I’m in a funk today.
I have been all weekend. And I know why.
It’s because tomorrow I have a mammogram. I’m at the two-year mark after my breast cancer diagnosis, and that means checking to be sure I’m still cancer-free.
And that also means anxiety, which is manifesting for me this weekend as a funk.
Nothing appeals to me. Not doing or not-doing. Not meditating or engaging. Not reading or exercising. Nothing.
I am trying to be with what I’m feeling. Underneath it all, underneath the funk, I’m sure there is fear.
You know how that is. You’re afraid of something, but it’s pretty deep – buried in a locked chest or in some sort of underwater chamber (choose the metaphor that best fits). You know it’s there, but you don’t want to open it, to go into it. But you also don’t have the energy to escape it, to get far away from it. So you don’t do anything.
It’s a kind of paralysis.
Rather than fighting it, I’m just letting myself be paralyzed. I feel sure that once the mammogram (and almost surely an ultrasound) is over tomorrow, I’ll be out of the funk.
I don’t have a bad feeling. I don’t have an intuition that the cancer has returned. But I well remember how hard the treatments were. College football on television reminds me of how rotten I felt on Saturdays after chemo on Thursdays. I remember how jealous I was of friends who could go out to eat in a restaurant full of people – because nausea and my nonexistent immune system kept me home, mostly by myself.
I see people going though this same hardship right now. Young people and people my age going though cancer treatments, other types of difficult treatments, too – and I feel for them. I’ve been there. Some of them have been going through the treatments for years before mine started. I don’t know how they do it. But they persevere.
They inspire me.
They – and my memories of my treatment time – help me to be grateful even when I’m in a funk. That seems impossible, right? To be grateful and be in a funk.
But that’s just where I am now.
I ask for your good energy for tonight and tomorrow and Tuesday when I see my surgeon with the results. I appreciate all of the prayers and good thoughts over the last couple of years.
It’s an ongoing journey. I’ve been emerging back into the world of “normal” health, and I’ve just had a period of lots of activity and getting things done and preparing to embark on a new career. And I’m about to take a western excursion, one I put off a year ago. Lots of good is happening in my life.
But today is a funk. And you know what? That’s okay. I’m going to let myself be human, to be sad for what I’ve been through, to nurture myself, to be kind to what I’m feeling.
And tomorrow I’ll have my mammogram, and I’ll get the results Tuesday, and I’ll prepare for my trip.
And I’ll be grateful for it all. Because all of it – the difficult, the painful, the wonderful and the terrible – it is all a part of my life and what makes me . . . well, me.
And that me is in a funk today. And I’m going to let “me” feel just that. Because it’s all a part of the beautiful whole of my life. The good and the bad. The funk and the gratitude. All of it. That’s what life is. It’s both good and bad. It’s opposites existing at once. It’s paradox, and it’s perfection.
I’m more and more comfortable with that.
Even when I’m in a funk.
9 thoughts on “The Two Year Mark: In a Funk”
Krista, love surrounds you in the air, the soil, the stars and in our hearts. Go ahead feel it… All are with you. much sending of loving energy for health. may you be safe, may you be well.
How beautiful, Lynne. Thank you deeply.
Funk or no funk, you are in an amazing place of recovery and thriving and joyful days.
I imagine that by not resisting your funk, it will move on through you and not hide in the background!
See you tomorrow,
Thank you, Margaret, for the encouraging words – and your presence tomorrow. I do so appreciate that.
Sending Blessings to you… All will be well and you will come out the other-side of this. Xx
Thank you for the blessings and support.
This was beautifully ex
Oops expressed. Thank you for writing about this part if your journey. My thoughts and prayers are with you.
Thanks so much, Sarah.