TL;DR:
If you’re here, start with Post 1 (after reading some of the below and linked below). Post 1 will tell you the big announcement and show you if you want to keep reading.
[The idea is to either read or skim this post, and then go straight to Post 1 as that’s the one to read.]
A preamble to this blog:
What you’ll find here is raw, messy, unflinching, real-time writing, the kind that’s hard to read and harder to look away. Much of what I’ve written here I no longer feel or might even agree with, but I’m sharing what I documented as I was moving through it.
I could share only the wins and lessons. I could wait, scrub it shiny, tie it with a bow, make it prettier, give the wisdom of hindsight.
But it would be less honest, and, likely, less interesting.
I could make this more palatable and I’m choosing not to. The contrast feels relevant.
This is not Act 1 of Into The Woods — Cinderella at the ball and “happily ever after.”
This is Act 2 — the giant comes to earth and “we die but we don’t: the false hopes, the goodbyes, the reverses.”
Those who crave surface-level and highlight reels will probably run for the hills. I wish you well, and enjoy the calories burned on the great escape.
Those who love me will probably be devastated. I am sorry that witnessing can be painful.
Those who know me know that I’m a series of contradictions: humor in everything, depth in everything, wry ways of looking at situations, disappointment in others not seeing the beauty that I see in them and the shitty things they do, and still, the gritty, stubborn AF hope that all is still possible.
I am not a victim. I am not a survivor.
I am a witness.
My family, my mentors, some of my clients, certainly some former friends may be absolutely mortified that I’m sharing this. Some strangers might read this and feel some of these words in their bones and remember them 10 years from now as a lifeline. As they say: YOLO. There’s a lot of things I haven’t said. Here are some of them.
Rebellion Just by Existing
Notes from a life lived in vivid multicolor — resilience, clarity, and not-so-civil disobedience in real time.
✨ Free to read:
*Click below to read*
Everything else, which includes posts from over 100 posts and more to come, is for those who choose to actively support me at this time.
Why?
1) Because what’s inside is raw, gritty — not for those who want just the shiny wins, but for those who want to see behind the scenes or who love memoirs. It’ll trigger, challenge, stick with you. It should be opt-in, not for everyone.
2) And because it gives people who want to support me, but don’t know how, a way to do so. $8/month is a low-cost, high-signal gesture. Unlike my programs, which are for specific audiences, this blog is for anyone who wants to be a witness.
All (yes, all) are welcome and appreciated.
For now, a few will be shared. If you want more, comment on the posts and share them to show that you’d like more, and I’ll publish more.
A preview:
1. Diagnosis & Shock (Posts 1–20)
Discovering cancer in Mexico, rushing back to the U.S., barrage of appointments, IVF, and early biopsies. Grappling with disclosure, processing others’ reactions, and setting first boundaries. The raw shock, grief, and surreal humor of entering the cancer world.
2. Medical Grind & Emotional Fallout (Posts 21–33)
The day-to-day toll of procedures, injections, endless waiting rooms. Family sacrifices, surreal hospital vignettes, fatigue, and PTSD surfacing. A period of being “used up” by medicine while trying to find grounding through humor, nature, and presence.
3. Relationships, Society & Spiritual Cracks (Posts 34–53)
Turning outward: noticing societal violence and dehumanization, realizing how cancer filters relationships. Distinguishing real support from projection, platitudes, or pedestalization. Breaking up with the spiritual community that can’t hold full humanity. Re-centering on grounded, human connection.
4. Chemo, Faith, and Presence (Posts 54–63)
Chemo begins. Diet, walks, and exhaustion. People become anchors. Moments of faith. Living day to day in tenderness and raw presence, letting go of pretenses of strength.
5. Legacy, Meaning & Body (Posts 64–70)
Reflections on life lived: “Not this” inner voice, wealth as relationships, redefining success. Confronting mortality head-on. Moving toward legacy, meaning, and what remains when everything else is stripped away.
6. The Long Middle (Posts 71–90)
The early days of chemo: complications and crashes, emergency rooms, a spicy internet photo, Dr. IDGAF, the choreography of games and calls. Ghosts of old friends, wrecking plans, how much has already changed. The day-to-day absurdity of treatment. A split life, just two days a week in the world.
7. Meanwhile (Posts 91-113)
Hair still intact, chemo in full swing, and a plot twist. Sharing this blog with the world, and seeing clients step up and go on the ride, old relations reappear, and some acquaintances bafflingly misunderstand the announcement. Posts turn sharper and funnier — through scary side effects, prepping for an unexpected surgery, and nurses as small-town quirky characters, where humor is medicine.
8. And So It Begins (Post 114+)
The next leg. No spoilers.
Disclaimers & how to read it:
None of this is medical advice or guidance.
I’m posting these weeks or months after writing, so I may not agree with everything I’ve written and already moved through it. In fact, reading through some of it now, I’m thinking: “oh, thank goodness I’m over that! That’s not even on my radar or thought process anymore.”
But it feels relevant to share the messy parts, not just the wisdom, because for some, the gold is in seeing the rawness become light — where the light is even more resonant and sticky having witnessed the contrast.
Some memoir junkies will want to read all the posts within one sitting, as if reading a book. You’ll see me move through things quickly and the twists and turns and absurdism and beauty.
You’re the witness, and you get to turn the faucet up or down for how much you witness at any given time.
Start with Post 1 here.