Just when do we consider ourselves healed? Is it the moment they tell you that you are cancer-free? Is it earlier—when you felt that click inside and began to voice your needs? Was it months after treatment, when the tests kept coming back negative and you finally started to believe that real healing had taken place? Or are we ever truly, completely healed?

And what about the secondary effects of the treatments? Are they a badge to wear proudly, reminders that you made it—that this is the new you: with blemishes, with bruises and scars? And that it’s ok.

I am thankful for my body, for carrying me through it all, for taking every blow and still keeping me alive. It was only after treatment ended that it could finally let go—release the pain and exhaustion it had been holding.

For me, illness was a wake-up call. A reminder that living with uncertainty as a constant shadow is the only way to truly live. Control is just an illusion. Uncertainty brings me back to the present and relieves the pressure of needing to have all the answers. Am I ok now? Do I feel safe? Everything else is still unwritten.