Everyone celebrates the end of treatment. Nobody talks about what comes next.
Three months post-chemo. Three months of rebuilding. Three months of keeping small promises to myself.
But today, I woke up angry. Frustrated.
Because in my mind, cancer and treatment are over. That chapter is finished. Yet I still carry lingering symptoms, and the cumulative fatigue still has a strong hold on me. I get frustrated when my body can’t perform the way I expect it to, or the way the average person might on any given day.
My biggest motivation is to feel strong, healthy, and positive again. But not every day can feel like that. It’s not realistic.
I’m angry because when my body falls short of my expectations, it doesn’t just affect me physically—it affects me mentally too. It takes me back to treatment. Back to the chaos and fear. Back to the people I thought would stand beside me but couldn’t, or wouldn’t, during one of the hardest seasons of my life.
When days like this arise, I do my best to sit with those emotions rather than suppress them. I allow myself to feel them, to process them, and to understand where they’re coming from. But I don’t let them consume me.
I move through them with as much forgiveness and compassion as I can—for myself, for my body, and even for the people who let me down.
So I got up.
I got dressed, washed my face, put on some comfortable clothes, and got into my car. I headed straight for the gym.
In this respect, I felt incredibly lucky. These emotions happened to land on the one day each week my mum comes over to help with the kids, so I used the time I had.
Did I think I was going to smash out a full weights session?
Absolutely not.
Instead, I decided I would let my body tell me what it was capable of today. What kind of movement would leave me feeling better rather than more depleted?
So I got on the treadmill and took it easy. Afterwards, I sat in the sauna—a place that somehow makes me feel like I’m sweating out not only the toxins, but some of the heaviness I’ve been carrying too.
When I finished, I had a long, quiet shower. I moisturised my skin, got back into my car, turned on my favourite music, and bought myself a little treat.
A coffee.
These small choices—ones I recognise come from a place of privilege, having support and a little time away from the kids—are promises I’ve made to myself.
My biggest promise is to stay disciplined on both the good days and the bad ones.
I promise myself that I’ll keep showing up.
I promise myself that I’ll take time to care for my own wellbeing.
I promise myself that I’ll move my body when I can.
And I promise myself that no matter what emotions surface, I’ll continue to process them in the healthiest way I know how.
What amazes me most is how much these small promises have changed my life, both physically and emotionally.
This is my first journal entry. A glimpse into a very ordinary day on the road to recovery.
And I’m so grateful you’re here reading it.
Thank you for experiencing this journey alongside me.
My hope is that somewhere along the way, something I share helps you too.
