Those of us who live with cancer so often feel we’re under threat.
Each time I meet my oncologist to discuss my latest scan, I plunge into a state of ‘fight or flight’ at the terrifying thought that my treatment might not be keeping the cancer at bay. As skilled as he is, I know my oncologist is working very hard to keep a step ahead of an unpredictable and colonising disease, one that is intent on using my genetic material for its survival at the expense of my own.
Alerts
I know my ‘threat system’ alerts me to danger and ensures I’m best equipped to avert it. But threat in me can be too readily activated and being in a constant state of alertness is exhausting.
Sometimes I need to put a brake on my preoccupation with jeopardy and to do this, I have been very carefully nurturing ways to soothe myself, to slow things down. When I was young, this might have involved alcohol or partying. These days, my soothing choices are far more wholesome and, I think, delightful too.
Working through my senses grounds me in the present moment and calms my anxious self which lives forever in a perilous future.
My soothing routine often starts with ‘box breathing’, a practice that maximises my respiratory capacity too, easing some of the symptoms of my illness. This involves taking a deep breath in through my nose, holding it for four seconds and then exhaling through pursed lips on the count of six seconds.
I take joy in things that smell and feel comforting. I fill the house with rose geranium oil through diffusers: I notice how my spirits lift when I enter a room flooded with its sweet scent.
I indulge in gels and lotions, careful to research ones containing natural plant-based ingredients. I occasionally enjoy experimenting with make-up too, a way to acknowledge and celebrate even, the change I notice in my face following months of treatment. These small loving rituals connect me tenderly to a body I have for too long rejected for succumbing to cancer. They are small acts of reconciliation.
Transformed
For me the threat system is immediately soothed and transformed by music, whether I am held by a mighty Beethoven symphony, or tickled by a cheeky groove.
But if I were to select something that has the most instantaneous and lasting soothing effect on me, then it would be a hug, not a peremptory one delivered out of politeness, but a long, close and unhurried hug that seems to welcome me home.
*During Mental Health Awareness Week I’ve been reflecting on ways that support my mental health as I learn to live with cancer. Share your experiences and ideas in the comments or if you’d rather, email me at [email protected]
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