Storms are natural.

Even when they feel like they're going to kill you.

Hi, hello, it’s me. I’m still here. Sure, it’s been six months, but there’s been a lot keeping me from this space.

Mostly because on November 14th, 2024, I was diagnosed with Stage IV Colon Cancer.

Let me tell you, it still feels weird saying that. I don’t think of myself as “the one with cancer” and I certainly don’t want others to look at me that way. My identity is so much more expansive than that. But it remains the truth, nonetheless. Cancer has dramatically changed my life and my perspective, and this last six months has been one of the most formative (perhaps the most) of my entire life.

It’s also been the most eye-opening when it comes to my own sexuality and the state of my marriage.

Caitlin, my dear friend, and I have been talking over Voxer nearly every day through this process. Grieving, celebrating, learning, dreaming. Hours and hours of time talking at our phones and listening to each other process. Laughing, weeping, raging. We’ve felt it all. And today, she said something that had me so inspired I dusted off the ol’ laptop and found myself here, writing to you.

She said, “It’s a storm. But storms are good, right? They’re nature.”

Such beautiful, true words. Yes, storms are nature. They are natural and necessary. They tear down so the earth can rebuild. They disrupt order so new opportunities for growth can rise up.

This is what cancer has been for me. A necessary and clarifying storm, leading to incredible growth.

However, cancer doesn’t feel “natural”. In actuality, it’s a mutation, which seems opposite from natural. But then again, a hurricane doesn’t feel natural either. It feels like a mutated form of punishment - a random occurrence that seeks to destroy. And it does destroy - homes are demolished, people are dispersed, communities are devastated.

As it goes with chemotherapy - it may kill cancer cells, but it also poses a threat to healthy cells. My hair is thinning. My hands and feet burn with the cold weather. My tastebuds are deadened and confused. I struggle to keep up my weight. My body is weary and slow-moving.

The pain and exhaustion as I waited for my first chemo.

And yet.

The war in my body is deflating the cancer. My tumor and metastases are shrinking. My energy is returning. I am rebuilding my body into something stronger than before. The storm is fading.

And when it passes, my revived body will be a thing of great power and beauty. It will be more prepared for any returning storms, and will hold the story of my success. It will be filled to the brim with hope and courage. It will remember just how hard I fought, and that I have the strength to fight it again, if it becomes necessary.

And not only will my body hold this story, my marriage will too.

I have seen love like never before in these last six months. While my husband sunk deep into grief and fear at the beginning, I have never felt nearer or more connected to him. He stepped in to handle logistics and day-to-day responsibilities that I normally managed, he made ample space for my feelings and held them with his own, he showed up to every single appointment I needed him to - asking all the questions I couldn’t even find within myself - and invited me to find joy and live my life with as much beauty and intention as I could muster.

A walk in the winter sunshine celebrating getting the help I needed!

Within the first few days of my diagnosis, after feeling miserable for a month, I said to him, “If we hadn’t done this work in our sex life, I would feel completely overwhelmed with guilt and anxiety right now.” The number of stories I’ve now hear from cancer patients with dying and dead marriages is off the charts. This kind of trial can often result in deep conflict and insurmountable relational strain.

It makes me wonder how much work still needed to be done in their sexual story and relational connection. Because when we’re still subscribing to the narrative that sex is about frequency and specific erotic acts, cancer doesn’t fit into the equation.

You can’t go through cancer and expect to have the same sexual frequency.

You can’t expect the same things from your body as before.

You can’t expect things to “go back to normal”.

You either accept the shift in your connection, or give up. There are only two options. And it often takes a lot of pre-work to choose option 1. If you don’t do the work beforehand, it’s going to be far too overwhelming in the moment to pursue at that time.

Because let’s face it - the medical appointments are enough to completely upend your schedule and life. Adding on therapy and relational work can be too much to ask.

(That being said, I 100% believe in pursuing therapy amidst a cancer diagnosis, if you can manage it - relational challenges or not. It can make a world of difference in your healing.)

So here’s my call to you - no matter what season you’re in, if you haven’t done this work to root out issues of toxic patriarchy, gender norms, unhelpful religious messaging, past sexual trauma, shame, and body image issues, your relationship is going to struggle when things go from hard to crushing.

So do the work NOW.

Don’t put it off. you don’t have to tackle it all at once, but you need to start today.

Who knows what the next month, next year, or next decade will hold? Who knows what challenges will come along that land you flat on your back or down on your knees? Who knows what way your relationship will be pulled and strained as the years go on?

Just one of my many hospital visits!

I’ve had so many people tell me since my diagnosis that my story has changed the way they see the future. It’s added an urgency to their perspective and challenged them to take a hard look at things they’ve ignored. There’s no greater joy for me than to hear these revelations!

If my suffering can bring hope and purpose to others, then we are already rebuilding from this storm. This is how we can rejoice in the midst of deep pain - when we see sprouts of new growth or trees hanging on by their roots even as the storm is passing through.

Not all is lost. Much is actually being found.

I don’t know what the future holds, or when this storm will surge again. Two years, ten years, or forty. But my days are numbered, as all of ours are. It just becomes a bit more real when medical professionals start talking about survival rates.

I just know that every day I am gifted on this earth feels so much more beautiful, and I want you to feel that too. Each day truly is a gift, and our deepest relationships should be a source of joy, not a place of dread. Pursue intimate connection with all that you are, because you were made for it!

Our first post-diagnosis getaway

And here’s the coolest thing - your choice to chase connection has the power to change the world. I believe it, because it’s already happening in my life. The more the people in my circle witness my husband’s and my connection through this process, the more they’re inspired to create that kind of relational environment with their partners.

This is how we heal our wounded world - we heal ourselves. Then our relationships. Then our circle of influence. Then, the ripples that extend from there. The opportunity is truly endless!

Be well, my friends. Create connection wherever you find yourself today!