Soulbuilding lesson 3: When life takes an unexpected turn………

So, you may be aware that there has been a long gap since my last blog post. Some of you, who follow me personally on Facebook, will already know why, but here is a quick catch up for those who don’t, followed by a longer personal post about what I have learned about Soulbuilding so far from it all.

Back in February, I went for my first ever routine mammogram, feeling that it was an unnecessary and unpleasant procedure, given that I had no symptoms of anything untoward, and seemed to be at low risk for any cancer possibilities. I was shocked to receive an urgent call back, to undergo a biopsy, and to be told a week later that I did in fact have breast cancer. I remember the out of body experience listening to myself asking three times for clarification “You mean I have actual cancer now?”, whilst being almost amused at this living example of denial in action.

Everyone was optimistic though – it was very small and fully contained, likely to be easily treated with surgery and radiation. However, the analysis of what was removed during a first operation showed that the cells were actually invasive, not contained within a milk duct as had initially been thought, and so a second surgery was needed to see if it had spread to my lymph nodes. This surgery showed that there was no detectable spread, thankfully, but in the meantime further analysis of the cancer cells has determined that it was responsive to oestrogen and progesterone, and had a reasonably high risk of recurrence. So now the plan was that I would undergo chemotherapy, radiotherapy and hormone therapy, in the hope of a “cure”. I would have to come off my bio-identical HRT as soon as possible, and would be given medication to prevent my body from creating oestrogen from fat cells. The ultimate menopause lay ahead.

Towards the end of July, I had my first chemotherapy, and my body reacted strongly and scarily – chest pain, breathlessness and dizziness sent me back to hospital in an ambulance a couple of hours after the first treatment. I was assessed for heart damage and blood clots, with no real findings other than a slightly enlarged heart. Then a heart CT scan revealed a problem with the left ventricle, some sort of damage as a result of the chemotherapy drugs perhaps – a referral for further tests and consultations followed, alongside a change in chemo regime to weekly smaller doses of a different drug. Now, five weeks in to the new process, I am coping with the dosage, and have avoided being an inpatient (labelled officially by the consultant as a “medical mystery”), for the past four weeks! I am on the long path of another 10 weeks of chemotherapy, followed by 3 weeks of daily radiotherapy, followed by years of bone protecting and hormone anihilating drugs.

So what am I making of all of this from a “Soulbuilding” perspective?

Well, to be honest, for the first few months I was not interested in soulbuilding, or therapy, or personal growth, I was simply trying to survive the crashing, crushing horror of the unfolding diagnosis and the reality of treatment. I was swinging from shock to optimism, to despair, to anger, grief and numbness, and back to shock again. My standard defence mechanisms of planning and information gathering as ways to fend off disaster worked to an extent, until the chemotherapy began, and then sheer terror and physical unwellness took over.

My “script”, internal dialogue and lifelong patterning of thinking, feeling and behaviour, all tell me that I am alone in the world, that I am the problem, that there is something profoundly wrong with me, and that I am destined to struggle valiantly throughout life, doing my best for others, but never really belonging. The sad truth is that despite many many years of therapy, all those beliefs still exist in my core. Much of the time nowadays I can quieten those voices to a dull murmur, and respond more positively to myself and life, but the profoundly terrifying existential challenge that came with cancer gave all the negatives a new voice and powerful evidence that they were right all along (just as they knew they were). For several months I have struggled with dark forces, despair, depression and death itself, unsure whether or not I was entitled to survive, or whether I deserved to be well again. The issue with my heart left me in limbo for a while, wondering whether I would survive chemotherapy only to die of a heart attack, or whether my health would be limited long term.

All my coping mechanisms were removed by the impact of treatment. I could not work as much as I would do normally, I had to cancel training days, workshops, supervision groups and the majority of my client work, leaving me without much human interaction most days. For weeks this left me wondering who I was, as my professional identity seemed to disappear, along with my daily routines and the structure that helped me to manage my time. I had nowhere to go and no-one to see, and even if I had I was too physically unwell to get there, spending a total of 13 days and nights in hospital over the first three weeks of chemotherapy. I found it impossible to read, difficult to watch TV or Netflix, exhausting to try and occupy myself with handicrafts or baking. Left with no distraction, I had to face myself, often alone, and frequently in the disturbed darkness of the nights in my isolation room on the cancer ward. I realised how fragile my sense of attachment to life actually was, and how I was struggling to find the drive to survive that my body needed, the will to live that would get me through the horrors of treatment. There are all sorts of historical reasons and traumas that I won’t share here, that justify and support this state of affairs, and feed the longing for an end to it all, an escape from the grief and pain and distress that I often experienced in living. I was not suicidal, but I was certainly not convinced that I wanted to survive.

As my reaction to treatment settled, and I slowly regained some energy, I began to realise how throughout my life I had been attached to being what everybody else needed me to be, rather than to myself. My work, my professional roles, my identity as mother, therapist, trainer and supervisor, those things had become who I was, my safe place, where I could prove my worth and earn the right to exist. I have been processing the material that lies behind these dynamics for many years in therapy, making significant changes here and there, giving up various responsibilities along the way in an attempt to free myself to be myself. Now I was being plunged deeper into the awful truth of the darkest corners of my internal world where I did not know whether I was entitled to try to live or not. As Toko-Pa Turner describes it in her fabulous book “Belonging – Remembering ourselves home”, I had to risk losing my persona of being “useful and impressive” and practice “showing up empty handed and still being loveable”. This is where those years of painful preparation in therapy and training really paid off, booting my reluctant self into “Daring Greatly” in the words of Brene Brown – having the courage to show up and be seen when we can’t control the outcome.

As I unpacked and processed my past in therapy, I had been investing my energies in daring to make connections, to build my “tribe” – people I share various viewpoints and perspectives with – and to establish myself as someone who would be willing to be honest, open and at times vulnerable. This group of wonderful, loving and generous people have now become my support system, and I have mostly managed to keep on daring to reach out to them and sharing my fragility. Their responses have brought me connection, recognition, validation and healing. Like the goddess Innana of my previous blog, I have been in the depths of my personal underworld, and have almost been destroyed by the attacks that were taking place there, and like her, I have had my band of companions who have brought me back to life by proving those voices in my head wrong.

Maybe this “cancer journey” was in some way inevitable, and was always going to be part of my life’s soulbuilding? Or maybe it is simply an instance of life being life, bringing joy and hardship at random. I am discovering that the biggest challenge is to stay with whatever is happening, good or bad, and to stay with myself in it. The darkness is not over, there are dark days every week, and no doubt more to come, but I am coming to know it and its monsters very well, and to be less freaked out as I enter it. The darkness and everything within it is part of me, it holds parts of my history and my humanity, and I am learning that the only way to find life and to live it fully is to become as much at home within it as in the light.