.
I think of all the people who are wrongly or falsely accused of crimes they didn’t commit. Or a faux pas that might land them in difficulty.
I don’t know what I’ve done to have a social media account suspended. I hope that it’s been a clerical error or a glitch in the system. But I know that it’s not the worst thing that has ever happened in my life and I’ll carry on. There are other ways to communicate in this world.
In the meantime, I await the appeal I have filed.
Remembrance
Autumn brings the fall of leaves, and the descent into the darker days and longer nights. A time to look inward, to prepare for the fallow time after the harvest.
Leaves fall. It is the way nature works. The tree has fulfilled its purpose and now must plant seeds for renewal and growth. We are no different. There is a cycle to life that follows its own course although unlike a tree that works through a yearly cycle, we do not know how long that cycle will last.
We spend our lives chasing the dream. Chasing money or fame. Chasing after the material things we believe we need for life to be successful, or worse than that – to be happy. We need to support ourselves; we need to have dreams, we need to have goals but not to the degree that we lose ourselves in those pursuits and forget about relaxation, time spent in nature and most importantly developing and nurturing relationships.
Conduct your life in a way that aligns with how you hope to be remembered. I have been reading heartfelt tributes for a man whose years on this earth touched many of the young minds that he taught over a lifetime career and each one is a ringing endorsement of his wisdom, his empathy, his intelligence, his character, his sense of humour and his encouragement of their efforts – the possibilities that were in the path of their futures. They referred to him as “a legend” and he was. They may have been in his classroom for one year. He might have coached or tutored them. But they have all remembered this man fondly as he was and how he connected with them and share a deep sadness that his time on this earth has come to its final curtain.
We have one life. No matter how long or how short it is to be. It is a gift. Unwrap it carefully and then go and spend it wisely.
Listening
We listen with our ears, but can we also listen with our hearts? Are words the only way we communicate with one another? Can we pick up a subtle signal, a change in mood or demeanour and understand what is happening with someone else?
My sister and I were quite different personalities, which is true of all siblings. I was older, she was younger. She looked to me for cues and signals – I had walked the terrain for almost four years before she arrived therefore in her mind I ought to have known where the path was smooth and where to watch for the landmines (sometimes I did not know). Along with that, for the entirety of her life she expected that I, better than anyone else, would understand her emotions – without having to communicate verbally. That is a tremendous responsibility for a child. Much too often, to my regret, I was not equal to the task.
On occasion when she was upset about something and I neglected to ask the reason, indignant accusations of me of being selfish and not caring flew. I would remind my sister that I had talents, but mind reading was not one of them. On other occasions thinking I knew my role, I would ask the cause of the unhappiness. Those occasions would result in shouts to mind my own business. It was a tango we perfected throughout our lives with me never quite managing to keep up with the beat. The rare occasions when we were in tune with one another meant we were hearing the same song.
My sister’s death at a much too early age meant the two of us not experiencing the joy of being able to grow older together, or the possibility that life might have become more of a waltz than a tango. She never knew that I had with time and maturity the chance to perfect my listening. To stop listening just for words, but to realize that listening can happen through the heart. Silence offers the possibility to completely understand the people we love and care about through knowing who they are, not what we expect them to be through our eyes. There are times when words fail to materialize and what remains unspoken is what we are hoping someone else can hear.
As the older sibling, expectation by our parents and to a degree my sister, to be the leader and the teacher did the two of us a disservice. I learned that an older sibling does not have to be a leader in all things. Siblings are meant to walk side by side sharing what each knows to better enrich one another’s lives. I took those lessons my sister taught me, enabling me to be a better parent, with the wisdom and understanding to know and interpret my children’s silences through knowing what makes them so unique, seeing where they might trip and fall, what strengths they possess and where weaknesses require additional time and care.
I never needed to be able to read anyone’s mind. I needed to know how to listen so that I could truly hear. I needed to know how to read a heart. I wish I had been better able to read my sister’s. Hopefully, somehow, she knows that.
Reflex
As October is Breast Cancer Awareness month, I am leading off with this.
As part of my birthday celebrations in late 2004 my friends surprised me with a gift certificate for a local day spa. Surprised as much as I am not really a “spa day” kind of person and they had gone to a great deal of thought and considerable cost to think of an idea that would be something I would never treat myself to. I graciously accepted the gift and then put it away thinking I would get around to using it at some point
Early in the new year I remembered the gift when I came across the birthday card and saw it peeking out. The idea of wasting the money did not sit well so I looked at the brochure that accompanied it to see what I might choose to do when I made an appointment. A manicure seemed straightforward as I often treated myself to those but what jumped out at me was a session of reflexology. I can be a little adventurous at times so on a whim decided to take the plunge and discover what that was all about.
