Mojo and the Mess

There are things I swallow because if I said them out loud, they’d hang heavy in the air and no one would know what to do with them.

I don’t say out loud that I’m scared every single day. I wake up with it, go to bed with it, and even when I’m laughing, it’s there, humming in the background. Fear of scans. Fear of hearing “it’s spread.” Fear of not getting to grow old.

I don’t say out loud that some days I’m angry at everyone and everything. Angry at my body for betraying me. Angry at cancer for taking so much. Angry at the world for spinning normally when mine has fallen apart.

I don’t say out loud that I feel like a burden. That my illness has rearranged everyone’s lives. That my husband has to carry weight he never signed up for. That people whisper, “She’s so strong,” but I know they’re tired too.

I don’t say out loud that I feel invisible. Friends stop calling. People fade away. I get treated like a diagnosis instead of a person. Even in a crowded room, I feel alone.

I don’t say out loud that I grieve the life I was supposed to have. The trips I wanted to take. The family I wanted to build. The future I used to dream about and can’t anymore.

I don’t say out loud that sometimes I’m exhausted from fighting. Not because I’m giving up, but because it’s so damn hard to be brave every day. There are moments I just want to scream, “I don’t want to do this anymore,” even though I’ll keep showing up.

I don’t say out loud that I’m terrified of being forgotten. That if the worst happens, life will move on without me faster than I can bear to imagine.

I don’t say these things because I don’t want to make the people I love more afraid than they already are. Because when you’re sick, you feel like you’re already “too much.”

But here’s the truth: these thoughts are real. They live inside me, and pretending they don’t doesn’t make me braver—it just makes me lonelier.

So maybe I’ll start saying them out loud. Because even in all of this—fear, grief, anger—there’s still a sliver of hope. Hope that someone will hear me, hold me, and remind me I’m not as alone as I feel.