Learning to Breathe Again

Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

The other day, someone asked me what I was up to.

And then they said, “You haven’t written on Substack in a while—are you okay?”

And I kind of froze for a second.

“Yes, I’m learning to breathe again. I’m living.”

Just… living.

I’m living life now that the restrictions have been lifted.

After the appointments and the constant monitoring.

And I’m slowly figuring out what this new normal looks like—for now.

I’m not trying to get back to “before.”

Because that version of normal?

That’s gone.

Things have changed.

I’ve changed.

And I’m not pretending otherwise.

My boundaries have shifted.

My energy has adjusted.

My capacity—for people, for noise, for pushing through—feels different.

So, what have I been up to?

Well… I went to the bra store.

Yeah, real thrilling stuff.

But it felt like a big deal.

I had to explain I had a double mastectomy, and this was for my temporary girls until the next surgery.

When she asked my size, I just shrugged—“No clue.”

And I said no wires. No padding. Just… comfort.

When I stepped into the dressing room and saw a three-way mirror, panic struck.

Full frontal view…no thank you.

I asked if there was another room. One without all the angles.

There was.

Grateful.

I found something that worked.

Sort of.

It still felt strange. But it was a start.

I’ve been trying to move more—taking long walks for my mental and physical health.

My These Girls Are for Fighting playlist is my walking buddy.

But the other day, “This Is Me” came on mid-walk and I had to stop.

The lyrics hit different now. I teared up.

Because… yeah. This is ME.

I’ve also been trying to say yes to more things.

A comedy night. A dinner out.

Visiting Day at camp for Sienna.

Even just being around people again in real life.

And in between all that—physical therapy. New exercises.

I even messaged my oncologist the other week and said:

“I’m just so tired. Like a kind of tired I don’t recognize.”

She said it might be the tamoxifen.

And honestly… it’s not just tired.

It’s an everything-feels-heavier kind of tired.

And it’s been hard to explain.

Because I’ve always been a yes person.

Yes to plans.

Yes to my “one fun thing a day” mindset that’s kept me sane for years.

But now?

I’m learning the balance between saying yes to life…

and saying no when my body says “please, not tonight.”

Like last week—Jonah and Brad went to the Zach Bryan concert.

Normally, I’d be right there with them.

But it was the night before Visiting Day.

We had to leave for camp at 6:45 AM.

Old me?

I’d have pushed through.

Gone to the concert. Slept three hours.

Showed up smiling to visiting day and then crashed after.

But this me?

I said no.

And not because I didn’t want to go.

But because I knew what I needed.

And that… that’s a new kind of strength I’m still learning to trust.

I’m also not sleeping great.

Still in the recliner. Still struggling to get comfortable.

Trying to lie flat. Trying my side again.

Still doesn’t feel right.

Not taking lorazepam anymore, so nights are weird.

I’ve been binge-watching Younger—I love how it takes me back to NYC and that version of my life.

But the moment the TV goes off, the eye mask goes on, and the recliner remote clicks back—

I’m reminded:

I’m still healing.

Still learning to breathe.

Still finding my rhythm.

And writing?

Writing’s been living in my head more than on the page.

There are full paragraphs that come to me as my head hits the pillow.

Or mid-nap.

Or while walking.

But when I finally sit down? I’m just… tired.

Some of it might be the meds.

Some of it might be the mental load finally catching up.

There’s been a lot.

I restarted my Circle coaching group.

We had Visiting Day. Jonah’s birthday.

My brain has been busy.

I’ve also been trying to gently re-engage with work again.

Getting back to my business, my podcast, the projects I had to press pause on for a bit.

But I’m reminding myself that summer has its own pace.

That this summer, especially, deserves grace.

And honestly? I know I have the luxury right now to take longer naps.

To slow down.

To not push just for the sake of proving I’m “back.”

Because this isn’t a sprint.

This isn’t a race to bounce back to some old version of me.

It’s a time to notice what’s shifting.

To reassess where my energy goes—and where it doesn’t need to go anymore.

I conserved energy for a long time.

Now I’m shifting it again. Relearning where it belongs.

Relearning how to just be.

I’m trying to see myself again—not just as someone recovering from breast cancer.

But as a woman who’s living life, even when it’s messy and weird and paused in places.

But still—every time I take off my shirt or unhook my bra, I’m reminded:

This is still happening.

This is still part of me now.

And maybe that’s the realest thing I can say:

I’m living in the in-between.

Not who I was. Not quite who I’m becoming.

This is ME.

Still breathing.

Still healing.

Still learning.