On the advice of a family friend fresh out of her own treatment journey, I found a therapist who specializes in cancer patients. Very quickly an interesting pattern emerged. She would ask how I felt about certain words, and we would both anticipate my response. Sometimes it would be a visceral reaction (turns out I do not welcome the term “new normal”. I refuse to acknowledge this new-found fatigue and angst as any kind of normal, new or otherwise). The other common response was a blank stare. Words like grief, anxiety, fear, and achievement gave me pause. I had never stopped to ponder any sort of personal definitions, assuming there were basic universal interpretations. I was wrong.
Take the word “achievement”, for example. My therapist made a comment about the achievement of finishing chemo. I believe my response was something like, “finishing chemo doesn’t feel like an accomplishment,” and then she took a page out of my playbook and blankly stared at me. I’m rather familiar with this look and have since used it as an indication that more information is needed.
So, I continued. “All I’ve done is sit in a chemo chair then put up with the aftermath. It doesn’t feel like an accomplishment.”
Her stare persisted.
“I guess I need to give that one some thought?”
She nodded and suggested, “Maybe examine what ‘accomplishment’ means.”
Message received. I had a week to figure this out before I saw her again. While that may sound anxiety producing, these little side quests into my psyche are not only brilliant distractions- something to focus on other than the current state; but also, opportunities to evaluate some long-held beliefs, and subsequently dump a lot of them because they are utter nonsense. (More to come on that.)
Back to the side quest. What is an achievement? Obviously, it’s the attainment of some lofty goal – finish a second novel, run a half marathon, build a successful business. Essentially, I subscribe to the “go big or go home” way of measuring. “I’m giving up months of my life to lie here and not progress toward any sort of achievement”. But when you spend so many days lying in bed battling fatigue and illness, this definition obviously breeds anxiety and depression.
I shared my definition. Here’s her response (paraphrased). “If the goal is to make it to the other side of treatment, anything to help realize that goal qualifies as an achievement, right?!”
Achievement. I don’t think it means what you think it means.
Apparently, lofty is irrelevant here, and more importantly, of my own making. Why would I choose to adhere to a definition that feeds anxiety? And it turns out, we can change those definitions (insert mind blown emoji here). Finishing an Audible book is an achievement (and I’m getting more comfortable saying “I read” instead of “I listened to” as if listening is less than). Being still and resting when needed is an achievement. Learning to give myself grace and love is an achievement. Learning to be patient with the seemingly slow progress of recovery is turning into an achievement. Learning to relax my shoulders multiple times throughout the day and stop wearing them as earrings – you guessed it – an achievement!
When only the grandiose wins the title of achievement, there are few finish lines to cross and even fewer celebrations. Having walked these past few months with Professor C, I am discovering I much prefer a life full of celebration and how that ultimately comes down to choices I make. The focus can be on the distant lofty achievement, or the beautiful experiences along the way.
I know, I know, some of you are thinking, “Duh, ‘It’s not the destination, it’s the journey’.” Sure. But until now, I always said it backwards in my head. Seriously. Not on purpose. I just didn’t get it. That’s probably pretty telling on its own and honestly, I still don’t 100% prescribe to that idea. It is a bit about the destination. How do you know which way to turn at the first intersection if you have no idea where you hope to end up? But, even my definition of “destination” may be changing. Maybe the destination is getting to the end, having learned how to celebrate life and having said the important things to the important people.
Anyway, maybe that’s another post. Professor C pushed me into a room I didn’t want to be in. However, this created opportunities to reflect and examine who I am and who I want to be. Those opportunities have been terrifying, beautiful, unexpected…I still have a lot to learn (which I’m hoping takes decades). Clearly, I have a robust subconscious dictionary of words to redefine – and a lot of moments to celebrate!