If I Can’t Have the Old Me Back, I’ll Build a New One

You can’t change the past, but you can change your future.

I miss the old me. The one who could juggle everything and still have gas left in the tank. The one who moved fast, thought sharp, and pushed through hard days with grit and caffeine.

Cancer stripped that away.

After treatment, I wasn’t just tired. I was bone-tired. Soul-tired. The kind of tired that seeps into your spirit and lingers. I was trapped inside an exhaustion that wouldn’t go away.

I also dealt with neuropathy and other side effects caused by the chemo.

And the hardest part? Most people couldn’t see it. I looked okay on the outside—but inside, I felt erased.

I hated the state of my health. And I knew that parts of it were now out of my control. I had to sit with that, and it was hard. But eventually, I made a decision. I was going to choose life. That meant improving my health in the areas where I do have control — including areas I’d been procrastinating on since long before cancer.

Here’s how that’s going for me.

I’m Rebuilding My Strength (With Help)

One of the best decisions I made was to start working with a personal trainer. Her name is Shannon, and she has been an absolute godsend. She comes to my house, and we walk together in my neighborhood five days a week.

I get up between 6 and 6:30 AM most mornings to meet her—and that part alone feels like a win.

Three days a week, we also do strength training—lifting weights, using resistance bands, and working on balance, which has become a major focus for me. I didn’t expect balance to be one of the hardest things; but cancer, chemo, and some other health challenges took a toll.

To help, I started wearing barefoot shoes—wide, flat, minimalist shoes that help me connect more directly with the ground. They’ve made a real difference. They’re comfortable, and I feel more stable when I walk or stand.

Some days I feel strong. Some days—like yesterday—I’m so wiped out I take a four-hour nap.

It’s a continuous battle. A tug-of-war between fatigue and determination. But I keep showing up.

I’m Rebuilding My Relationship with Food

Here’s something you don’t always hear: I gained weight during chemo.

The medications they gave me included steroids like dexamethasone IV. And between the stress, meds, and emotional toll, I ended up gaining weight when many people expect to lose it.

After cancer, I decided to take my healing seriously—not just medically, but metabolically and emotionally too.

Since then, I’ve lost 99 pounds. Not with crash diets or punishing myself—by learning how to eat the right foods, listening to my body, and finally stopping the stress-eating patterns I used to rely on.

Food became fuel, not a reward. Something that is slowly healing me, instead of controlling me.

I’m Building a Practice of Stillness

I also needed quiet. I started meditating. Sometimes 5 or 10 minutes a day. Sitting with myself. Breathing. Thinking.

Some days it’s prayer. Some days it’s silence. But those quiet moments became a blessed space where I remember who I am.

And sleep? I’ve reclaimed it as part of my healing. Turning off the phone earlier. Letting myself rest without guilt. Giving myself permission to stop. For the first time in my life, I’m not “on call” anymore. Now, I turn the ringer off and give myself some “me time.”

If you’re looking for ways to approach your own health more intentionally after cancer, here are a few things that helped me—not prescriptions, just possibilities:

• Move your body—even gently. A short walk counts. Stretching counts. Just start somewhere.

• Get help if you can. A trainer like Shannon, a PT, or a supportive friend can make all the difference.

• Focus on balance. It’s one of the most overlooked parts of healing. Barefoot shoes helped me reconnect to stability.

• Fuel your body. Think protein, hydration, and whole foods—not restriction.

• Give yourself the time to rest—especially when fatigue hits hard. Some days you will need that nap.

• Create quiet. Whether it’s meditation, prayer, or stillness, make space to hear your own thoughts.

• Show up for the people you love. Even if it’s not the same way as before, it still matters.

• Be patient with the process. Healing is not linear. Fatigue is not weakness. It's all part of recovery.

Let’s be clear. I still miss the old me.

It's been four years since I started chemo, and fatigue and neuropathy are still a big part of my life.

But this new version of me is worth fighting for.

She walks the neighborhood at sunrise.
She lifts weights with Shannon.
She works on her balance in barefoot shoes.
She cheers from the bleachers.
She talks to her granddaughters about life.
She’s 99 pounds lighter in body (and heavier in wisdom).
She’s still tired, but she’s here.

And she’s choosing life—every single day.

You need to choose life also.