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[myhealingera]

Why Taylor Swift?

Being a devoted @taylorswift fan often prompts the question, "Why her?" from those around me. The answer lies deep within the connection I feel to her music, a connection that seems almost serendipitous. It's as though with every album she releases, there's a song that resonates with exactly what I'm going through at that moment. Taylor has this incredible gift of articulation, weaving emotions, thoughts, and experiences into her lyrics in a way that mirrors my own inner turmoil.

Recently, a few of her songs have struck a particularly deep chord with me, finding themselves on repeat. Lyrics like, “You know how much I hate that everybody just expects me to bounce back—Just like that,” and “I’m getting tired even for a Phoenix, always rising from the ashes, mending all her gashes,” have spoken to me on a profound level. I've always been seen as the strong one, the resilient one who, no matter how many times I'm hit, stands back up. Being constantly applauded for my strength and resilience, I've found myself wishing to never be complimented for how well I endure pain ever again. Taylor captures this exhaustion perfectly with, “I’m getting tired even for a Phoenix, always rises from the ashes, mending all her gashes, you just might have dealt the final blow.” That encapsulates how I feel at this very moment in my life—like I'm facing the final blow.

This feeling was magnified recently when, just as I wrapped up another painful chapter of my life, I was blindsided by a diagnosis of metastatic thyroid cancer, requiring two surgeries and radiation. My life has been a series of back-to-back traumas, each time challenging my ability to stand back up. Yet, amidst this feeling of being at my breaking point, the symbolism of the Phoenix in Taylor's lyrics shines through as a glimmer of hope. It reminds me that the essence of strength isn't about the frequency of our setbacks, but our capacity to rise from them, no matter the circumstances. Taylor's music becomes more than just a collection of melodies; it's an outlet for my emotions, a way to articulate the pain and resilience that's too difficult to express in my own words.

In her music, there are moments when a particular set of lyrics doesn’t just resonate; it reaches deep into the corners of my soul, speaking the truths I’ve struggled to articulate. One passage has echoed within me, embodying feelings of invisibility and silent despair I’ve grappled with: “Every mornin', I glared at you with storms in my eyes. How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dyin'? I sent you signals and bit my nails down to the quick.” These words have never made me feel so heard.

Taylor Swift, through her profound lyrical talent, has managed to give voice to this silent scream. Her words are offer solace in the knowledge that someone out there understands the complexity of hiding one's pain behind a veneer of normalcy. These lyrics hold up a mirror to the paradox of being loved and yet feeling unseen, capturing the essence of my struggle with such accuracy that it’s as if she’s narrating my own life story.

Her songs become a medium through which my bottled-up emotions, the ones I struggle to articulate or even fully understand, are not only expressed but also validated. This deep, almost inexplicable connection to her music is why I am such a huge fan. Taylor Swift doesn't just sing songs; she narrates parts of my life, offering comfort, understanding, and sometimes even closure through her profound understanding of human emotions and resilience.

Thank you @taylorswift @taylornation

[myhealingera]

Two weeks after this photo was taken, I received a phone call that nobody ever wants to receive.

I was dealing with a slew of health issues: an inability to lose weight, hair loss, swollen lymph nodes, fatigue so intense that getting out of bed felt like a miracle, and severe brain fog. My joints were in so much pain that I found myself using a heating pad for most of the day.

I consulted my aunt, who is a pediatrician, and she reviewed my recent blood work. She observed that my TSH levels were consistently borderline high, often surpassing the normal threshold. Encouraged by her insight, I visited my OBGYN and shared my symptoms. She ordered hormone testing and referred me to a rheumatologist, given that lupus runs in my family. The results indicated elevated TSH, DHEA, and C-reactive protein levels.

I then saw a remarkable rheumatologist who conducted over 120 tests. All came back normal except for my thyroid antibodies, and I was diagnosed with arthritis in my hands. Around this time, my neck began to swell, feeling as though something was stuck in my throat. My primary care physician scheduled an ultrasound, which revealed swelling in my neck and a lymph node, and identified a nodule or "ectopic" tissue.

