What Summer Taught Me This Year

Summer used to mean bonfires and beach days. Road trips with the windows down and the music too loud. It used to mean freckles on my nose, sticky popsicle hands, and late sunsets filled with laughter. But this summer… this one was different.

This summer taught me about stillness.
Not the kind you choose, but the kind that’s forced on you when your body simply can’t move the way it used to. When getting out of bed feels like climbing a mountain and taking a shower feels like running a marathon. I learned to be still and, in that stillness, to listen. To my body. To my mind. To the whispers of fear, fatigue, and—sometimes—hope.

This summer taught me that hair is just hair, but strength? That’s something deeper.
It’s holding your child’s hand during a moment of weakness and telling them you’re okay—even when you’re not. It’s crying in the shower, then drying off and making breakfast because your people still need you. It’s showing up for your life, bald head and all.

This summer taught me to release control.
Plans were canceled. Energy came in waves. I had to learn to live moment by moment. To stop apologizing for resting. To stop trying to “do it all” and instead celebrate doing what I could.

It taught me that vulnerability isn’t weakness.
Letting people in, letting them see the mess and the fear, doesn’t make you less brave—it makes you more human. And it brings people closer. Cancer strips you down to your core, but that core? It’s where the light gets in.

This summer didn’t come with tan lines or adventures.
It came with needle pricks, anti-nausea pills, and hours spent in infusion chairs. But it also came with a deeper appreciation for the people who stood by me, for the power of a good book during chemo, and for the beauty of just… breathing.

What did summer teach me this year?

To fight, to feel, to slow down.
To hold onto joy wherever I could find it.
To keep going, even when I didn’t recognize the girl in the mirror.

And maybe most of all—
That healing is not linear, but it is still a journey worth walking.