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One thing I'll say, dang I feel svelte and I have never gotten so many compliments. I've been on a mini high from getting down a size or two and for the first time in a long time feeling good in my own skin. People smiled, gave me compliments....'you look great!' But alas, this musing is about my well-intentioned, self-loving quest to be healthy and happy and finally feeling fabulous being twisted into a tale curdled by cancer and stress. Before the first photo below was taken, I had made very intentional life changes. I wanted to be in the best shape of my life by the time I was 50. I could do that in a year and a half, I thought. For the most part, at 49 I had led all endeavors and intentions with a grade of self-sabotage most people didn't see. Whether I thought I didn't deserve to be happy, healthy, or successful, I'll leave that to my next therapist to help me unpack. I just knew that I was ready to rewrite some code and scrub out the bugs in my system. As I ebbed and flowed through life's chapters and challenges, there was always something I carried with me to some degree, and it was finally time to put it down. The biggest change I made? I had given up a lifetime of drinking alcohol, which was an unfortunate coping mechanism that followed me my entire adult life like a false ally. It promised to mend my sunken roots as a child and to make survival easier, however all it gave me was a compilation of embarrassing moments, excess weight gain, high blood pressure, too many hangovers to count, and I'm fairly certain my Hashimoto's. What a shitty friend. Eventually my body started to reject it, and the forever loop of anxiety was enough to throw my hands up and declare there must be a better way. Was I physically dependent on it, no. Did I create daily habits and rituals that revolved around it, absolutely. There was a long stretch where a day didn't end with at least a couple glasses of wine, and several days a week the whole bottle; it shut my brain off and took the edge off of whatever I was feeling. One day, I decided, I'm just done. I hate this tipsy hamster wheel I'm on and I'm sick of feeling like I'm not strong enough to handle whatever life throws at me. I'm sick on not loving ME. Because my body didn't like it, it showed me in many ways, from flushing to heart palpitations, headaches, bloating, and tons of inflammation. I didn't listen. I did what I always did and chalked it up to my lifestyle; I cook, I paint, I work hard, I drink wine and bourbon. That's me. But it didn't work anymore and I was done. I finally chose to love my body, see it, and tend to it in every present and intentional way I could. I did well without it, actually I did great, and as I continued on my quest I was feeling like the person I was always meant to be. I got a Pilates machine, started running again, and reclaimed my life. It felt great to experience every feeling and be completely present for every moment. And today I would never choose to have it any other way. I have to say I have never felt so resilient, empowered, and validated in my life. That false ally had finally left for good--quietly dissolving and leaving me standing in the truth of my own strength. I was feeling fit and healthy, despite having been running on fumes for over a year. Dropping the alcohol and then cutting mostly carbs and sugar, weight started to come off. It's hard to know now how much was intentional and how much wasn't, because by the time I got to this second vacation in October, I was feeling good. I was down about 25-30 lbs and felt great. I starting not caring if I had pizza and snacks, I didn't work out as much. However, as I allowed myself to ease up and enjoy what I wanted for a while, I kept steadily losing weight. That's where the story begins to curdle... My busy job often left me hungry and dehydrated most days, and my stress was piling up. I had been working hard with long hours and high stress for a year and a half. My brain began its own story to ease the undercurrent of worry caused by my now more prominent bones in my shoulders, ribs, and hips. I had never been boney in my life, perhaps as a child, but as an adult I had typically owned the more Baroque female form. I wasn't terribly skinny, no, but skinnier than I've been in a long time. My body started to feel different, but in more of a concerning way. I had my fun of buying new clothes, but more things started to feel big and baggy, like my entire frame shrunk inward like a balloon slowly deflating; still mine but smaller, more delicate, no longer taking up the space it once claimed. You're just burnt out; this is from stress, I'd say staring at the scale. You're dehydrated, drink more water. By the time I had gotten to my first oncology appointment, I was down close to 50 pounds. Technically I was still 5 lbs away from my ideal weight, but having gotten here the way I did was now starting to feel icky and troublesome. Today in hindsight I now sit and wonder if a new malignant passenger had hitched a ride where my former ally had gotten off, and that's not fair. Or was my stress finally getting the better of me? Cancer creeping in or stress and burn out? That was the question.
 April 2026 The month leading up to my diagnosis didn't help and kicked my stress into massive overdrive. After my doctor told me his suspicions of leukemia, I could barely keep my hands on the wheel, and I fought for weeks during bloodwork and biopsies to keep from going off the rails. After my diagnosis it was hard to accept the compliments, everyone asking how ever did I loose all of the weight...and I was angry that my hard work and dedication had been taken away from me. But I took them anyway knowing I worked hard to be healthy and can still claim part of that victory. I still loved my body, and as much as I fought to care and tend to it, now I had cancer. That painted a sick version of myself in my head. I didn't feel sick, but I knew my body was sick and now that's all that I saw. My clothes no longer fit. I felt like a child in their dad's suit at work, my regular clothes falling off of my shoulders, ass baggy and waist loose. I needed to buy all new pants and discovered I had gone down another whole size. I haven't worked out in over two months, eating mostly healthy but not caring as much, and I was still losing weight. I was now the smallest I've been in over 15 years, smaller than I was when I owned my studio and did yoga every day. I look down at my legs in yoga pants now and feel they belonged to someone else, in bed my knees knock together, and sitting on the floor my sits bones feel boney and uncomfortable. But will I ever know? Stress? Leukemia? A lovely combination of both? Weight loss and fatigue are common symptoms of leukemia, but also of stress and burn out. If it is the leukemia cells affecting my digestive tract and absorption of nutrients, or those little fuckers are literally sucking up all of the energy my body is producing and then some and causing metabolic insufficiency.... if it is them, I can't help but feel sad that I failed and now betrayed by my own body. I tried to love you so much... to make amends, to fill the cracks I've created over the years with gold. Perhaps my collapsed Kintsugi failed at reinforcing those cracks to honor my healing and instead had fallen short; my body now suffering a malignant short circuit and was slowly destroying itself. I took too long... I was too late. However, I haven't sunken into the pits of despair. I haven't wanted to reach for a glass of wine. We can't go mad seeking answers we'll never get. Plus, I have no time left for insanity, I now have more work to do. I love my body, I love myself, and I will fight to get it back from this new hijacker that wasn't invited to the party. I have made huge strides in making my life everything I want it to be, and I will still get there. Life just has a few more roadblocks and detours planned than I did. I will continue to nourish my body, mind and spirit. I will replenish my roots and have faith I will flourish once again. I will feel all of the feels along this journey, bust through whatever gets thrown at me and keep my eye on the prize, getting my life back. These cracks will fill not only with gold but with light, and they will be so bright you won't be able to dim my fucking shine ever again.
1 Comment
Malabed
5/13/2026 11:11:29 pm
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AuthorHeather is the founder of Modern Goddess Living, a lifestyle site honoring nature, healthy-living, and sacred self-spiritualism to live a life filled with magic. She was diagnosed with CML, or Chronic Myeloid Leukemia in April of 2026. 
"Just as a surfer cannot control the tides and movement of the ocean, we cannot control life's challenges and unexpected events. ArchivesCategories
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