✨ Radiance, Interrupted ✨

I Wrote About Radiance. And Then I Cried in a Hospital Waiting Room.

I realize that just yesterday I posted about zen and radiance. Today, I need to get something off my chest (ha).

It’s a lot, y’all.

If you haven’t heard, I’m going under the knife again. January 7th will be the Second Surgery in this prophylactic battle. They’re removing my reproductive organs. All of them.

An essay detailing that is coming soon. This one is focused on the feels of a moment.

I went for my pre-op testing yesterday. Had to go to the exact same registration room as the morning of my surgery back in June. Sitting there, waiting to have my name called, the tears started rolling. I just felt so…

Exhausted? Overwhelmed? Sad? Mournful?

Yes. All of those.

I tried to stop the tears before they started. Sat there in my coat, listening to absolutely awful Christmas songs piped through the speakers, breathing deep and reminding myself that I am strong. I am healthy. All of it is okay.

The tears rolled anyway.

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Strong? Really?

Recently, my mentor reflected back to me the sheer number of decisions I’ve made and actions I’ve taken this year. There’s a whole other ordeal from August that I haven’t shared here that brought curiosity, hope, and ultimately heartbreak. She remarked on how unflinching my resolve has been through it all.

It’s lovely to hear someone describe me that way. I don’t think about it. I just do what needs doing. But it is nice to be seen.

In that registration room, though, I didn’t feel unflinching. I didn’t feel resolved. I felt small. Like a child required to take her medicine. And I thought of how many times in my life I’ve had to be the strong one. The one who steps forward because no one else will. Because “it” needed doing, and I was the only one ready to do it. Shouldering others’ fears, hesitations, and grief. Taking on responsibility upon duty upon task because who else would? Leaping into the Wild Unknown because the comfort zone no longer brought comfort.

Sometimes those eldest daughter traits give me strength.
Sometimes they exhaust me.

Sometimes, I just want to curl under the covers and hide from the world. I want to be babied and looked after. Sometimes the very last thing I want is to be strong and brave.

In that room, with the shitty music and my inconvenient tears, I wanted to run away and pretend none of this was necessary. Just for a little while.

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Anchoring

So I let myself feel small. I honored the tears and the exhaustion my body was carrying. And while I did that, I anchored back to truth.

I am healthy.
I am choosing this.
I was there because I scheduled that appointment—just like I scheduled the surgery—on my timeline, at my convenience.

I am fucking resilient. And I still feel small sometimes.

I also know this: I have a home that’s a haven. I am loved and allowed to be soft when I need to be. I am cared for and looked after (dogs really are the best nurses, am I right??). And I am encouraged to be sovereign and strong, too.

That combination is rare. Its preciousness is never lost on me.

Yes, my December is about quiet radiance and honoring peaceful moments. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrapped in blankets by the tree, mainlining coffee, living inside a Hallmark movie. Radiance is the top note of the month, not the whole composition.

Yesterday’s pain and fatigue were an undercurrent. A moment. Not something to ignore or push past. Those feelings deserve honoring if radiance is going to be real.

Ignoring our shadows doesn’t banish them. Pretending we’re always sparkling undermines our authentic hearts.

I think of Emma Thompson in Love, Actually. Every time I watch the scene where she opens the Joni Mitchell album and then goes to cry alone, my heart breaks. She captured grief that has to be expressed—and then set aside. The forced smile for the kids. The bed made neat again. The red sweater that would’ve matched the necklace. Devastation swallowed for the sake of others.

Who hasn’t lived that?

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Radiance. Really.

There is no light without darkness. Both exist in me. What shapes our lives is which we choose to let dominate.

When those dark moments hit, I honor them, even when the timing is awful. I let exhaustion be true. And then I let it soften and fade in the presence of all the love that is also true. All the gifts and strength I walk with.

Have you ever shocked yourself with what you endured?
You are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for.
What would change if you acknowledged that?

I didn’t want yesterday’s post to read like a snapshot of a perfect, zen AF life. I want to share both the hurt and the healing here. Together, they form the real Happily Ever After.

Please don’t imagine me as an Instagram post for #LifeGoals. I know self-love and happiness are hard as hell sometimes.

That’s why I write. Hurt and healing are the HEA. If my words help you hold both with a little more grace, then I’m doing exactly what I came here to do.

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Your Turn

Is there something you’ve been holding together a little too tightly lately?

You don’t have to fix it. You don’t have to reframe it. You can just let it be what it is for a moment. Honor it through tears, movement, silence, or rest.

And when it’s ready, let yourself remember what’s also true. The love. The support. The strength you sometimes forget you carry.

If you feel like sharing, I’d love to know:
Where have you surprised yourself with your own resilience?