I was having a conversation earlier with one of my oldest and dearest friends, catching up after not having had the chance to for quite some time. And he asked me that question--the one that keeps coming up for me. He referenced who I will be on the other side of this divorce and as the dust settles from my journey with breast cancer and navigating these surgeries. By year's end, I hope it will all be behind me, but there are days when that still feels REALLY fucking far away. Days are getting easier, and the moments that have brought me to my knees and riddled me with paralyzing grief and anxiety over the last year are becoming fewer and farther between. And so there is the lingering question--who will I be on the other side of this? And I don't know. I don't know her yet. And quite frankly, I really miss the me that existed before my diagnosis.

And then I thought about the photo shoot. And I thought about a specific group of photos that I didn't post or share. During the photo shoot with Brandy Cunningham, she was trying to help me relax and loosen up. And she said, "Think about who you will be on the other side of this." And without warning, I started to cry. Because this has been one of the hardest parts of the last year. I've referenced it before, but I can't do it justice with words. This in-between. The reality that the woman I had been up to the moment when I was told I had cancer disappeared in a split second. She ceased to exist. And it was palpable and confusing and so incredibly sad. And then she had to go into pilot mode--just doing what she was told, one foot in front of the other, surviving, barely keeping her proverbial head above the water, and feeling convinced she was drowning a lot of the time. And the woman who will live on the other side of this experience is not here yet. She has not arrived. She is still finding her way.

And so that question. That question. Brandy said it in the photo shoot, and those tears that have so often been just WAITING below the surface this last year came rushing without warning. Brandy quietly lowered her camera and paused to give me some space in that moment. I gave her permission to keep shooting, and I'm so glad that she did. It was only a few minutes, but as I looked through the photos when she sent them to me, I was struck by them. They are some of my favorites. I'm what I have always considered an "ugly crier." But the photos are real. And they're true. And I don't know why I didn't include any of them a few days ago when I shared the others.

I'm also heading into a weekend that is historically pretty tough for me for a myriad of reasons each year. So I want to share a list of recent wins over the last month or so. And I want to hear about some of your wins, too, if you want to share them in the comments. Big. Little. Complicated. Simple. Silly. Heavy. Whatever you want. Share them.

Here are some of mine:

Seven weeks post-double-mastectomy, I caught and surfed two waves in Costa Rica.

Twelve weeks post-op, I walked 10.5 miles in the Indy Mini-Marathon.

Last week I returned to lifting (light) weights at the gym.

I flipped my own expander back over after I woke up with it wrong-side-out last weekend.

I can fit back into most of my pre-op clothes.

I have gone entire days without a single phantom pain or a "zinger" on several occasions now.

My blood pressure has returned to normal.

I can take out my own trash and recycling.

I am able to walk both of my unruly and terribly behaved dogs at the same time.

I can refill my own five gallon jugs of water at the store again.

I had the hospital bed picked up, and I returned to sleeping flat in my own bed.

I can water my own flowers.

I am discovering the sacred silence of my own home. I am noticing the way the energy feels different, lighter, kinder, safer. I am resting and giving myself grace for the first time in my life. I am feeling my nervous system continuing to settle into what it means to trust in the river, to feel held by a moment, by a place, by a home, the home I'm slowly building outside myself to match inside myself.

I am continuing to learn what it means to be surrounded by people who know how to reciprocate love, tenderness, care, and thoughtfulness. I am learning to let go of one sided relationships. And I am continuing to practice creating boundaries that honor the distance at which I can safely love myself and others.

I am fostering a sense of whimsy and wonder and desire that are just as sacred as prayer and meditation. Or maybe they ARE prayer and meditation, and that’s why they are so sacred.

To my fellow women--schedule your mammograms. And remember--"The grass is greener wherever you stand, because you are the god damn sun."