How I Learned To Walk Through Fire
by Alfonsina Betancourt
I wasn’t planning to write about this, mostly because I don’t usually like calling attention to my problems. If there is an universal truth that I am still waiting for one person to challenge is that 2020 has been a very hard year. For me, 2020 probably holds the record as the most-tear-producing year ever. Adjusting to the pandemic, the lack of contact with the outside world, the new economy was actually tolerable. But early July I received one of those phone calls that we ever dread: I was diagnosed with breast cancer.
First of all let me be clear: I am fine, I am cancer-free and in the last part of this chapter. The amount of lessons I collected in this journey had been sitting in my soul and in my journal for the last few months and suddenly I felt the need to share them in case they can help anyone who is going through this, will go through this or knows somebody who is. In this personal odyssey I grew up, I discovered so many truths being revealed with the force of a duct tape pulled from my eyes. People who walk the same path may have a different experience, but these are some of my takeaways.
1. This is not who I am:
Photo by @nadineshaabana
From the moment of my diagnosis, one of the hardest issues to swallow was feeling that my identity was suddenly kidnapped by cancer. No, I refused to see myself as if that is who I was; the person that has cancer. That was just something that happened to me, the same way that I could get a sore throat or a headache. But suddenly, every doctor’s appointment became a list of my numbers: chances of recovery, chances of it coming back, chances of having a not-so-pleasant after effect. As a patient you need to disclose it several times and at each new doctor’s appointment. I felt the diagnosis as if it was a leech that refused to let me go and I fought with all the strength that I have left to tell life that even when I knew there was no going back in this journey, I was not going to let it be the only story there was about myself. Cancer was a chapter, not the whole book.
2. FIRE:
While I was in the waiting room about to get my biopsy, partially covered with a pink robe and embraced by the calm intuition of what the diagnosis was going to be, I received a document from a friend that talked about the Volcano woman. I immediately knew that was going to be my alter ego for the next few months. To every new challenge I responded “but I am the Volcano woman, I am made of fire.” That implied I had to burn a lot of old structures, including parts of my old self. I had no way to escape: the journey was through the fire. It was not going to be easy, it was going to bring some destruction but I was going to survive it. That was my motivation whenever I felt defeated.
Fear, however, constantly found a way to creep in. A friend once told me that the problem with cancer is that you would never again have a headache in peace, because the fear of cancer coming back never really goes away. In the moments of major vulnerability, I envisioned fear as a companion rather than a wall that deterred me from going forward. It became the invisible friend that walked next to me through the flames. Its mission was not to make me burn, but make me walk faster to reduce the damage. I walked through that fire despite of pain and fear. Spoiler alert: that is how the Volcano woman transformed into a Phoenix!
3. WATER:
photo credit @jeremybishop
This kind of journey might feel like treading water…on an ocean full of waves. At the beginning, everyday presented a new challenge: a discouraging visit to the doctor, a test result that took forever, sharing the news with my loved ones, a new number and a new possible negative outcome thrown at the table as an old newspaper, pretending to be fine when inside I was breaking. I felt as if no matter how much I wanted to keep my head afloat, there was always a bigger wave coming.
As a child I used to love running waves at the beach. I found out that depending of where we are when the crest of the wave breaks, we might need to sink in the water, we might be able to float above it or we might be able to ride it to shore. In this particular journey where I felt constantly tumbled by a sea of difficulties I discovered that sometimes letting myself float was the only alternative I had. I had to learn to surrender, to stop resisting what it was and accept that at the moment that was my journey. Floating was then an act of empowerment: it allowed me to release the reins and see where the wave wanted to take me.
4. EARTH:
Photo by @nadineshaabana
Nothing like a life-shattering movement to redefine your anchors. The day I got my diagnosis I went to meditate (and yes, cry) to find out what my soul wanted to learn from this process. I wrote two goals. The first one was to let others take care of me. I am a care taker, I don’t like to bother people and I had become as emotional self-sufficient as I can be. That is how cancer walked in to throw those ideas out of the window, becoming one of my most important lessons in this process. For the first time I had to accept my limitations. Sometimes I did not have the energy, others the strength, and others the drive. I was recovering from surgeries, I was beaten up by radiation. It was quite humbling!
