The gritty side of gratitude

Gratitude has become a buzzword in our culture. Write down three things you’re grateful for, they say. Light a candle, sip some tea, and the world will feel brighter. But when you’re living with stage 4 cancer, gratitude feels different.

It’s not about pretending everything is fine, because mam, it is most definitely NOT fine. And it’s not even about minimizing the hard stuff – because sir, tried that been there, and it doesn’t work. It’s about learning to hold both truths at once: that life can be brutal and strikingly beautiful at the same time.

I remember feeling completely devastated one day in a routine appointment with my medical oncologist. I was nearing the end of my chemotherapy, and we were touching base to decide that in fact, my chemo would end, and I’d continue on only 3 targeted therapy infusions every 3 weeks as my maintenance treatment for the foreseeable future. Is forever too much to ask for?

We sat down and got right into it. I was surprised to hear that the decision to end chemo at that point was based on the research, which says that after six months there’s no good evidence that chemotherapy would continue to work the way it was and that the risks associated with side effects and long-term issues weren’t worth it.

K.

Basically, like all stage 4 cancer treatments, you gamble and hope for the best. It was working, it seemed like my cancer had stabilized, so now was the time to test out the next phase of treatment.

Then an innocent question to my primary oncologist, how much time do I have?

She took a breath and thought for a second, before telling me that if everything went perfectly then she doesn’t see any reason why I couldn’t get to 5 years.

The breath was knocked out of me. Did she just tell me TO MY FACE that I have five years to live? I meant how much time do I have on this treatment. Not how much time do I have to live. I started to tear up, as she started to say some kind and understanding things to what, make me feel better? She just punched me in the face, there is no feeling better.

I couldn’t believe it. My husband and my kids were waiting for me outside because IT WAS MY DAUGHTER’S BIRTHDAY and we had a plan to go out for a special breakfast after I had my quick-no-big-deal appointment. She was turning 8, so naturally it was easy for me to do the quick math and I realized I’d be lucky to see my daughter go to high school.

That’s cool. That’s totally normal.

Then the craziest thing happened when I got into the car with my family. I decided to crawl into the back seat and sit between my son and the birthday girl, leaving the front seat empty. My kids were confused but thought it was the coolest thing ever – they each immediately grabbed an arm and squeezed it a tight as they could and laid their heads down on each of my shoulders. They got so close to me you’d think we’d all merged into one person.

My husband looked at me from the rearview mirror and he could see my eyes watering as I desperately tried to keep it together. His face told me that he knew something not-good happened in my appointment, and I just shook my head implying that we can’t talk about it right now.

I knew, that he knew, that I knew something, that I didn’t want anyone to know yet, you know? You got it.

That crazy thing? A wave of gratitude washed over me. The feeling of these kids holding me so tight, the empathetic husband chauffeuring us to the breakfast restaurant, the sunshine in the sky on that beautiful summer morning… The gratitude didn’t erase the pain, but it gave it context.

That morning’s breakfast that sticks out in my mind and I’m grateful that I had the extra motivation to be extremely present with my family. Sure, I remember that appointment too – but it’s not my biggest memory from that day. I remember the conversation, the sticky syrup that somehow ended up in my son’s hair, the delicious warm meal, the spilled hot chocolate on my lap, and the laughter, among other things.

The tears kept coming to my eyes that morning, but it was because of the love and gratitude I was feeling. One might even say that the world looked brighter that day.

I’ve decided that this *jOuRN*ey of mine is going to include sharing some hard truths that often get overlooked. Or, in my case, sharing the hardest truths that I’ve been keeping to myself for so long. I guess I feel like I’m protecting others by keeping these kinds of details to myself, but now I’m choosing to believe that there’s some good that can come from being open and honest.  

