I don’t think people realize how much of my life now is built around energy.
Not time. Not plans. Not even how I feel in the moment. Energy. Because I don’t have a lot of it, and once it’s gone, it’s gone.
There was a time I could just decide to go somewhere and go. No planning, no trade-offs, no thinking about what it might cost me later. Now it starts days before. I sleep more leading up to it, even if I’m frustrated about it. I try to time my meds in a way that gives me the best shot at feeling somewhat functional. Sometimes I take steroids just to give myself a little push so I can be present.
Not my best. Not fully myself. Just present.
Living with cancer has changed everything about how I move through my life. Every plan comes with a quiet calculation in the background. If I go out today, I already know tomorrow is probably gone. If I push through something important, I’m likely canceling something later. If I ignore what my body is asking for, it doesn’t just let it go. It makes sure I feel it.
And it’s not subtle. It’s migraines that take me out. Nausea that shows up whether I’m ready for it or not. Fatigue that sits so deep it feels like my body weighs more than it used to. The kind of tired that sleep doesn’t fix.
But the part that confuses people is that sometimes, I still show up.
I’ll be there, smiling, talking, laughing, looking like I’m okay. And for a little while, I might even feel close to it. What you don’t see is everything that went into getting me there, or the constant awareness in the back of my mind of what this is going to cost me later.
Because there’s always a cost now.
There’s this quiet math I’m always doing without even realizing it. How long can I stay? How much can I give? Is this worth the crash that’s coming after? Sometimes the answer is yes, and sometimes it’s not, and I hate that I even have to ask myself those questions.
I hate that nothing is simple anymore. That I can’t just exist in a moment without thinking about what comes after it. That doing something normal takes strategy, preparation, and recovery time built in on both sides.
I didn’t used to live like this.
I didn’t used to have to think about whether I could afford to be part of my own life.
But I still choose to show up when I can. Not because it’s easy or because I feel good, but because it matters to me. Because I miss being part of things. Because I’m not ready to give up every piece of who I was without pushing back a little.
Even if pushing back looks small. Even if it’s just me being there for an hour, smiling, while my body keeps track of every second.
So if you see me out somewhere and I look okay, just know that okay didn’t happen by accident. It’s something I planned for. Something I prepared for. Something I probably borrowed from the days that come after.
And if I go quiet after, or cancel plans, or disappear for a bit, it’s not because I don’t care or I don’t want to be there.
I’m just paying the cost of showing up.
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