Returning to my primary care doctor, I was told my lab results were normal and advised to follow up in a year, despite continuing to experience swollen lymph nodes and being told that the neck nodule was unrelated to the swelling. At this point had been to urgent care 3 times, completed 3 rounds of steroids, a z-pack, and tested negative for mono, Covid, and strep.

Despite my tendency to avoid conflict, something felt off, and I knew I wasn't okay.

I requested a referral to an endocrinologist, which I received, but they couldn't see me until after Christmas. Not wanting to wait, I found another endocrinologist who could see me on Halloween. At my first appointment, I was diagnosed with Hashimoto’s thyroiditis and hypothyroidism. She ordered a biopsy "to be safe," emphasizing that a finding warrants investigation. Even at the hospital for my biopsy, the PA questioned its necessity given my primary care's advice to wait a year.

On 12/22, my endocrinologist informed me that the biopsy results were suspicious for thyroid carcinoma. I returned on 1/5 to discuss the findings.

They had sent my sample for Afirma testing, a genetic test for medullary thyroid cancer, due to the unusual results and the aggressive nature of the potential cancer.

I was then referred to an ENT, who suspected the nodule might actually be a lymph node. A CT scan confirmed this suspicion, revealing a lymph node suspicious for thyroid cancer, yet with no nodules on my thyroid itself.

The decision was made to remove the lymph node, with intraoperative pathology consultation to decide whether to also remove the thyroid.

On 2/24, the lymph node was removed, but pathology was indeterminate, leading to the decision not to remove the thyroid.

The following week, I was informed that my results had been sent to a larger university hospital for further analysis and a second opinion, an ominous sign according to my ENT.

Ultimately, it was confirmed as papillary thyroid cancer that had begun to metastasize to the lymph nodes, indicating occult thyroid cancer, typically undetected until it spreads to the lymph nodes. Likely, there are microcarcinomas on my thyroid undetectable by imaging. Thus, another surgery is required.

My complete thyroidectomy is scheduled for 4/24.

Honestly, none of this truly sank in until I received a call from the hospital's oncology department to schedule a radiation consultation for post-surgery RAI treatment.

It’s been an incredibly tough start to the year, to say the least.

[myhealingera]

““Pain has a way of clipping our wings and keeping us from being able to fly.” - William P. Young”

—

[myhealingera]

Dear younger me,

First and foremost, always know that you were never, ever too much. Not then, not ever.

Within you blazes a fire, so fierce and radiant, that it dispels the darkest shadows. You have an infectious zest for life, a flame that should have been celebrated. I'm deeply pained that mom tried to diminish that brilliance.

As I look at this photo of us, and I can’t help but think what was it like, you know before everything spiraled.

You've carried burdens far too heavy for your tender shoulders. Your profound empathy, while a tremendous gift, has at times also been an overwhelming weight. But it's this very empathy that has made you the compassionate soul you are today.

I ache for the moments you endured in silence, the tears that slipped away when no one was looking. Those nights when the weight of loneliness pressed heavy on your heart, and the days you felt like letting go. The days you carved your hurt into your body. I wish I could hold that fragile version of you, telling you that brighter days are ahead.

You were introduced to life's harsh realities far too soon. Through trauma's unforgiving lens, you tried to make sense of the world and your place in it. And mom, she should have been your safe haven, your protector. You never should've known the pain of her hand or the chill of her harsh words.

I deeply regret and am heartbroken that you were left unprotected, that the very ones who should've shielded you left marks that went beyond skin-deep.

Forgive me for the hurtful words I echoed back to you, reinforcing the falsehoods mom planted. Those lies were never about you but a reflection of her own torments.

After all the storms you've weathered, it's okay to feel weary. You've always selflessly given to others, sometimes at the cost of your own well-being.

But here's the marvel of you: you not only endured, you triumphed. From each trial, heartbreak, and adversity, you rose stronger and more resilient. Now, the journey is about more than just getting through. It's about blossoming, rediscovering the joys and embracing the abundant love awaiting you. It's time to unpack the burdens of the past and tend to your healing heart.

Your strength, resilience, and unwavering ability to love, even in the face of overwhelming odds, leave me in awe.