We didn’t get any pictures of that breakfast that morning, but we did get some pictures and video of dinner that night. Sandwiched between my kids, smiles big and eyes bright, wearing a matching dress with my daughter, port bandage popping out of my dress and very little hair to show, singing and laughter, stolen worried glances with my husband – it was a perfect example of how brutal and beautiful life can be all at the same time.

Oh, and don’t forget to light a candle, sip some tea and write down 3 things you’re grateful for today.

Facing fear

Fear shows up in unexpected ways. With stage 4 cancer, it’s not the kind of terror that paralyzes, because well, you learn quickly that you don’t have that luxury. Instead, it’s quiet, subtle, and creeps in during a routine doctor’s appointment, a scan, or even just a moment alone.

But fear has a role. It’s a reminder to live deliberately, to prioritize what matters, and to embrace courage in small doses every day. Courage isn’t the absence of fear, it’s acting despite it. Wait, that is a good saying, I totally made that up all by myself right now.

When I was just getting used to this new incurable diagnosis I was filled with fear. It wasn’t what I expected though, because I guess I thought I’d be scared for my own life or something. But I wasn’t. I was scared for my children’s lives. 

And by that I mean I feared for what their lives would be like if I wasn’t in it anymore. Losing a parent is one of the most traumatic things that can happen to you at a young age, and all I could see was all of the things that could go wrong. 

Some kids take tragedy and become resilient and live very happy successful lives despite it all – but some kids don’t. Some struggle in school, struggle in relationships, experience depression, anxiety and pain, or fall eventually fall into self sabotage or addiction… or insert any bad thing you’ve ever worried about here. Why are we so good at that? 

This fear became debilitating and plunged me into depression for months and months before I got help. I felt helpless and hopeless, and it was scary because I had never experienced that before.

The turnaround came when I was taught how to reprogram my beliefs and thoughts through specialized therapy, mindfulness and meditation. I also dabbled in anti-depressants for a few months while I built the necessary tools. I learned to accept that the future is unknown, but that it’s ok to be uncomfortable with the unknown. I learned how to question my thoughts and beliefs and focus on what I know in the present moment – what is the actual truth? What do I know to be true right now?

So I focused on the truth. Did I know for sure that I wouldn’t be here in the future? No. Are my kids for sure going to have horrible lives if I’m not here? Also no. The other thing is, I came to the realization that I am actually here to help them through the trauma of losing a parent – because I’m here right now. I get to help them build coping strategies and find outlets that they can fall back on when life hits them with the hard stuff. 

I am present, aware and capable of being there for them and guiding them through life’s toughest lessons. Basically they have an extra annoying mom encouraging them to get out there and make the most of life! 

So it’s not about avoiding fear – it’s about acknowledging the fear, letting it teach you, and using it to fuel living fully.

That time I made a room laugh about breast cancer (speech video)

This past July I was lucky enough to be invited on stage at an event by Helen Xenidis, For Once Upon Woman – Her Story. The event was supporting The Healing Ink Collective to help raise funds and awareness for women in the reconstruction phase of their breast cancer treatment. It is so much more than 3D aeorla tattoos, it’s about helping them feel a little more like themselves at a time when they really need it.

The event was filled with inspiration, education and I got the memo to bring some laughter! The women who shared their stories on stage shared incredibly vulnerable and heartfelt stories, and really brought some important messages into the lives of the audience.

I got on stage and completely threw out any plan I had – something I do from time to time – because I really wanted to bring the energy level up, share some heavy parts of my own story in a way that would make people smile and laugh, and not just talk about joy – but physically create it right there and right then in that room.

Sometimes you have to laugh your way through a difficult situation, because what else can you do? Other then cry of course… which I promise I do too! Just not that evening… lucky for the audience! A little less awkward right?

Thank you Helen for a wonderful event, and thank you Jennifer for capturing all the speeches so they could live on far beyond one evening. Meeting the other speakers was the best part, because connection in this cancer community is truly special.

When you click on the vide you’ll be taken to a page with the other stories as well! Watch & share if you know anyone who might resonate with anything you see. Your support means a lot.

