Let's Talk

I write about my life a lot. Here. On Twitter. On Facebook. (Umm also? I write a lot in my private journal. I cannot not write.) I get it, it's not for everyone. I know that my openness makes some people cringe at best and sometimes openly judge and criticize. And that's okay. I can honestly say that I'm plum outta fucks when it comes to worrying about living my life a certain way to make others more comfortable.

That's huge for me, by the way. I don't say that lightly. I spent a good deal of my twenties worried about what other people thought of me (not to mention my angsty teen years or my anxious childhood.) I don't know if it's turning 30, or having a child, or leaving a job in a really bad (craaaazy) environment, or if it's the cancer, but I can honestly say that I am more at ease with myself, and who I am and the life I lead, than I can ever remember being. 

So I write about my life. I write even though some people may think I'm desperate for attention. I write even though some people may think I just feel sorry for myself. I write even though some people may think it's irresponsible or inappropriate to write about personal things in a public space. I write because I want everyone to feel as okay with themselves as I feel about myself. I write because I think there is a lot we're not saying to each other, and I want us to start saying it.

I talk about my cancer here not because I think I have anything ground breaking to say about thyroid cancer, but because it has helped me immeasurably to read the experiences of other thyroid cancer fighters. Dr. Google and the evil WebMD are sinkholes of terror and speculation but personal blogs are my glass of red after a long day. I want to read about weird side effects and hormonal shifts and TSH levels and RAI treatments. I want to know how it feels - how you feel - not a textbook explanation of what is happening inside my cells.

And in 6 months, a year, two years, however long it takes for me to get my all-clear and move on, I want my words to be here for the next 30-year old mother who gets the devastating news that the lump in her neck is cancer. I want my words to hold her hand and say, it's cool, mama, this next year is going to suck but you're going to be okay. Because that is what the internet (minus Dr. Google and the evil WebMD) is doing for me right now.