The fear and anxiety come in waves. Most of the time I’ll feel fine. Them BAM!, that cold rush of reality overcomes me… I have cancer! And I can tell my mind wants to go in that direction, to charge with that energy. It’s like a strong-willed child pulling a feeble adult towards the shiny thing. A moment later it’s like I have a backpack filled with rocks reminding me about gravity. Then, the complexity of all that I MUST do, should have done, should be doing NOW rushes in. I’m nearly overwhelmed.
But I know how to meet this feeling. We’re well acquainted. I meet it with a deep inhalation; a circuit-breaker. What else can I do? I’m getting a lot of practice at making that space, creating a pause. And I’m grateful for the practice since it helps push these unhelpful feelings away. This is definitely not an innate ability. No, this is forged from experience. And I’m getting lots of reps.
Sometimes I feel like a bubble floating through the great ocean, inevitably upward to the surface (sketch). Perhaps we’re all bubbles. And once we reach the surface we deposit our contents (soul? consciousness? nothing?) into the great unknown atmosphere. When I’m feeling overwhelmed I try to remind myself that being a bubble is rare and special. And that it’s a privilege to feel anything at all, even if it’s hard. It’s better than popping.