There Is No Going Back

I often find in conversations with others, the idea of wanting to get back, get back to an idea from the past, whether it’s an image, weight, relationship, or a particular time when life just felt safer, happier, and more fulfilled. And I completely get this.

But life happens, and if we allow ourselves to experience life, even the most painful moments, we change. And there is no going back. We are no longer the same person. And sometimes this is a gift, and for others, it’s a nightmare. Some are able to move on and others stay stuck, and I understand that too.

The longing, or remembering what you could have done differently, as if you could do anything. The judgment we bring on ourselves, forgetting we only knew what we knew in that moment and did the best with what we had.

This pain is excruciating. If you just lost a loved one or experienced any type of loss, grief is part of the process, and longing for what was and hanging on to memories is something we cannot rush. And yet, if we stay there too long focusing on the past, we miss living in the now. And for some, maybe the idea of living in the now without the people you love is a pain that is too hard, and your coping is staying there. I understand this too.

And yet, we have to find a way back to ourselves and to each other.

I think we fail as a society by not preparing for how hard life is. And it does not get easier as you get older if you don’t have the tools to help navigate through life's most difficult challenges. We are afraid to talk about loss and death and how to move on and try to live in the now when dreams are shattered, relationships break apart, and loved ones transition and are no longer with us.

We have to allow ourselves time to grieve, accept, heal, and perhaps grow from the experience. But not all experiences are meant for us to learn a lesson from either.

I used to think that God was always trying to teach me a lesson and what needed to be fixed in me. But instead, maybe the lesson is becoming more human in the breaking of our hearts, to help us see ourselves and each other more clearly, and that there is nothing to fix, but instead to accept.

Maybe it’s in the heartbreak and suffering and feelings of loneliness that we realize that being brave means learning how to connect and open ourselves up to become more vulnerable in a culture that keeps us so isolated.

Maybe in the suffering, we slowly begin to worry less about what others think and really start to ask ourselves, but what do we think, feel, and know deep within ourselves?

Maybe in the suffering, we realize that the ordinary is extraordinary.

To be kind, knowing that everyone, beyond the smiles and masks, has pain they are carrying. That the most healing words you can hear are “me too,” and that you have really never been alone.

What if the miracle is seeing our own pain and healing so that kindness, empathy, and compassion can shine through instead of projecting our wounds onto each other? What if the pain is trying to help us learn to love ourselves?

Lots on my mind these last few weeks. Especially as my son is in remission and many people are asking about getting back now that he is cancer free. I understand these questions. Nobody wants to see anyone suffering because it makes us uncomfortable. We want everyone to be okay so we can be okay too.

As if you wave a magic wand after the trauma of the last 6 months because of the beautiful word remission, and yet forgetting that it takes time, the side effects from the chemo and the emotional and mental struggle there is now.

The culture we live in is hurry up, get back to work, production, performance. I sometimes hate the world we live in. And yet, when the world is screaming these expectations, people come alongside of you who understand, love, and see you and remind you it’s one day at a time.

But here is the thing, we have to put on the mask of getting back because we live in a world where bills have to be paid.

There is no going back once you experience a diagnosis like cancer. There is no going back after you have cared for someone with cancer.

And maybe one day we will look back and, in some strange and messed up way, see how this fucked up and awful diagnosis saved us from this broken society that is based on more and false illusions.

That maybe, just maybe, it’s brought us home to ourselves and each other.

And just because someone is in remission, and grateful because many people don’t get that chance and would do anything for the struggles that come with remission, it’s still a battle that can feel awful lonely as the world continues on, and you still feel like someone who is sitting on the sidelines, just watching, wondering, worrying who you will become and if there will be a spot for you somewhere in this game we call life.