On trusting yourself

What I've learned over six weeks of chemo destroying and *hopefully* saving my body

Hello friends,

It’s been a minute since I’ve checked in and shared an update. It’s not that I haven’t been writing—in fact, quite the opposite. I’ve been journaling nearly every day about my experience with breast cancer, and on the equinox, I committed to 100 consistent days of journaling through prompts in The Book of Alchemy by

Suleika Jaouad

, which I highly recommend. I absolutely love it (thank you for the thoughtful gift,

andrea slusarski

!) My private journaling has been nourishing and healing, and I also have so much to share with you. If only I had all the time, energy, and courage I needed to do so.

Since my diagnosis, I’ve had to work through the love/hate relationship with my body. It has always given me so much strength and joy, and I feel like it turned on me, stripping me of my identity. Two sets of emotions have been playing tug-of-war in my mind: the fear and frustration with a body that didn’t keep me safe against the body that is going to respond to this treatment and save me.

The feelings are layered and compounding:

I have yet to feel comfortable with the port they surgically implanted under my right collarbone to administer the chemo infusions. It feels alien, and I wish I could cover it up with one of those dog plastic cones so that no one accidentally bumps it in a hug, or my hand doesn’t hit it when I change.

I’ve gone through the stages of hair loss, first cutting it short to prepare for the inevitable, and then the number 12 buzz cut when it started to fall out. I have to clean my pillow case every morning, and I’m at a point where a wrap is most comfortable for everyone involved when I leave the house. My favorite is this Bassen Tengugui Imbari Towel that I found in Nozawa Onsen, and I just wish I had kept more for myself.

Then there’s the fatigue, waking up after a solid 12 hours of sleep and not feeling rested. It doesn’t take long for the mind to start racing, and I contend with the reality of just how much this is impacting my productivity, and in turn, impacting my businesses.

Working through those feelings has been part of my daily practice of being kind to myself and not holding onto outcomes I can’t control. I have told myself over and over again, and written down on page after page, that when I’m on the other side of this, I don’t want to feel like I’m stuck in a hamster wheel, continuing to do what I do simply because it’s what I’ve always done. The beautiful thing about this is the opportunity to imagine what could be rather than holding on to what was.

Last week, I decided to venture out into public for a large-scale business event in Reno—Reno Startup Week—and to my surprise, people I had known for more than a decade didn’t recognize me. I had to say my name multiple times and show them my badge. And then there was the look they gave me once I explained that I had shaved my head because I have cancer, as the chemo has come for my curly locks.

People don’t know what to do with cancer staring them in the face, a balding woman who’s visibly aged since the last time they saw her, perhaps reminding them of their own mortality.

The joke I’ve led with, as people stare at me in disbelief, is that I’ve been passing for 35 for nearly 15 years and cancer fucked that up. Rude. The truth is, they need the comedy relief just as much as I do because of what it means to not be recognized.

If I don’t feel like myself, and nobody recognizes me, well, then who am I?

You know what helped me feel good about my body again? Getting back onto my bike. Thanks, Liv, for a truly life-changing ride.

There’s no one who can answer the question “Who am I?” except for me, and I was able to find some answers when I finally got back out on my bike. It took nearly two months to finally feel confident in my body again. I understand how it will respond to the chemo. I know when it won’t serve me, I know when I can count on it. The time it took to get here did a number on my self-esteem. But it’s all part of the process, I tell myself.

For those of you who are worried about me, don’t be. I’m still me, and I don’t plan on going anywhere. Just ask the cranky old man who tried to tell me what to do on the trail over the weekend. He likely never thought a woman would slam on her brakes, ask him what he wanted to do about it, rip off her helmet, and tell him to look at the cancer patient he just told to hurry up and get out of his way. There’s a chance he might think again about trying to own something that doesn’t belong to him.

HOW TO HELP

Since I shared my diagnosis, many of you have reached out to ask how you can support me. Just that email or DM alone makes this all feel better. If you’d like, you can also donate to the GoFundMe that my dear friends Andrea Slusarski and Raquel Vélez created with the help of my hot GF Kelly Valyou.

➡️ You can support the “Cancer Messed With the Wrong Bish” GoFundMe here.

➡️ Read and share this article I was interviewed for about how the cuts to the Affordable Care Act will be devastating for people like me, and perhaps for you too.

➡️ I have A LOT planned for when I’m on the other side of this, including a spring ski trip to Mount Bachelor and a summer cycling trip and cultural tour of Kenya. Please DM or respond to this email with any questions. I’d love for you to join me.

That’s it for me, friends. As always, thanks for being here.

xxoo,

Jen

Thanks for reading! All typos are intentional to make sure you’re paying attention.

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