Permission to be Human and Other Such Nonsense
When Life is a Tangle of Contradictions
As I’m looking ahead to a final summer of chemotherapy – with graduation on the horizon! – perhaps it’s not surprising that I find myself introspective, pondering my journey as of late.
As I’ve written already, a steady stream of provision has carried me these past months – miraculously, graciously, and lavishly given.
Brave caregiving, loving attention, financial generosity – these have landed for me in moments of deep need & vulnerability. And in so many ways, because of you, I am strong and poised and confident in the future.
But if I’m honest with myself, there are often hidden fears lurking. On any given day, my needs – precarious finances, ongoing body limits, vulnerabilities as one without a partner in the home – can land on me like a physical weight.
I see now that, long before my cancer diagnosis, this “both/and” cycle of feast and famine was already quietly in motion, never new or slow to repeat inside of my story. Some days, the uncensored versions of me bear more resemblance to a toddler or a teenager than I’d like to admit. From mood swings to tantrums, I am poised for emotional ambush on any Wednesday afternoon come 3pm. Perhaps in places of your own honesty, you can relate?
In addition to wondering if and when it’s okay to be a hot mess, something I often frame as a moral dilemma, there may be an even more insidious challenge: How do I meet myself inside this tangle of contradictions?
On one hand, I am living a lucky life, overcome with gratitude. It’s fitting to tell a story of “enoughness” – pointing to gritty hope even in the midst of deep disruption. We’re so hungry for reminders that the center holds – that the simple, daily investments we make, marble by marble, are enough.
Yet even in the best of circumstances, community and care in full-force, we come up against places of fear and loneliness, inadequacy and insufficiency — which is to say that we come up against being human — more often than we like. Not having what we feel we need is only ever one bad day away. (Dare I say moment?)
A few months ago, I was poking around an online support group, trying to hack some chemo side effects, when I ran across a post that stopped me in my tracks:
“Everything hurts on Kadcyla,” it read, referencing the chemo drug I’ve been receiving. Then, as if things could not be overstated, the post incorporated the most melodramatic cry-baby emoji.
No filters, no qualifiers.
No bright-sides or silver linings.
Nothing to make the journey seem more palatable.
The minute I saw it, something inside of me broke open. I hadn’t known it, but I’d been desperate to name the plain truth of my circumstances as I had been experiencing them — chemo as the god-awful poisonous medicine it is.
In truth, dear ones, I was never going to get there.
I was going to be too polished, too put together. Yet without the naming – I can see it now – an entire world within me remained out of reach. If this post had not stated the ugly truth, I would not have been able to honor my own journey for all it’s been. Indeed, this cathartic naming is still powerfully at work in me.
A few months before my diagnosis, I was pondering a phrase from John Ortberg –
“To be fully known and fully loved is the most healing gift one human being can give another.”
We are fully loved to the extent we are fully known — this is the idea. But what happens when we refuse to know ourselves?
Life is a tangle of contradictions.
In a world with limited permission for paradox – and very little patience for people in process – we’re up against pressure to be strong, to be composed, to be always-ok.
Admit weakness? Sure, within limits. Ask for help? Yes, but stay respectable.
Ironically, it seems we may be especially vulnerable to image-management in moments when we’re most needful of support, like when we’ve stepped into a leadership role or a brave new venture. Or maybe it’s a hard thing we’ve done before, but we find ourselves with new questions or challenges emerging. Or maybe it’s just still hard.
Here’s the truth about life inside of these vulnerable bodies and stories where we live: we have what we need – until we don’t. And we are nearly always just inches away from the “not enough” threshold.
If part of our healing involves being seen and known right where we are, then it follows that part of our work is growing a capacity to see ourselves there, plainly. With no pretense or polish.
In service of this work, I’m here today with a permission slip:
What is something big or small you think you should be over by now? What’s one thing you could do today to honor your story, in its hardship and bravery?
What is the need you have been reluctant to name – in your body, in your spirit, in your story?
I say we give these humble + hidden spaces some light today.
Were these thoughts helpful? Feedback for next time?!
I'm eager to hear what lands for you — or doesn't!
Hi JT, it's Jessica Steyn from PPL, way back when. Thank you for being so vulnerable and honest about your journey. I moved a year ago and my neighbor across the street has cancer. We became fast friends and I am looking forward to sharing some of what you wrote here with her this evening. She is likely nearing the end of a six year battle. She should hear on Thursday if there is any more doctors can do to help her or if hospice is the next step. Cancer is evil but she is determined to find joy in every new day God gives her this side of heaven. And I feel so honored that God put me in her life to walk this journey with her. Blessings, friend!
Beautiful. Inspired. Such a gift. Thank you.