All the Women I Can Still Be

I wrote a few weeks ago about my struggles with finding my identity again, feeling like myself and existing as a woman following. Tomorrow is International Women’s Day, and I spent the weekend trying to work out where I fit in. What came out is a list of everything I am, would want to be, may be, could one day be.

A friend.

A daughter.

A fighter.

A knitter.

A writer.

A career woman.

A patient.

A partner.

A winner.

A loser.

A manager.

A baker.

A business woman.

A bridesmaid.

A mother.

An advisor.

A reader.

An author.

A crafter.

A protester.

A supporter.

A defender.

A cousin.

A younger sister.

An older sister.

A rock to lean on.

A drama queen.

A hustler.

A traveller.

A dreamer.

A cancer survivor.

A gossip.

A listener.

A boss.

An artist.

A girlfriend.

A wife.

A seamstress.

A feminist.

An ally.

A leader.

An activist.

A lover.

A protector.

A flatmate.

A nightmare.

A dream.

A mess.

A blogger.

A champion.

A girl.

A lady.

A cat-lady.

A risk taker.

A fixer.

A teacher.

A carer.

A student.

A translator.

A decent cook.

A music lover.

A theatre geek.

A niece.

A grand-daughter.

A mother.

A creator.

A queen.

An entertainer.

An advocate.

A performer.

That is my list. It may evolve, it may grow, it may be missing a few items, and that is the strength of it.

Rebuilding My Identity, Finding My Voice

People often say that serious illness made them reconsider their priorities. That it made everyday troubles, fleeting friendships and things they had previously enjoyed seem unimportant. ‘Did it change your whole outlook on life?’ is a question I have had to answer more than a handful of times. Did it?

At first, I barely noticed it. During treatment, I was intent on sticking to my well-established routine. Get up, have a shower, put my face on (even though I was probably going to end up crying my make-up off), get dressed. Hop onto the train, get to work. Put in exactly the same amount of effort I would have prior to my diagnosis. It was comforting. I could pretend nothing had changed.

I was adamant that I was still the same person. I did postpone some things – I had considered moving abroad again, a change of scenery. That was no longer an option, but I told myself it would still happen – in time. Cancer was a fleeting period in my life, I would be able to give it a start date and an expiration date, frame it neatly and fold it away.

But as the months passed, and as I started realising that cancer was more than these few months I had spent waiting for treatment, that I would be living with the aftermath for years to come, it became obvious I was lying to myself. My priorities did change, they are still changing, but not in a way I had been expecting.

I did not have a big revelation one day. There was no dramatic declaration, despite my penchant for the theatrics. None of these things you see in films, with someone suddenly quitting their job and deciding to go on a trip around the world. No leaving my flat to go live on a farm and breed horses. No sudden, rash decision, no promise to dedicate my life to God, to find everlasting love, to go back to my family.

The changes were subtle.

My previous blog post was all about how I have lost myself. I do not recognise myself in the mirror, I am a shadow of who I used to be. I lost so much of my identity over the last seventeen months (seventeen months – my cancer is a toddler!), that I had to rebuild it from scratch. It is a long process. Some days, I feel more lost than found. Some days, I feel like I have not even started the process.

And to exist, to find and fight for my identity, there are things that I cling onto.

They are the causes I care about, the ideas that I stand up for. In forgetting about myself, I have only made these ideas stronger in my mind, and as I am rebuilding who I am, I am focusing on these things I am passionate about. They are the only things that make sense, the ones that keep me going, the beliefs and engagements that are strong enough to support my weight, help me reconstruct a whole new identity, and still be myself.

I have always been politically aware. My parents might not have passed much of themselves onto me, but that is one thing they would not let me forget. How important it was to understand politics, to stand for what I believed in, to fight for my voice to be heard. Their political stance might be a lot milder than mine (they are, after all, late boomers), but the idea was there. The world matters beyond yourself, and you must fight for it, you must fight for equality and acceptance and tolerance, and for a better world.

I tried not to allow myself to be overwhelmed by what was happening to me and forget about the rest of the world. Yes, there have been times in the last year and a half when I have wanted to scream ‘this is about me’ at the top of my lungs. When I have wanted to close my eyes to what was happening around me, to the pandemic raging around me and say ‘think about ME, think how bad I have had it’. But instead of changing my priorities and focusing only on myself, I have directed most of what little energy I had towards the things I believed in.

I am a feminist. I am a left-wing environmentalist. I am involved in all sorts of movements fighting discrimination, be it based on gender, race, or sexual orientation. I spend hours and hours reading about it all, trying to understand what I don’t know, trying to help by increasing my awareness and knowledge. I want to work, and keep working so that people understand cancer better and help others have a better experience than I did.

There is also a selfish reason why I do that. It helps me find purpose. I find reasons to keep fighting, I feel like I belong somewhere. When speaking about these things I care about, I see tiny little sparks of who I used to be, and of my true self. I find a voice again – my voice. I am no longer my body, I am no longer the fun-loving, easy-going girl I was a couple of years ago, but I can still fight for my ideals.

I am more radical than I used to be. I am more quiet in my personal life, and more outspoken about the causes I care about. And I am quite happy about that.

Cancer did not change my whole outlook on life. It did not change my priorities. What it did was break me down into a million pieces, and as I am putting them back together, they take a slightly different shape.