The darkness of a winter evening had just set, and candles were glowing in the quietness as I made myself comfortable on the table. The reflexologist introduced herself to me then covered my body in a warm blanket, leaving just the bottoms of my legs and feet exposed. She then proceeded to explain what she would be doing, how each section of a foot connects to a specific part of the body from the sole of the foot to the top of head. As she worked her way around each foot it would relax the entire body and not to be surprised if at any point during the hour I fell asleep. Naturally, I was tense and decided I would not fall asleep with zero awareness that my attitude was defeating the purpose of the reflexology.
As soft music played in the background, Felicia set to work and talked about each area of the body as she gently massaged my right foot. There was a moment where she took a deep breath and said, “the right side of your chest is really quite angry.” Typical of me, I thought “why is my chest angry with me and what have I done to make it so,” not associating the word angry with inflammation or injury. She did ask if I’d had an accident, but nothing came to mind. And again, she stressed how angry that area was to her touch.
And while I did not fall asleep, I was most definitely in a very relaxed and drowsy state and remember little of the rest of the hour, but that angry right chest comment stayed with me long afterward.
A month later I had an annual physical and my doctor did a thorough breast exam as part of the process. As I had had a baseline screening done five years before, she noted in my chart that I was due for another so gave me a requisition to book a mammogram. As with the spa gift certificate, I put it away thinking there was time to do that as the physical exam produced no concerns.
Until the day I saw it on my desk and thought I should make the appointment. Off I went to that appointment in the early morning hours of May 4, 2005, and after I left the hospital, these words started flashing in my head “that’s an angry right chest”. Six hours later I received a phone call from the doctor telling me that the radiologist had seen a number of calcifications that he did not like the look of, he needed to run more tests, and an appointment for the following morning had been made for me. I knew in that moment what that “angry right chest” had been telling me. And while I had not had the confirmation or heard the words “you have breast cancer,” I knew it. I call that day the mammogram that saved my life. I came to learn that I had an aggressive 2cm tumour that could not be felt by physical examination, which was growing quickly and already on the move to the lymph nodes. Had I waited any longer than I did I knew the outcome would have been much different.
The body knows when something is off kilter, and it will tell you in whatever way necessary until you pay attention. I called mine the great slap up the side of my head. The key is to listen, to know your body, and to understand that universe has a way of getting messages to you. Call it intuition or a gut instinct. What you do with that knowledge is key to better health and wellbeing as well as in my case, survival.
The possibility of choosing to act or to remain ignorant and not knowing what the message might be is ours to make. No one else can make it for us. In the case of breast cancer, this disease affects women primarily, but men can also develop breast cancer. Know your body and trust your instincts.
Resurrection
Many years ago, post cancer treatment and trying to figure out the path forward into wholeness, I decided to blog my way through that period. It started as a healing journal about where I’d been, what I was learning and hopefully, as a guide to where I was going.
At that point in time, blogging was experiencing a surge in popularity. I found myself part of a community that was about life other than cancer. While I wrote about cancer, about fear, about recovery, about gratitude and hope, I bonded with artists, writers, photographers and other creatives where expressing myself through creativity became a large part of the healing journey. In the process of my own writing, I was learning new skills not just in an artistic sense but in coping with the hardships and uncertainties of life. That I developed a large readership surprised me, but it kept me going because I hoped my voice might be one that made a difference for someone else.
And the day came when I stopped blogging. It wasn’t a conscious decision; it just evolved naturally. It wasn’t just me – most of the people I became friendly with during that period also stopped. It was as if there was a community outpouring of togetherness that served its time and the world moved on.
The need to write, to express my views, to share what I know (however little or however much that might be) has resurfaced. It was dormant, perhaps resting to gain strength, but the urge to express myself the way I have always been able to do best has had a resurrection of sorts. Blogging may not be having a resurrection but this is the best platform for me at this time in my life. It feels good. It feels right.
When I first received the breast cancer diagnosis I would often ask “why me?”. During the treatment and what I was learning about myself, about life, about everything around me I had an epiphany. I stopped asking “why me?” and started saying “why not me.” Flipping that thought from negative to positive I believe played a tremendous role in my healing.
To make this blogging resurrection complete, I’ve even gone back to the title of my original blog. It was where I started all those years ago because it was what I was looking for. Life isn’t only about what happens to you – it’s about how you choose to look at it.
I still believe that life holds everyday possibilities.