Sometimes you just have to fake it.

Act as if. Act as if I am healthy, fearless, and have it all together. If I keep pretending, will I trick myself?

I keep waking up, going to the gym, doing yoga, cycling, sitting in the sauna, trying not to casually mention what’s really going on in my mind. It can’t hurt to pretend everything’s okay, right? Maybe it will be. Maybe I can manifest my results through these actions. Will my body and mind catch up? Or is it too late?

Even speaking that last thought feels like sabotage, and yet the internal conflict persists.

I started going to the gym recently, but not until after I failed to be cleared, for the second time, for my reconstruction surgery. The pre admission tests said I wasn’t healthy enough to receive the surgery I had been longing for, the one that symbolized the end of my breast cancer chapter and the beginning of something new.

I must not have learned my lesson.
“Do not pass Go,” said the universe.

Why did it take this long? Yes, I needed to be physically able, but even when I was, I wasn’t making healthy choices. I needed to be slapped in the face by the severity of my own neglect. I hope it will be enough.

It does feel good to prioritize my body. It feels good to do yoga, especially for those few peaceful moments at the end when my mind finally clears. I lie in stillness, wishing it would never end. But eventually, I have to get up and leave the room so the next set of yogis can find their bliss.

They say, “Get the emotions out.”
“The body keeps the score.”
But also, be positive.
Only focus on what you want to happen.

This is the daily battle. My words and actions must claim victory over my illnesses, my insecurities, and even my own writing.

I have to be here for my kids. For my husband. For my future grandchildren.

There’s this vague vision in my mind, of me as an older woman, sitting on a porch swing beside my husband. I have a sense of pride in the family we’ve created and the struggles we’ve overcome. It’s the only long term vision I’ve been able to form, and I know I need to push further. I need to imagine more than just surviving. I need to visualize all the happy, healthy memories still to come.

I can’t leave my kids as early as my mom left me.
That pain was too deep.
I needed her.
They will need me.

In thirty years, my youngest will be the same age I was when I lost my mother. That number feels both fleeting and impossibly far when I’m just trying to get through the day, surrounded by thoughts of breast cancer, a pending biopsy on a “highly suspicious” nodule, a blood plasma disorder, lung nodules, genetic mutations, and a growing list of procedures and follow ups. Keeping up with the doctors alone could be a full time job.

But I have to make it past thirty years from now.
I need at least fifty more.
Come on, body. You’ve got this.

I heard it in my husband’s voice. I saw it on his face when I shared my fears about the blood disorder. He was afraid too, but not just of my absence. He was afraid of a life consumed by these conversations. His subtle frustration with the constant talk of illness hit me in a different way.

And honestly? I get it. I really get it.

I grew up with a mom who was always sick.
I became cold. Detached.
He wasn’t being mean. He wasn’t even aware of his body language. But I felt it.
This is not who I am.
This is not who we are.

We are fun.
We are rock climbing, club dancing, 15K running people.

How did this become our story?

In that moment, I knew: things had to change.
I had to start faking it, until my soul caught up.

How’s that going?

The brain only needs 51% of its thoughts to be positive to manifest what it wants. That shouldn’t be so hard, right?

Try taking inventory of your mental thoughts for a day. Wow. It’s eye opening.

Clearly, I’m not at 51% yet; otherwise, I’d be writing about something else. But I am better.

Progress over perfection.

Maybe there are still a few more lessons in learning how to control what should be the easiest thing to control: myself.

So I’ll end this with optimism.
I’ll continue my day appreciating every little thing.
We all have the chance to change it all, right now.

And I will.

See you on the other side of sickness.