Know this: I am endlessly proud of you. I love you, and I always will.

Love, Me

[myhealingera]

Suitcase

My childhood memories feel like fragmented shards of a mirror, reflecting bits and pieces of a past I wish I could unsee. Gaps stretch wide, a protective mechanism I've come to realize, but there's one memory that stands stark against the void. It's a wound that refuses to heal, raw and throbbing even after all these years.

It happened when I was 6 or 7, the day was just like any other, or so I thought. I had done something 'wrong' that day. Maybe I had shined too brightly, or perhaps my laughter had echoed too loudly for her ears.

I could see the storm in my mother's eyes. I scurried, trying to blend in with the shadows, taking refuge behind our old wing-backed chair, its worn-out fabric acting as shield against her impending wrath. In that moment, all I wanted was to become invisible, untouched by my mother’s cruelty.

But she found me, her eyes aflame. She grabbed me, tossing me into my room with a force that threatened to break more than just my spirit. "Pack your bags!" she hissed, her words like venom-laced arrows, puncturing my spirit.

I pulled out my little brown suitcase, the one that I filled with Barbies. Tucking them inside, I glimpsed at my reflection in the tiny mirror pocketed within. What stared back was a face stained by tears, eyes pleading for an understanding and love that seemed out of reach.

I didn’t mean to make her mad. I was just a kid you see, full of life until that day.

With my suitcase packed, she pushed me out the door. “Go find a new family!" she spat. Those words... they burned into my soul, branding me with an everlasting thought: Was I truly that unlovable?

As I trudged down the street, every step felt like a mountain, my small arms trembling under the weight of my suitcase and my broken heart. My tears blurred the path ahead, but I could hear the taunting whispers, echoing my mother’s poison. Was I really too loud, too bright, too... much?

The next street seemed a world away. Every step was an internal battle between hope and despair. A morbid part of me wished she'd never come for me, that maybe a kind stranger or a policeman would find me, and rescue me from this life.

But when she finally appeared at the end of the other street, her face wasn't marked by relief but by a twisted sense of victory. Though she took me home that night, the stark reality was that she didn't truly find me. The bond that was supposed to be unbreakable had been broken. The mother who was meant to be my sanctuary had become my storm. And from that day, something inside me shifted, forever altered by the chasm of that memory.

At 30 years old, years of healing underway. This story still stings. The ghost of that day sometimes lurks in the shadows, but with every passing year, I’ve learned to confront it with greater resilience. The joke, it turns out, is on my mother. After all the torment and painful years, I’ve discovered a family of my own choosing. She being no longer included.

My new family, they are the ones who never try to stifle my laughter or dim the brightness of my spirit. They are the people who, every single day, make me feel cherished and as though loving me is the easiest thing in the world. They don’t poison me with words of hatred. With them, I’ve come to understand that family isn’t necessarily tied by blood, but by bonds of understanding, love, and unwavering support. My newfound family shows up for me every single day, in ways big and small, proving that love is not just a word but an action.

As I think about the future, I’m filled with hope at the thought of having a daughter. I dream of the days I’ll hold her, nurture her, and stand by her. I promise to myself, and to her, that she will never feel like she’s ‘too much’ or ‘unwanted’. She will be surrounded by the love of a family that not only wants her but cherishes her presence, every single day. She will grow up knowing, deep in her bones, that she is and always will be, loved unconditionally.

[myhealingera]

A Mother’s Love

From the moment you draw your first breath, your mother's embrace is the world you know. She becomes the very definition of love, the first heartbeat you synchronize with, and the first touch that feels like home. When she is your first love, no journey, no matter how far-reaching, will ever lead you to a love that matches the depth of what you felt in her arms. You could traverse every inch of this earth, and yet the imprint of her love would remain unparalleled.

But, when that same maternal bond becomes the source of your first heartbreak, it leaves a scar so deep that no salve can heal. To feel unloved or misunderstood by her is to confront a void that's vast and echoing. No subsequent relationship, no matter how profound, can ever truly fill the space left by that first, fundamental fracture. The absence of her love becomes a silent weight, forever shaping your understanding of affection and belonging.