Tag Archive | mental-health

Finding My Second Wind

Oct7

For the first time in a long while, I feel a spark again.
It’s subtle, but it’s there — a second wind that’s guiding me toward something meaningful. I have a few projects on the horizon that I’m genuinely excited about, and that excitement feels… new. Familiar in a way, yet deeply different. Maybe that’s because this version of me — the one standing here now — isn’t who I used to be.

Over the past months, I’ve spent a lot of time looking inward. Trying to understand this “new me.” The one who carries both strength and fragility. The one who’s learning not to fight every twist in her path, but to flow with it — to dance with it.

A conversation with another member of the Stage 4 club shifted my perspective completely. He told me, “With Stage 4, you’re not a warrior, and you’re not a survivor — you’re a dancer.”
That really hand an impact on me and made me think. Then of course “YAAAAAAAASSSSSS!!!”

Because it’s true.
You stop trying to battle every cell, every scan, every fear — and instead, you learn to move with it. You sway between good days and bad, you rest when your body demands it, and you rise again when your spirit calls. You dance with life, with uncertainty, and yes, even with cancer.

Personally, I call my tumors and lesions “the parties.” They come and go, sometimes loud and wild, sometimes quiet and contained. Every so often, I check in — just to make sure they’re not getting out of control. It’s my way of keeping humor and grace alive in the middle of chaos.

Through reflection (and a lot of honesty), I’m finally starting to come to terms with who I am now — and even more, I’m beginning to appreciate what I’ve been through. Every setback, every scar, every “why me” moment has shaped this version of me that’s ready to create again.

The projects I’m working on are born from that journey. They come from the parts of me that have felt lost, found, broken, rebuilt, and redefined. I can’t wait to share them with you in the coming weeks — not just for those living with metastatic cancer, but for anyone trying to rediscover meaning in their own story.

Because maybe that’s what the second wind really is —
not the return of who we were, but the beginning of who we’re meant to become.

Midlife Is Not a Crisis — It’s a Reintroduction

Jul31

We’ve all heard it: “midlife crisis.” The term brings to mind red convertibles, dramatic haircuts, or spontaneous life overhauls. But let’s be real, midlife isn’t a crisis. It’s a reintroduction.

At some point between 40 and 60, life nudges (or shoves) us into a new chapter. Kids grow up. Careers shift. Bodies change. People we love pass away. The roles that once defined us—mother, partner, employee, caretaker—begin to evolve or even vanish. And in all that change, the world expects us to carry on like nothing’s different. But everything is different.

Here’s the truth: midlife doesn’t break us. It reveals us.

It’s the moment we ask: Who am I now?

Not the person we had to be for others, not the version of ourselves that checked all the boxes, but the person beneath all that. The one who may have been on mute while everyone else came first.

This stage of life is less about reinvention and more about reintroduction. Getting reacquainted with our own thoughts, our own dreams, and our own needs. It’s about shedding the “shoulds” and asking: “What do I actually want now?” What makes me feel alive, at ease, curious, creative, sexy, powerful?

And let’s be clear, this isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes reintroduction feels more like starting over. It may come with grief, regret, or a sense of loss for who we were. But there’s freedom in that blank space. Because now, we get to choose with intention. We’ve got history, humor, heartbreak, and grit. And that makes this next version of ourselves richer, deeper, and bolder than the last.

When my son graduated high school, I found myself asking, “Now what?” For 18 years, I was Mom: carpool driver, snack maker, emotional anchor, and his biggest cheerleader. Most of my social life revolved around his activities. I was at the hockey rink three days a week, surrounded by other parents who became my friends through the years. Then suddenly… silence. No more schedules, no more games. Just me.

I remember half-joking that I was going to “adopt” a younger player just to stay part of that world. It was funny, but it also masked a real sense of loss.

As my son stepped into adulthood, I stayed on emotional stand-by, always ready to switch back into full-on mom mode if needed. And of course, I was still there for him—through the ups, the downs, and the messy in-betweens, but our relationship had changed. And I had to figure out who I was outside of that role. For a while, I floundered. Without the title of Mom-on-duty, I felt a little untethered. Just Erika.

