It has taken me a long time to respond to this - partly because it has forced me to think about my body, which is something I struggle with. I've had to think about how I feel about myself, and it's complicated. Like Amy, I've taken a different journey.
I started out feeling OK about my body. I had the usual questions about my appearanceā¦
It has taken me a long time to respond to this - partly because it has forced me to think about my body, which is something I struggle with. I've had to think about how I feel about myself, and it's complicated. Like Amy, I've taken a different journey.
I started out feeling OK about my body. I had the usual questions about my appearance, the usual insecurities, but in retrospect I approached the world as attractive people do, with the understanding that with a little effort, people could be charmed.
When I was 42 I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Over the next year, my body was transformed. Before that, I was looking good - I was happy with my body shape, I was happy with my face. I had thick dark hair, I had heavy eyebrows, long eyelashes. I had a cleavage.
I am now almost unrecognisable. It's 14 years on, and some of those changes would have happened anyway, I guess - but it all happened so quickly. Over the next year I aged - what? 10 years? 20? - I had my oestrogen stripped away. I lost my hair, my eyelashes, my eyebrows. I lost a breast. I gained weight (yeah, steroids). Over the next few years I had a reconstruction, then lost my other breast. The hair came back - thinner, grey. The eyebrows never came back. Even my hands are different. The veins have gone. One is puffier than the other.
I'm now a woman with thin, white hair, with no eyebrows, with stumpy little eyelashes. I'm, frankly, chubby. I'm back on chemo. I have new scars. I have old scars. There are patches of my body with no sensation whatsoever. I don't look at myself in mirrors any more - a quick glance at the start of the day to make sure I'm respectable - but other than that? No, not really. I have become invisible.
These days, I think of my body in terms of verbs. If I can walk up that hill, that's great. If I can enjoy the sun on my face, that's wonderful. If I can eat that peach and really relish it, that's fantastic. If I can walk into that cold, cold water and be cleansed by it, that's a miracle.
Sarah, the power of your contributions continue to land on me hard. For all of us who have suffered a sudden illness with lasting consequences, it helps so much I think to have others describe it so clear-sightedly. Thank you. Your link to this month's issue is https://thecureforsleep.com/august-issue-sizeshape/#SarahConnor
It has taken me a long time to respond to this - partly because it has forced me to think about my body, which is something I struggle with. I've had to think about how I feel about myself, and it's complicated. Like Amy, I've taken a different journey.
I started out feeling OK about my body. I had the usual questions about my appearance, the usual insecurities, but in retrospect I approached the world as attractive people do, with the understanding that with a little effort, people could be charmed.
When I was 42 I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Over the next year, my body was transformed. Before that, I was looking good - I was happy with my body shape, I was happy with my face. I had thick dark hair, I had heavy eyebrows, long eyelashes. I had a cleavage.
I am now almost unrecognisable. It's 14 years on, and some of those changes would have happened anyway, I guess - but it all happened so quickly. Over the next year I aged - what? 10 years? 20? - I had my oestrogen stripped away. I lost my hair, my eyelashes, my eyebrows. I lost a breast. I gained weight (yeah, steroids). Over the next few years I had a reconstruction, then lost my other breast. The hair came back - thinner, grey. The eyebrows never came back. Even my hands are different. The veins have gone. One is puffier than the other.
I'm now a woman with thin, white hair, with no eyebrows, with stumpy little eyelashes. I'm, frankly, chubby. I'm back on chemo. I have new scars. I have old scars. There are patches of my body with no sensation whatsoever. I don't look at myself in mirrors any more - a quick glance at the start of the day to make sure I'm respectable - but other than that? No, not really. I have become invisible.
These days, I think of my body in terms of verbs. If I can walk up that hill, that's great. If I can enjoy the sun on my face, that's wonderful. If I can eat that peach and really relish it, that's fantastic. If I can walk into that cold, cold water and be cleansed by it, that's a miracle.
Sarah, the power of your contributions continue to land on me hard. For all of us who have suffered a sudden illness with lasting consequences, it helps so much I think to have others describe it so clear-sightedly. Thank you. Your link to this month's issue is https://thecureforsleep.com/august-issue-sizeshape/#SarahConnor
with respect & admiration as ever, Tan x