Recently, I found myself sitting in my driveway, engrossed in a captivating novel. The sun’s warmth enveloped me, and for a moment, I felt an unusual calmness. But just as quickly as that peace settled in, a familiar shadow of dread crept back—an unwelcome remnant of my past traumas.
After enduring three years filled with intense personal events, I’ve forgotten how to simply relax. The constant fear, confusion, and panic have become my normal, leaving me guilty for moments of happiness. How twisted is that?
My journey began with the adoption of our fourth child. Matched with expectant parents midway through the pregnancy, I mistakenly believed we would navigate the process without issue. Each day, my children’s eager questions about the baby’s arrival heightened my anxiety, as I worried the plan could crumble at any moment. Thankfully, the baby is now a lively three-year-old in our home.
Barely six months after her arrival, I discovered a painful lump in my upper right breast. Every movement caused discomfort, prompting me to consult my gynecologist. After a mammogram and ultrasound, I received the relief of clear results, but a nagging feeling told me something was off. I sought a second opinion, which led to a biopsy that turned my world upside down—I had breast cancer.
Over the next six weeks, I underwent genetic testing and numerous consultations. Faced with a critical decision between a lumpectomy followed by radiation or a bilateral mastectomy, I found myself overwhelmed. After careful consideration, I opted for the mastectomy, a choice that would redefine my life. Recovery was arduous; it took a year for me to begin feeling like my new self. Each medical appointment brought tears, as memories of my ordeal returned.
Amidst my cancer journey, I learned that one of my children had undiagnosed special needs. What I thought would be a straightforward evaluation turned into a two-year struggle to obtain the necessary diagnoses and educational support.
As I strive to embrace gratitude for the progress I’ve made, I still grapple with allowing myself to enjoy life. Time seemed to stand still during my season of turmoil; the only remedy for my trauma was the slow passage of time. I yearned for a fast-forward button, but instead, I faced setbacks and challenges.
Recognizing that I had changed was difficult. Who was this new version of me? What did I need? I began seeing a counselor regularly, returned to exercising, and took active steps to regain control of my life. I made mistakes along the way—setting unrealistic goals and saying yes too often—but I also resumed anxiety medication, which became a crucial turning point.
Today, I can say that I had cancer—past tense. However, just because the cancer is gone doesn’t mean it doesn’t linger in my thoughts. Daily, I encounter reminders—a pink ribbon here, a T-shirt there. My new reality includes implants that feel foreign, a constant reminder of my battle. Simple tasks, like lying back at the dentist, trigger panic, as my mind recalls the vulnerability I felt during surgery.
It’s been two years since my mastectomy, three years since the adoption, and just a month since my child received the educational support they needed. These events, all unfolding in quick succession, felt insurmountable at times. Yet now, in a better place, I still struggle with guilt when I find moments of peace. I battle time anxiety, where enjoying the present feels like a betrayal to all the hard work I’ve put in.
While others may view my journey as fortunate—having the family I prayed for, overcoming cancer, and securing an educational plan for my child—my trauma whispers that if I relax, something terrible will happen.
Therapy, medication, prayer, and healthy living have been invaluable. With a supportive family and friends, I’m slowly finding my footing again, trusting the process. I don’t have all the answers regarding my cancer, the challenges of parenting, or the hurdles of adoption. But I’m committed to giving myself grace and the freedom to enjoy the moments with those I love.
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In summary, navigating life after trauma is an ongoing challenge filled with ups and downs. While I strive to embrace gratitude and joy, the echoes of past struggles often remind me of the fragility of peace.
Keyphrase: Life After Trauma
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