healing through words

You made it, you’re alive, this is yours.

Every morning that I wake up now feels like a privilege. To breathe deeply, to stretch, to put my feet on the floor and feel my body move – these are miracles I once overlooked. To walk to the kitchen, to make a coffee, to taste food again without nausea twisting my stomach. To drive my car to the lake by myself, with no one hovering out of fear I might collapse, is freedom I will never again take for granted. Independence feels like a gift wrapped in gold.

It is so easy to forget how extraordinary the simple things are. The cool bite of winter air on my face as I walk slowly through the bush, the crunch of leaves underfoot, the birds that don’t know or care about the storms I’ve weathered. These moments used to blend into the background of my life. Now, they take centre stage. They are the reason I am still here.

Last year, I was chasing the light at the end of the tunnel. It was all I could see, all I could cling to while treatment coursed through me, breaking me down in order to save me. The thought of standing in sunlight again, of feeling nature’s quiet embrace, kept me going when my body wanted to stop.

I told myself: hold on, there will be light again. And now there is.

The light is everywhere. It filters through the dappled leaves above me, it dances on the surface of the lake, it spills in golden threads through the wattle. I see it not only around me but within me. The light is in me. The light is me.

To live is to remember this: that even the smallest breath, the smallest step, the smallest beam of sunlight is a reason to be grateful. I am not waiting for the light anymore. I am standing in it.

Love, Michelle