Video by @jenniferjjmedia www.jjmediaonline.com

Website: www.onceuponawoman.com @onceuponawoman.herstory

Learning to love the small moments

One of the first lessons cancer taught me is that life isn’t only measured in years, but in moments. Big milestones are incredible, sure, but they’re rare. The truth is, stage 4 cancer forces you to notice the tiniest moments and to appreciate the small milestones, even ones that you’d miss if you blink. 

I love drinking a nice cup of coffee in the morning – bonus if I actually get to sit down while I drink it! I notice the way my daughter spontaneously dances in our kitchen or the living room… sometimes to music that only she can hear in her head. My son’s curiosity about the world gives me more moments than I can count. I love that I can actually see him thinking in real time when a new fact or idea is presented to him, and the way he squints his eyes has his ability to slow me down and stop me in my tracks.

The way the sky looks when the sunlight appears over the treetops on my street in the morning, and the way the backyard turns golden just before it goes down. It’s cheesy but I’m going to say it anyway – these small moments are tiny miracles, and now, more than ever, I stop to savor them.

I want this month to remind you, and me, that the little things matter. That a simple laugh or a quiet moment of peace can be more transformative than the big achievements we chase. Life isn’t just about survival. It’s about noticing, appreciating, and celebrating, even in the smallest ways.

Why I’m sharing truth, laughter & lessons this October

Lindsy Matthews

Ah October. Beautiful, traumatic, October. This is the month that I am constantly reminded about my complicated relationship with the color pink – OH and that I have breast cancer. 

It is breast cancer awareness month, and it happens to also be the month that I was originally diagnosed with breast cancer – 7 years ago! You know what they say… time flies when you’re fighting for your life. 

You know, looking back at the very beginning I see someone who got really good at pushing through some really hard times, but was ‘fine’ because she always knew that there was an end to the chaos, the panic and the fear. Early stage breast cancer is super treatable. Some would even say “a good cancer” if they were really, really brave. Try saying that to someone’s face who has cancer.

I beat cancer back in 2020 and I was lucky enough to call myself a cancer survivor. I’d hear people say “wait, YOU had cancer? That’s so crazy you’re so good looking you’d never even know!” or something like that, I don’t exactly remember. A lot of compliments though, for sure. 

Then my body had to go and release some secret stash of breast cancer cells and release them into my central nervous system. Rude. In other words, the cancer found a way to survive all the targeted treatment, radiation, chemotherapy and surgeries and metastasized. 

In January of 2022 I was diagnosed with Stage 4 Metastatic Breast Cancer (MBC). I know what you’re thinking – how many stages are there? 4. So when people hear ‘stage 4’ they might immediately think of endings. But here’s the truth – it’s not about dying – it’s about LIVING. Living bigger, brighter and more intentionally than ever before.

When we discovered that my disease progressed I was given very little hope that I’d be here long enough to continue experiencing all of the wonderful things life has to offer, for example like renewing my mortgage again. Spoiler alert, we just renewed our mortgage this past summer at a MUCH higher interest rate – lucky me! 

But seriously, lucky me. I think about that all the time. I am so incredibly lucky that my first line of treatment is working so hard at keeping me stable. I am in active treatment right now and I will be for the rest of my life… that is as long as I continue to be one of the lucky ones.

This year I’ve decided that I want to use October for good, and aim my energy at making a positive impact in the cancer community, for my friends or your friends with breast cancer, and for anyone going through hard times in general. For the next month, I’ll share the raw, the real, the painful, and the joyful truths of living with incurable cancer. I’ll tell stories about my diagnosis, the lessons I’ve learned, the moments that made me laugh until I cried… and the times I cried until I laughed.

Basically, I’ll share the wisdom I hope my children, my friends, my family, and all of you will carry forward.

This isn’t just about me. It’s about helping everyone remember that life is fragile, precious, and far too short to waste.