Just start. Damn it.
This epiphany came to me today, as I was having my coffee and participating in an empowerment group zoom called The Wake Up Call. I’ve been participating in the call for over a year. It’s a study group of books — from The Four Agreements to the latest, Bob Proctor’s Change Your Paradigm, Change your Life — and I had a LOT of paradigms — more than I ever realized. The biggest one, and one that hit me like a lightning bolt today, was to Just Start.
As I was listening in to the shares on the call today, I made three commitments to myself — to get me started and prioritize the activities of my day.
1. To commit to me. To constantly work on me to do better every day.
2. To be gentle to myself and to others.
3. To look at my end goal, emotionalize it, and envision what it would feel like when the goal is attained.
The one that leads it all: Commitment to me.
Tracy saved my life, and she cemented in me the resolve to just start, to do it, to make the commitment and follow through.
Whether this meant tackling activities on my to-do list, it centers on activities that I promise to tackle to elevate myself. For me, it meant writing this post and others, and to start on two projects: my next children’s book, aptly titled Limitless; and a memoir about Generational DNA and the lessons to be digested and learned from those who came before.
The children’s book seemed to be the easiest, but that’s not what I’m starting first. I’m beginning with the hard one — writing about my latest challenge and how it impacted me as I realized how my ancestors, namely my mum, gran, and great-gran prepared me for this next phase in my life.
Last September, I was diagnosed with Stage 3 cervical cancer. It’s not something I’ve shared in any great detail. It was just after one of my best friends was diagnosed and died from Ovarian cancer. Stage Four, though her family and friends didn’t realise it at the time. She was optimistic and empowering, telling me to get a Smear test ASAP. I listened.
Tracy was diagnosed in August and was gone by the middle of September. Tracy was a nurse — and one that put her patients’ need above her own. She worked right up until she received her diagnosis.
Ovarian cancer is called the silent killer — and for good reason — as symptoms appear often in the latter stages. Though diagnosed as Stage 3, Tracy was in the fourth stage. The fifth is death. She fought. I know she did. And she did not admit to us how dire the situation. She gave items away. She told me not to visit until her treatments were finished. She told me I was where I needed to be and how much I meant to her. She told me how proud she was that I had embarked on my writing journey, and how my stories will impact the next generation with their messages. Even as she was going through the fight of her life, Tracy continued to empower others.
She also tried to prepare her friends and family for her potential passing. Right to the end, she was smiling, joking, and sending out a very important message: to just start, to do it, to make the commitment to yourself. It was a message I wished she had sent to herself sooner, but I’m so grateful she shared it with us.
It was scary. It was challenging. It was something I had to go through to get to the other side — I just had to do it.
And so, I did. I got the Smear test. I waited for the biopsy and two weeks after Tracy passed away, and I was still in mourning, I received the results. The 2.5 cm growth discovered at the Smear test was, in fact, cervical cancer and not the polyp we had hoped.
Tracy saved my life, and she cemented in me the resolve to just start, to do it, to make the commitment and follow through.
The treatment was intense. It was seven weeks of treatment: 5 weeks of chemo once a week, with daily external radiations (25 in total) over the weeks leading up to Christmas and beyond, followed by three internal radiations. I won’t go into detail about what the internal radiation involved. It’s a bit TMI that centred around laying flat on my back with implements in places we don’t usually talk about. It meant overnight visits and laying flat on my back for two days. It was scary. It was challenging. It was something I had to go through to get to the other side — I just had to do it. I also had to reach out and ask for help — not something I am comfortable in doing — but I did it, and I realised how much support I had. I wasn’t alone. My friends, family and neighbours were here to help in whatever capacity they could. And Tracy was by my side too — as were the generations that came before.
During my last external radiation treatment, as I was lying on the table and the radiologists were targeting my cervix and pelvic lymph nodes, I saw my guardians (the ones that came before) standing in a circle, holding hands, and supporting me. Tracy was there too, as was my honourary nephew, Christopher. Was it a vision? Yes. A hoax? I’d rather not think like that. Did it give me strength? More than I’ll ever realise.
So, now, three weeks after the final treatment, I’m here, with resolve, with the commitment to do it. To start. To share. To empower others through my writing. And, to empower myself for the next phase, the next adventure, the next item on my bucket list
For many, this Just Start attitude does not revolve around writing. It could mean taking up that hobby you have been thinking about. It could mean to start looking after your health (that was part of my commitment). It could mean working towards a career goal. But at the centre, it means working to do better every day, to make the commitment to start and continue — one step, one day, one moment at a time. It could mean committing to getting more sleep, to quit smoking, to get our butts off the couch and away from our desks to move our body. It’s so many things to so many people. The lesson behind it all: Just start. Just do it.
So, just start, damn it. Just start. Every day. Every minute. Every moment. Even the difficult ones. Make the commitment every day, even when it’s hard and it feels impossible.
Start with one task. The rest will follow.