Dare to talk

With this blog, I hope to open up the conversation about topics we often avoid. Everything. About being ill, daring to say you have cancer, daring to talk about death, daring to say you no longer work—that you can no longer work. Daring to talk about intimacy, about sex, and about poop. It makes it all more bearable, life more beautiful, and it adds a whole new layer of depth.

In my book, I sought to do this as much as possible. To expose the raw reality, stripped of the veil of flawlessness. I have found that this leads to recognition in my readers; it offers points of connection for beautiful conversations. But above all, naming reality offers an escape from loneliness.

During and after my illness, I encountered many fellow sufferers who were not naturally inclined to share their situation with others. Out of hesitation to burden others, out of shame, or sometimes out of fear of losing their jobs or being sidelined.

These are understandable reasons to remain silent. But I also consistently see how this stands in the way of one's own relationship with the illness and the acceptance of oneself.

It is lonely to have cancer on your own. Lonely to lie awake pondering your approaching end. To hide yourself. To avoid the street out of shame because your "chemo-legs" make you stumble. To hide your bald head under a hat or a wig, so that no one sees how "pitiful" you are.

So that no one sees you.

I advocate for doing it radically differently: open up and show what is happening to you. Embrace your illness! Wear it with pride! It might not be your best friend, but it is inseparably connected to you. A part of your identity, at least for this moment. You are a warrior, in the middle of the battlefield. You are a hero!

Writing my blog has brought me so much. By being open about how I was doing and how I felt about life, death, and illness, people felt free to approach me.

Because it's quite human to avoid other people's misfortune. I recognise this in myself. When I meet someone who I know is ill, I feel a resistance to approach them. Maybe I’ll ask the wrong question, maybe I missed the latest update. And does that person even want to be spoken to? So, I tend to avoid contact for a moment.

Unless the patient communicates about their illness, thereby opening the path to connection.

Through my writing, I could dive straight into the deep end with everyone. Whether it was about the practicalities of my treatment or the prospect of dying, everything was discussable and was, in fact, discussed.

Was I lonely during my illness? On the contrary, I felt carried by many. As if lying in a warm bath of attention and sincere involvement.

I also decided to honor my bald head. Be bald, be bold! My bald head still features as my profile picture on various accounts. Defiantly, I look out at the world from under my smooth skull: here I am. This is ME. My head as a medal of honour for overcome suffering.

This new blog is also a platform for open communication. Do not hesitate to share your own suffering or your reflections with me or with other readers.

Dare to talk!