One year ago today was one of the most exhilarating days of my life. I launched my book,Embrace the Middle—a labor of love and perseverance that spanned three years. That same day, I nailed a TV interview, watched my book climb to #1 in multiple Amazon midlife categories, and received texts from friends and family proudly holding their copies. Soon after came a whirlwind of book events—San Diego, Los Angeles, Birmingham, Atlanta, New Orleans—plus more TV and podcast interviews.
I loved every single conversation. But nothing compared to the in-person events—sharing what it means to truly embrace midlife, naming the not-talked-about, hearing the validation in women’s voices, and feeling the intimacy and connection that always followed.
As the year unfolded, my own confidence blossomed. I won a gold book award and was increasingly invited to speak to groups and at conferences. My talks were usually home-runs, my workshops deepened, and a stint in therapy helped clear away old cobwebs. I celebrated an epic 60th birthday and felt, for the first time, that my personal, spiritual, and professional lives were finally aligned. Life was flowing. And, I knew that sweet spot wouldn’t last forever. As one of my Zen teachers often said, “We are always skating on thin ice.”
In June, my smooth ice developed some rough edges. And on July 11, it cracked when I received the shocking diagnosis of metastatic cancer.
So here I am, a year later—not shining on television but sitting in a chair receiving my third chemo infusion. And you know what’s helping me walk through this most unwanted, awful, terrifying chapter? Embracing it.
As I wrote in Embrace the Middle, embracing means being present to whatever is on our plate, with tender self-compassion. It doesn’t mean we necessarily want or like what’s happening—I sure as hell don’t. But it is happening regardless of my desires and feelings about it. Fighting the inevitable only adds more suffering.
On a concrete level, here’s how I’ve been embracing these past two months:
Acceptance. Once the shock wore off, I quickly accepted (gently embraced) my diagnosis. Kicking, screaming, asking “Why me?” isn’t my way and would only keep me stuck. Acceptance was brutally hard—but it allowed me to move into action, which was essential.
Feeling it all. I stay present to every feeling and sensation that arises: grief, terror, gratitude, panic, love, etc. I cry often and let the tears come. I ride out waves of fear until they pass. And I allow my heart to swell with gratitude for the outpouring of prayers, hugs, and support. When I don’t resist my emotions, I feel lighter on the other side.
Managing my thoughts and attention. This is one is tricky because there are so many difficult thoughts that can consume my attention. But when I succumb to them, I feel my body grow heavy with helplessness and my fight lessens. That is not conducive to healing. So, I often turn to my own SOFTT process, wherein I acknowledge my thoughts (which are 90% about the future) and then return to right now, to what is actually happening.
Living in the ‘ands.’ I dedicated a whole chapter in my book to the concept of “ands:” For example, I have cancer and I have love, support, and a ton of inner resources. I cry and my dog Nola curls into me with her soft, furry snuggles. I endure chemo’s side-effect (including my waning hair) and still delight in walks on the beach, reading, and visiting with friends. Even in our darkest moments, there are always ands.
I don’t know where this chapter will lead. No one does. And that lack of control and uncertainty are terrifying. But I do have control over how I respond to my current situation. In addition to my embracing techniques above, I meditate and pray. I visualize my body healing. I seek out less traditional treatments, consults, and guidance. And, I do my best to have more faith than fear. That feels much more empowering.
Today, on the anniversary of my book launch, I’m finally re-reading my own words. (And I mean they are all my own. Not one adjective from AI). And you know what? It’s a really good book. 🙂
My wish for you: May you gently embrace whatever life has placed on your plate, especially the parts you wish weren’t there.
With love,
~Shayna
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