Today started the way a lot of hard days do lately. With a deep breath, stretchy pants and a promise to myself to get through it with grace. At least with mild composure and maybe some chocolate. I knew it was going to be a heavy one. Another CT scan. Another round of questions I didn’t ask for. Another reminder that my body and I are still not always speaking the same language.

But before I could slide into the scanner and pretend I wasn’t low-key spiraling inside, I made a different choice. I went to the gym.

Not for the gains or the glory. Although yes, my biceps are coming along nicely- thank you very much. But, because I’ve learned that strength training does more for me than just make me feel stronger physically. It steadies my mind. It quiets the what-ifs. It reminds me that no matter what those machines show later in the day, I showed up for myself first.

Today, I had another CT scan. A follow-up. A “let’s just check again” kind of scan. The kind where you pretend you’re not nervously Googling things like “lesion on kidney with bonus lymph nodes” at 2a.m. and then aggressively slamming your phone face-down like it personally offended you.

Last scan showed a lesion on my kidney (rude), and two new swollen lymph nodes in my chest (double rude). While no one seems to think my neuroendocrine cancer has suddenly developed a travel hobby. I’d really prefer nothing else to join the internal circus I’ve been hosting.

I saw my rheumatologist last week. We’re basically in what I’d call the “Well, Let’s Just see What Happens Next” phase of care. Which is as comforting as it sounds. He’s not ruling out autoimmune involvement, but also not giving it a name yet. It’s a bit like my immune system threw a party and didn’t invite me. Now I’m stuck cleaning up the mess with no idea who was even there.

Despite all that- the scans, the unknowns, the holding patterns-I came home today feeling grounded

And that’s new.

I came home, made a cup of tea, and sat down to meditate with my cats sprawled around me like little furry guardians. When I was done, I laughed. Actually, laughed. My cats were fighting over who got the sunny spot on the bed. One of them dramatically flopped right in front of me saying “My turn for play time.”

I’ve been doing more of that lately-laughing. Smiling for no reason. Planting things in the garden with Chris. Watching the hummingbirds dart and dive like tiny feathered lunatics. We started working on a little pollinator patch in the back yard. I swear to you, the very next day, butterflies showed up like they were RSVP’d guests.

It’s little things, but they feel big now. The groundhog waddling across the yard. The sound of the crickets in the evening. The dragonflies hovering like they’ve got somewhere to be, but not until they check on me first. There’s something about all of it that feels sacred in a way I don’t think I could have appreciated before.

This healing journey-because that’s exactly what it is- hasn’t just been about surviving diagnosis after diagnosis. It’s not just about clean eating or workouts or lab results. It’s about reclaiming joy. Reclaiming me. The me who makes time for yoga and breath work, who says no when she needs to, who doesn’t feel guilty for doing nothing if nothing is what her body needs,

I’m not trying to perform healing anymore. I’m living it.

It turns out, when you stop trying to fix everything all the time, you start noticing what’s already working. The way your muscles remember the rhythm of strength. They way your soul softens in the sunlight. The way even the hardest day can end in laughter if you let it.

So tonight, I’ll do what has become habit.

I’ll make another cup of tea. I’ll sit in my backyard as the sun dips low. I’ll listen to the bees finishing their work for the day. Watch the hummingbirds chase each other through the air like they’re playing tag with the breeze. And I’ll breathe.

Because I’m still here. Still healing. Still finding peace in the mess.

And maybe, just maybe, falling in love with this life-all over again.