Well, truth be told, I’m not fine.

I have a love/hate relationship with the word “fine.” Most times it feels like an automatic response to the question, “How are you?” Is it a normal response to say, “I’m fine. How are you?” Yes, it is normal. Do I always trust the response? No.

Cheerfulness has been my motto. I’m surrounded by an amazing group of humans: family, friends and co-workers. I’ve lived to watch my children grow up. I’m married to my Rock/love of a lifetime. I’m sitting here in a lovely home, decorated for Christmas, listening to Christmas music while my little group of rescue dogs chew on their toys in contentment. Tonight I’ll make chili and cornbread, because that’s what the blustery weather seems to dictate. Life is good. It’s more than good, it’s pretty freaking fantastic.

Yet…

If I were to honestly answer the question, “How are you?” I would say something like, “I’m really hurting and living with more physical pain than ever before and I’m struggling.” The reasons for the pain, in most part, comes from being part of a drug trial and fighting my own battle with cancer. Would I do it again? Absolutely. No question.

Sixteen years ago, when I was diagnosed with cancer, I kept an incredibly upbeat disposition. I assured and reassured family and friends that I would be fine… that I would beat cancer. I assured my children that if I did die that I would still be with them, in their hearts, even if they couldn’t see me. My oncologist, nurses, specialists and spiritual staff at the hospital all commented on my happy disposition – that it lifted their spirits. One such day, my blood counts were so low that even slightly raising my head off of the pillow would cause a whopper of a nose blood, something that could literally kill me. So, I laid flat, all day, while receiving chemo and blood transfusions. I can barely think of that day without crying… it was difficult. Painful. Scary. On the outside, though, all you would have seen was cheerfulness. The closest I can come to describing the emotions I was feeling in those moments is “terrifyingly confused with a hint of gratefulness.”

My greatest fear was being a burden… it still is.

When I was finally allowed to go home and begin isolation there, I did try and talk with a friend or two about my fears, but I was quickly reminded that everything would be fine… Keep a positive spirit… Only think positive thoughts… They knew I would be fine… Those comments all came from a place of love, I know that. I’m grateful for good friends. However, in my 16 years as a cancer survivor and fighter, I truly believe that we need to give people a place to be “uncheerful” ‘for awhile. Perpetual cheerfulness has, at times, become a prison for me and there are times when I desperately want to break free.

Much of my life and experiences are only truly known by a small handful of people, and that has been my choice. Frankly, most of my life these past 16 years can only be understood by those who have literally walked with me through each trial. My Rock and My Core Four have seen every single trial, and that makes me feel abundantly sad with a heaping dose of love and gratitude.

Some things can’t be told. You either live them or you don’t. But they can’t be told.

However, the lessons we learn, those things can be told. I’ve been on an exploration of who I am and how I can best live this life I have been miraculously given. It’s an ongoing journey. Some people are doers. Some people are takers. Some people are drifters. There’s lots of ways to break down personality traits, but what I’ve learned is that I’m a prover.

My proverbial need to NOT be a burden to anyone feeds my need to be a prover. I do not want anyone to feel like they have to place their lives on hold, give up any dream, or simply not run an errand because I may need them for something. This is what caused my overwhelming cheerfulness in times of absolute distress. I look back at my time in treatment, isolation, and re-navigating life and see a sick, scared and hurting human who couldn’t bare the thought of causing any more sadness to those around her.

BUT…

That doesn’t mean that my cheerful disposition wasn’t authentic the majority of the time. I have been blessed to have a personality that looks for the good, believes life will improve, loves to laugh with abandon, to cook and clean and work… 90% of the time I am truly happy, regardless of circumstance. There is so much about my life that I love! I’m grateful. I’m blessed. I’m a goofball.

I’m not fine. Every single day the amount of physical pain I feel is overwhelming. I’m also happy. I’m loved and I love those around me.

Life is so much more about “and” than “or.”

It’s okay to be happy with a twinge of sadness. It’s okay to be laughing out loud with a hint of uncertainty. It’s okay to be brave and scared at the same time. It’s okay to be disappointed with a whisper of hope. It’s okay to not be cheerful 24/7. We need to laugh, cry, dance, roll our eyes (my personal favorite) sing, scream, be quiet, be goofy, feel angry, feel hurt, feel love and to be loved. It’s all okay.

Emotions are signposts of where we are in the moment, but they are NOT directives on who we are.

So, now that you know one of my deepest secrets, let me introduce myself…

Hi, I’m Aimée. I’m a wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, cancer survivor, prover and dog lover who loves to laugh (a lot), text (NOT talk on the phone) with my family and friends, cook, discuss the real meaning of life, give where I can, watch scary movies (zombie movies are my favorite) and eat dinner every single night with my Core 4. I’m a work in progress who is grateful for every moment and am discovering that it’s okay to keep discovering. We humans, we grow and change. No one is who they were 10 years ago, or even yesterday.

Signposts. Not directives.