Like roots reaching out to the center of earth, my loved ones’ arms became my foundation. Many of them were suffering too, but they pretended to be strong for my sake. They surrounded me with love, with care, with hugs, with beautiful messages, with so many “how are you?”s or “I am thinking about you.” They saw me as I was at the moment knowing that I was more than the path I was walking through. They respected my silences, offered me their words; cried with me and made me laugh. When I was on my knees thinking my life had been so altered so that I could barely imagined my life beyond the illness, my support system, as braided roots, supplied me with all the nourishment I required to keep thriving. Never underestimate the power of a compassionate soul who is willing to accompany you in your worst times! I am eternally grateful for those who became the earth beneath my tired feet!
5. AIR:
Although dealing with a major illness or difficulty feels as a heavy cloak that does not let us lift our heads, I found that throughout the process I was rewarded with a lot of enlightened moments. I started finding hearts everywhere: a heart-shaped leaf or rock, even the mark that my blood left on a dressing after my second surgery, on a shadow, on a shell at the beach. Whenever I felt like I could not go on or I was in a spiritual dilemma, a heart showed up literally out of the blue. Maybe my eyes were being trained to find them, but regardless of the reason behind it, those random hearts lifted my spirit. Then there were the beautiful poems, arbitrary encounters, unexpected flowers at my door, the calls whenever I needed it the most, the necessary laughs with friends. As beaten up as I so often felt, those moments of lightness were incredibly comforting.
Although I cannot take all of the credit, part of the reason why they worked is because as weak as I was I had to let go of any extra weight my soul was carrying. I had to learn to pick my battles; to prioritize what was really important in the midst of tragedy. I could not walk through the fire or float on the water with a heavy luggage. My spiritual responsibility was to let go of whatever did not serve my healing. Which could be disturbing for any witness that did not recognize that new me.
I did not parachute to that knowledge. When I mentioned before about setting two goals for my journey the day of my diagnosis, I left out the other one: 2) learn to be selfish. I knew that in order to work on my healing I would have to put everything and everyone of the back burner. Easier said than done when you are used to putting everyone’s needs ahead of yours, when we grow up believing than doing the opposite is selfish. But little by little I started learning the lesson. I started replacing the idea of selfishness with self-love, self-compassion and self-respect. Putting the oxygen mask on me before helping others was actually the way I showed up. Taking care of myself is how I demonstrated that I loved others so much that I was going to do the impossible to stay on this earth as much as I can to care for and loved them.
Dropping that heavy baggage of self-imposed martyrdom let me fly whenever life showered me with extra gifts during this process. And that lightness will never again be taken for granted!
Cancer is quite a scary road. There are some that think that the level of the difficulty comes from your chances of dying of it. Not terminal? You are going to be fine, stop crying, only positive thoughts allowed, my aunt had it worst, don’t be dramatic, life must go on, everyone has problems, I am sure you are not that tired because you have bottomless energy, if you are smiling it means you are not suffering. Those who have walked the path have heard it all, along the wonderful messages too. Those close to us might also be grieving as well. Although I feel very fortunate for all the incredibly support I received (a stellar one, being asked to talk to my therapist to know how could I be supported better), at the end I discovered that although so many have walked this path ahead of us, others will walk after and many alongside, this is a hero’s journey that needs to be walked alone. I don’t mean that we need to cave in and not talk to anyone while we are at it, but rather understanding that all of the lessons, all the batches, all the trials need to be faced by us. Nobody can do it for us, nobody can prevent us from becoming true heroes. Yes, we shared the tribulation and the good news, but this dragon needs to be fought face to face in a gruesome and sometimes magical duel. I had walked through fire literally having my skin charred with radiation; I had floated through turbulent waters made out of tears; I have gone back to the comfort of earthy affection; I have flown lifted by the wings of angels and the feathers of faith; but most importantly, I have become a new me. I certainly wished I did not had to face cancer to learn the lessons, but I am grateful for everything it has brought to light. It has been, in fact, quite a spiritual road. I have sailed through odyssean adventures to discover that the point is not only living throughout our darkest times, but to thrive on them. Everyday is a gift, every moment of bravery has Herculean potential, and every battle brings a gift. Mine? I know that in fact I can walk through fire.
With love and gratitude,
The Phoenix
For more inspiring articles visit Alfonsina’s blog