Providing an outlet for better mental healthWhile going through Breast Cancer, I had two journals, which might seem a bit much. But with my big extended family spread out across the country, I needed a way to stay connected. Back then, personal blogs were still a thing and Facebook hadn’t really taken hold yet, so I set up a Tumblr account. It was perfect — I could post long stories, quick quotes, and even upload random images or links to research.
This became my go-to for keeping everyone in the loop during my treatment. It took the pressure off Mick and my parents, so they didn’t have to keep answering the same question, “How’s she doing?” Instead, I could share updates directly. What I posted was straight from me — my voice, my thoughts, and often my offbeat humor.
I was actually pretty surprised when the blog link got passed around and people I didn’t know personally started reading it. Friends of friends, or others going through their own journeys, found their way to my posts. It was this unexpected reach that inspired me to turn everything into a book.
But this was only the public side of me. This was what I chose to show the world. Sure, people who knew me would pick up on my moments of anger or sadness, especially when treatment wasn’t going well. I didn’t pretend to be happy all the time, but I still kind of controlled how much I shared. I don’t think anyone really saw just how sick I really was. It’s not like I sugarcoated my experience, but I didn’t really want to totally blacken it either. There was something about the internet at that time – and probably to an extent still now – you show the part of you that you think people want to see. But often that’s just the tip of the iceberg.
But I did say that I had two journals.
I had another journal that was for my eyes only. I still have it. It’s sitting on a shelf in my office because it’s pen and paper. Because when you put pen to paper you can’t edit it. Because when you put pen to paper you can’t edit it. It’s simply a raw dump of exactly how you feel at the time.
When I was writing my book, I went back to it to refresh my memory – because time can play tricks – and I found entries where the raw emotion of it all still makes me cry. Some days, I’d only write a line or two, like “same old, same old.” Other days, I’d fill pages and pages with everything I was feeling.
This was my space where I didn’t have to put on a brave face or worry about someone else’s feelings. It was my unfiltered space to let out everything — fear, pain, hope, and all the messy stuff in between.
Today when I look back, I can see how both journals played their own important roles. My public blog kept me connected and updated everyone, the same way many of you do with social media. But my private pen and paper was the one that helped me work through my emotions.
They both had their place, in their own way.