It’s been awhile since I wrote anything here. It was easier to find things to post about  while going through my cancer and radiation treatments. After that, nothing really seemed worth writing down. I was still recuperating emotionally, I suppose, and feeling a need to have some space to myself. Even if that space was just in my head. But I think I’ve turned a corner. About six weeks ago, I opened the door to my closet and nearly curled up into a sad little ball. This was not the normal  “I have nothing to wear” freak out; this was “If I have to put any of this on one more time – I’m going to step in front of a bus.”

My post surgery and radiation wardrobe consisted of leggings and tunic tops. Loose items that allowed me to avoid irritation of my radiation burns and lymph node scars. But suddenly, staring into my closet, I realized I was approaching the year anniversary of my stand off with cancer and I was tired of dressing like a withered, shapeless blob.

So, I reached into the part of my closet I hadn’t touched in a year and pulled out an actual dress. Stepping in front of the full length mirror before leaving for work, I felt a tiny bit like my old self.

The next day, I shoved the tunics aside again and grabbed another dress, praying it would fit. Somehow, it did. I’ve gained a little bit of weight over the past year. Talk about adding insult to injury… Stupid cancer. Anyway, I told Robert what was happening in my head, (which we usually try to avoid), and he instantly suggested I burn the tunics. Guess he was tired of them too.

Now, I’m on a mission. I’ve signed up for Stitch Fix and have a wonderful stylist who is nailing it every time. (Thanks, Nikki!)  I’ve also received a couple of “bento boxes” from MM LaFleur. It appears I’m building a new wardrobe for the new me. (The new me hates actual shopping as much as the old me.)

Yes, I have to acknowledge I’m not the same. The fact it took a year for me to shake off the  funk, or the blues, or the shock and awe of the spring and summer of 2015, is astonishing to me. I didn’t even realize how I’d changed. How my self confidence and self esteem had plummeted. When it started to come back,  I didn’t even recognize it for what it was. Now I see that experimentation with false eyelashes for what it really was. It was ME trying to locate me again. A better me. With longer, thicker lashes, apparently.

The point is, after all these months of isolating, I am happy to report that my new self is sticking her toe into the water to see how normal life feels again.

I must say, it feels pretty good. (Just a little tight around the waist.)