Part One: Disease to Healing - a Three part series

Learning to Fly

When I was young, I could fly.

It was incredible to soar above the treetops, drift in the sky, and gaze down at the rivers and fields below. Freedom, exhilaration, and peace filled my body. I would savor this feeling until the thought came: “I’d better get back to my body.” And just like that, I would swiftly return first hovering above my bedroom, then back inside myself, still dreaming.

I was a spiritual child. I was an anxious child. I was an angry child.

The seed of unworthiness was planted very young. I carried self-loathing without knowing its name. I longed for connection, but didn’t know how to ask for it. I couldn’t figure out how to belong, and I often felt like an outsider. My anxiety was so consuming that, at school, I stayed timid and unsure. I feared that if I spoke, I would say the wrong thing and be ridiculed. Strangely, I sometimes floated in the “popular” group. I was liked, then not liked, and that state shifted often.

Disconnected at Home

At home, I was disconnected from my parents and siblings. Inside, I cried with loneliness. My pain often came out as anger, explosive anger. I lashed out at myself and at my family over the smallest frustrations. This carried on for years, into adulthood.And yet, I also carried love. I carried prayer, God, and deep gratitude. My horse was my salvation. Grooming, caring for, and riding him brought me profound joy. I would ride for hours, often past dark. Nature, too, offered me peace. I felt most at ease outside, exploring our land, where I often talked with God.My parents were “old school” in their approach to parenting. From the outside, we may have looked like a typical American family: church on Sundays and meals at the table. But in reality, we were not connected. My parents carried their own generational burdens, and as a result, we cannot give to others what we do not know.

Whispers in the Night

At night, lying in bed, anxiety sometimes visited me. It whispered: “You are alone.” “You will get cancer someday.”I can’t say exactly why these thoughts haunted me, but I remember one family from our church. The mother, a kind and gentle woman, had cancer. I overheard my parents say her illness was advanced. She left behind a husband and young children. Even as a child, I must have internalized something from her story, perhaps I identified with her in some way.

Fast forward to age nineteen. I entered a serious relationship and fell completely in love; 19-year-old love, the kind that consumes you. The intensity of desire was overwhelming. But over time, that relationship became abusive. When it ended, I was left with even deeper anxiety and the beginnings of panic attacks.The end of that relationship coincided with a renewal of faith. I built a new life in a Christian community and found belonging among a group of young adult friends. It was a season of growth, healing, and gratitude. Though I still carried pain in the deepest parts of myself, I found refuge in faith and in the friendships that became like family.

The body said - enough

During this same time, my body spoke. I developed ulcerative colitis, a disease of the colon. Childhood trauma and old wounds not yet healed made its mark on me.

This is the map that would eventually lead to cancer.

The serene beauty of Oregon's Painted Hills after the first surgery, second surgery and chemotherapy followed

Stay tuned for the next part of this series, where I’ll share the next chapter of my journey: deeper struggles, turning points, and the lessons that came with them.