I had a –n albeit self-made — tumour scare in July. After five surgeries for four ovarian cysts and then one for a tumour in May, I’m a little paranoid at the slightest sign something may be growing back. (And thank you to those who say that’s understandable and justified.)

So I booked an appointment with my family doctor and requested an ultrasound because I couldn’t wait another 6 weeks before my next scheduled follow-up scan.

And after a not-so-good ultrasound experience, coming from someone who has had dozens, this poured out of me because #FEELS.

I have so many thoughts about body and health issues, the healthcare system, new age-y thoughts, alternative/natural healthcare providers, food, Western medicine, etc.

TOO MANY.

I have roughly zero things figured out.

But one thing I know is that health + body schtuff can be a mindfuck.

So, I wrote about it.

Because my body story is not a secret anymore. #suckitshame

If you’ve ever felt messed up, like you’ve forever needed fixing, confused, overwhelmed, hopeless, powerless, tried to do all of the things, didn’t know what to do, tried to find the meaning in everything, took too much responsibility whilst equally wanting someone to find the magic cure, and hated your body for trapping you in your mind because of the rollercoaster it put you through in real life, simultaneously… this is for you. (And also, still, me).

Spoiler alert: That ultrasound came back fine. It turns out I was actually just paranoid. Happily so.

Please, tell me how I’m wrong.

I must try celery juice. Vegan. Keto. Whole food. Drink cayenne lemon juice water for 60 days. More yoga, less stress. Actually, fast and only have ice cubes. Wait, room temperature spring water from the stream that collects the extra clouds at the top of a mountain.

I must be thinking, doing, feeling something wrong.

Because I can see in your eyes how fucked I really am.. how fucked up I really am.

I know what you’re really saying — that *I* am wrong.

That there’s something about me that needs fixing. Otherwise I wouldn’t keep having these health issues.

Your sympathy.
Your pity.
Your worry.

Please, a million and one people, tell me how you can heal me. Tell me how you have the answers. Tell me how broken I am.

Reaffirm my flaws, my brokenness, my not enough-ness.

Tell me your way, how it’s the only way, like there aren’t a million and one other ways that promise me the same thing.

But ultimately, then, tell me how it comes down to me. That the answers are only within me.

Not my diet, not my lifestyle, because until I change the thoughts in my head and my mindset, it doesn’t matter how healthy I eat or move. Give me a prescription for self-love to heal all my energy leaks and misalignments in my life. Instead of swallowing pills it’s the words I’ve swallowed and feelings I’ve kept bottled up that need to be let out. And while I need to speak my truth, the truth is that I must surrender, vision board vitality, only think positive thoughts, align all my chakras, live in the woods off the land in order to fix myself.

(But I will say, you do have one thing right, I am more willing to howl at the moon now.)

I must’ve been one hell of a bitch to deserve this karma. Or a witch in a past lifetime of mine. I can only imagine what my ex’s Mom is thinking.

I’ve learned enough already.

Haven’t I, Universe?! What else are you trying to teach me?!

I’ve shown up.
I’ve fought.
I’ve changed.
I’ve surrendered.
I’ve started writing.
I’ve let go.
I’ve dived into my shadows, accepted, and embraced it all.
I left him.
I loved Him.
I’ve tried.
I’ve trusted.
I’ve gone to heaven and hell and back again.

And this rollercoaster seems to be on a loop that doesn’t let me off.

I’ve read your scientific articles.
I’ve taken radical responsibility with a side dose of supplements.
I’ve changed my diet, my workouts, my job, my relationships, my LIFE.

What more do you want from me? What else am I supposed to learn goddamnit?!

And why, oh why, not another way?

Is gutting me, leaving me empty, the only thing that’ll stop me from growing cells, rapidly, that aren’t meant to be there?
Is there some lesson to be extracted with every tumour they take out of me?
Is there something I’m missing with the organs you’ve already taken?

How many surgeries can one have?

I’ve given up on the possibility of having my own kids. (But I would’ve been a good Mom, you know. I have so much love to give.)
I’ve given up so much.
I’ve given up.

I keep thinking I’ve figured it out until I feel tricked and like a fool once again.

For getting my hopes up.
For thinking this was gonna be the last time.
Just like last time, and the time before that, and every time before that doctors said this should “fix” it, but now can’t promise me anything or give me any guarantee.

Are there more lessons for me? Or was this last one a lesson for Him?

Is this because I held back love out of the fear of scaring him away?
Is it because of the wine? The food? That one DQ Blizzard? The guilt?

How is it fair that they can eat whatever they want and if I eat one ounce of one food the whole area between my ribs and my hips is unhappy?
How is it fair that I take such good care of myself and there are those that don’t, yet it all comes easy for them?
How is it fair that I may never be a Mom and there are some who beat their babies?

I’m sorry.

I was about to ask, “What did I do to deserve this?” but now I see it’s probably because of those thoughts.

But I tried to change my thoughts.

I tried to be more loving, more forgiving, more accepting.
I tried to rewire my beliefs to say that my body can handle whatever I feed it.
That the stress of worrying about the food was worse than me eating the food itself.
That I can trust it.
But that thought was probably also wrong.

I can’t figure this out. I can’t fix myself.

Judgment, blame, shame, repeat.

But it can’t just be me. It isn’t.

We don’t question packaged food consisting of words we can’t pronounce but suddenly become a health inspector when presented with a natural product with an ingredient label we can read and understand.
We’ve busily created a convenient world where it’s easier to poison ourselves than it is to heal.
We’ve set up systems that try to solve our problems but are only further perpetuating the problem.

Because what would we do if we didn’t have something to fix, something to worry about, some seed of doubt, shame, fear planted in our heads?

Our brokenness is what makes this Earth go ’round.

We’ve bought into buying these lies in order to fix our emptiness, created a culture of consuming, constantly seeking the feeling of full.
We’re perpetually starving for something that can’t be satisfied by a surface level solution.
We’ve been seduced.

I see the truth.

Fed up, frustrated, surgery after surgery… maybe I’m a sacrifice for a greater cause.

Oh, look at my little mind — seeking meaning once again.

Silly little mind.
Silly little human.
It doesn’t matter.
None of this does.

You just want to think it does to console your mind, the world it’s created, and pretend that this matters, that you matter, that there’s some purpose to this pain.

When really, you’ll be dead one day. Soon enough even, and the next day will be business as usual for the universe.

And this body that you’re so mad at, ashamed of, constantly trying to fix, will be perfectly and naturally and organically feeding the earth.

Perhaps, then, you’ll have served your purpose.