The deck is stacked

Take a woman who grew up feeling not good enough, who learned young to hide certain parts of herself, who understood too early the narrowness of what was considered acceptable.

Then throw her into a world that hates women so much that it will take every opportunity to shame every movement she makes, every idea she thinks, every goal she dreams - while simultaneously shaming her for not doing it all anyway.

Give her just enough time to armor herself fully, to allow her demons to become backseat drivers, to stuff herself deep into a dark space inside and find a facade she can live with.

And then give her breast cancer. 

Run her through a treatment that nobody should ever have to survive. Cut out body parts, both seen and unseen, and leave behind a patchwork of scars and misshapen flesh. Tell her to smile while you do it. And then spit her back out to be judged and riddled with side-eye for gaining weight and not moving on already.

I feel so angry, all of the time, about the way this world we live in just wrecks us all. 

I feel angry about the amount of time I spend trying to fit back in after living in cancerland for so long. I feel angry about needing to hide my traumas from the world, and myself, in order to get anything done and not bring down the mood. And I feel angry that the only other option presented to me is to stand out, to become a spokesperson for survival. I don’t want to pretend like nothing happened, but neither do I want to wear it like a badge of honor.