I don’t know the answer to this one anymore.
After 50+ years on this planet, and much self-analysis, I thought I had a fair enough idea, but then life threw me a curve ball. I got sick! Breast cancer to be precise.
I went through the treatment, and coped. In fact I coped fairly well, considering; considering it is pretty brutal.
But somewhere in all of this I got lost again, and the guilt of feeling bad after surviving an illness that kills way too many people is desperate.
During treatment I imagined how nothing would ever stand in my way again, nothing would prevent me from achieving great things.
And yet here I sit, accepting my self-imposed limitations on everything.
So I talk. And then I talk some more. And in the midst of all this talking I glean snippets of the “how” and the “when” of recovery, and with a lot of effort I am hoping this will lead me back to the “WHO” of who I am.
Surviving is dammed hard.