The Horse is Out of the Barn

 

This is a big step for me.

As I’ve kept this secret, it’s not because I enjoy creating a lie of omission. Rather, it’s because what I’ve been withholding is one of those life-altering realities; once you disclose it, there is no going back. The horse is out of the barn. So, I’ve kept my horsey quiet, well-kept and secluded.

Now, after much prayer, thought and advice, I’ve decided the horse needs to gallop. I must tell. I must come out of my cancer barn.

Yes, you heard me. I said cancer.

Part of my reluctance to emerge from the barn?

Well, first, processing my own diagnosis and treatment. I’ve been attempting to do that since my July, 2017 diagnosis.

Next, it’s about being in a good mind space to handle peoples’ assumptions of what they believe cancer to look like and actually be.

So, here I am now. And, yes, I have some ground rules about how I’m “doing cancer.”

First, please keep the word, “journey” away from me. It is one of the oft-used buzzwords with a cancer diagnosis. And it annoys me. I know, the spirit behind uttering it is, often, well-intentioned. People want to put a positive spin on something difficult. It’s more romantic to make cancer sound adventurous, like I’m pioneer trekking my way through the gold rush or scaling the Himalayas.

But no, that’s not me; I’m not going outward bound. I’m not hiking, fishing or living off of the land. Mostly, I go to clinic appointments. I endeavor to sustain my “survivorship” status. I am aware of the possibility of recurrence. It’s a checkup or a blood draw. Not a whole lot pioneer-y about that. Cancer, yes, is difficult, but, in my opinion, “Journey” is overkill.

And, having already gone public about my eating disorder experiences, I know that, once you open yourself up like that, everyone can come in with a comment, a suggestion or a question. People don’t always respect boundaries.

I debated, for a long time, just how ready I was to deal with that.

My cancer stance may, indeed, make others uncomfortable.

And, a weird thing I’ve encountered since my diagnosis is other peoples’ need for me to comfort them, to make things easier and less scary for them. I cannot do this. I don’t have the wherewithal.

At the risk of sounding completely selfish and self-centered, I have other things to do than make you feel better about my cancer. You will feel whatever you feel about it. I am not the fixer of that. You deal with it instead.

I’m a bit sharper in my temperament these days, perhaps, less kind. Whether that’s a phase or a permanent awakening, I have less capacity to people please now. My well-being and peace are paramount. That may mean my interaction with some is cut off, or at least, extremely curtailed.

There have been some wonderful people who’ve faithfully loved and supported me (you know who you are). Thank you for that.

As for everyone else, just now privy to my long-held secret…

Still want to be a part of my life? Want to be supportive of me?

Well, actions speak louder than words. If you find yourself in doubt of what that means for me personally, try something: ask me how you can help me.

Don’t assume you just know. You don’t.

So, here it is everyone. What does this disclosure mean to you? Indifference? Sadness? Fear? Offense? Discomfort? Love?

Whatever it actually is, if you want to interact with me about my diagnosis, please respond in a one-on-one fashion. Private message, email or phone call. Don’t blast something sensitive on a social media page or site. Cancer is personal and has its private side. I will determine what is publicly shared, not you, respectfully speaking.

Thanks.

The horse is officially out of the barn now.

Copyright © 2019 by Sheryle Cruse