But slowly, I started reconnecting with the parts of myself I’d tucked away. My husband and I began spending more intentional time together—hiking, kayaking, just being outdoors. Things we used to love but hadn’t made space for in years. It turns out, the things that filled me up were still there… I just needed to reintroduce myself to them.

If you’re in that in-between space—no longer in the thick of motherhood but not quite sure who you are now—know this: you’re not lost, you’re just in transition. It’s okay to grieve the life that centered around raising your child, even as you celebrate their independence. This is your chance to rediscover what makes you feel alive. To explore passions you put on hold, reconnect with your partner, or even make new friends who know you as more than just “someone’s mom.” It’s not the end of something—it’s the beginning of a beautiful reintroduction to yourself.

So no, midlife isn’t a crisis.

It’s a handshake. A hug. A homecoming.

Welcome back to yourself. You’ve been waiting.

Let’s Call Today What It Is: A Full-On Hissy Fit Day

Jul24

This morning started off like many others. I woke up around 7, but instead of getting up, I stayed in bed, drifted back to sleep, and didn’t wake up again until 10. I’m exhausted. I’m in pain. I have zero motivation. I still did my usual routine, but at a lot slower pace. By noon, I’d already gotten three calls from the hospital: appointment reminders, test results, the usual chaos. So yeah… let’s talk about burnout.

I’ve been on this cancer rollercoaster for 9½ years. At first, it was all-consuming: chemo, surgeries, radiation. Then came the routine check-ups every few months, blood work, meds. For five years, I found a rhythm. It was manageable. But now? The saga of stage IV has entered the chat. Infusions every few months? Fine. But blood draws every two weeks, tumor markers, scans on repeat… it never ends. It’s not just oncology, it’s cardiology, primary care, and starting Monday, radiology. Because why not? Let’s collect the whole set.

I’m tired, truly. I want one full day without thinking about cancer, doctors, or my body. I want to wake up energized and just live. I want to go to parties. I want to sip wine or a gin & tonic and not think twice. I want to eat whatever the hell I want without guilt or consequence. And now that brings me to my next complaint…

I have no vices left. None. Nada. Zip. I’ve used them all up. Food was the last one standing. But nope—not anymore. I got my labs back this week (more bloodwork—yay, I’m starting to look like I’m chasing veins for fun), and the verdict is in: pre-diabetic and high cholesterol. Surprise!

Here’s the kicker: my cholesterol has always run a bit high. And let’s not forget the meds—especially that delightful demon pill Anastrozole (Arimidex). That little monster has been wreaking havoc for years. Every side effect I have—joint pain, anxiety, sleep issues, dizziness, and it raises glucose levels and cholesterol. But here we are doing brain scans, heart checks, and enough testing to make a lab rat nervous. I get it, new hospital, new protocols. But I told them from day one: this med is the root of most of it.

So now I face the choice: do I go through the exhausting process of switching medications and managing new side effects? Or do I stay with the devil I know?

As if that decision weren’t fun enough, I’ve also officially been told (again) to eat a plant-based diet, load up on greens, exercise, and skip all my favorite indulgences. You want dessert? Have fruit. Want a treat? Try dark chocolate. Listen… I love tiramisu. And before anyone starts with “just a little in moderation,” let me stop you right there. That’s not me. I’m not a moderation kind of person. I’m cake-all-in or not at all. If I take one bite, the cake’s gone. So I’m better off just cutting it out entirely. I know this about myself.

The anti-inflammatory plan sounds reasonable: a protein, a whole grain, and a fruit or vegetable at every meal. Healthy fats. Fruit for snacks. I even did it for a solid week! Then came pizza night, and well… you know how that goes.

The truth is, I’m throwing a full-on tantrum today. A stomping-my-foot, arms-crossed, world-is-unfair kind of day. I’m an only child, damn it—I’m used to getting what I want! And now I have to change everything again, when I’ve finally settled into what I like and what I can tolerate? Honestly, it sucks. And yes, some people in my family were right, and I hate that too.

So today? It’s “feel sorry for me” day. It’s “this is all bullshit” day. And I’m letting myself sit in it.

Tomorrow, I’ll get back up like I always do. I’ll deal with the doctors, the diet, the scans, the side effects. But today… I’m clocking out. This is my way of stepping back so I can keep going.