Friends, the last few years have been rough - a constant push and pull between healing, uncovering more stuff, healing, and getting hit with challenges. And repeat. Even in the past few months, I had a stress-related panic attack at a work event I was helping host, had a friend pass unexpectedly, paused a project I felt deep passion for, and coped with a melanoma diagnosis. Despite all of it, I feel grateful to be where I am today.

It was only a few weeks ago, I was sitting in pre-op waiting to get this malignant skin removed from my body that I finally surrendered. "Okay, universe. I hear you. Something's gotta give, and I'm the only person who can make that change. I'll do it. I didn't know exactly what I was agreeing to, or what I was giving up, but I did know I couldn't keep following this same path.

I had a glimmer of this feeling when I had first learned I had melanoma. After I got that phone call, I remember thinking the news was a wake up call. Something was trying to get my attention. It made sense. The last few months (actually, probably years) I had carelessly set my needs aside to try and make things happen: fit in with the community I live in, excel at the job that other people admire but doesn't pay me my worth, give away my skills for free so I'm useful to others, rarely say "no"... you get the point. I knew it wasn't sustainable, but I didn't know how to get out of this cycle. Or maybe I knew, but it felt too risky. Too scary.

Sitting in pre-op, everything I had been working so hard to balance came crashing down. I could barely answer the nurse's questions through my tears. I was feeling lonely and sad that I rejected people's offers to accompany me. Well-meaning efforts to console me (I've had that done, it's no big deal!) fed the part of me that requires that I be independent at all costs. Truth is, I was scared. I was scared I had melanoma to begin with and I was scared about the seemingly routine surgery. I was scared of complications. I was scared of more melanoma. But instead of tending to that fear, I completely ignored it. And it showed up anyway, like a pressure tank exploded.

I don't know if it was the anxiety drugs, years of therapy talking about my people-pleasing habits, or a bit of both, but as soon as the nurses left and I had a few moments to catch my breath, I surrendered. I felt a wave of relief wash over me, and vowed to myself that I would take myself, my needs, my preferences, my authenticity, seriously.

Over the last few weeks, I've worked hard to break some habits I've picked up while trudging through the muck:

• Instead of journaling about everything going wrong, I've been writing love letters to myself, writing to myself in the future about the things I want to accomplish, visualizing my ideal day, making lists of gratitude and glimmers of joy
• I've been more intentional with my words - shifting complaints into observations and trying to replace phrases like "I can't", "I wish", "I should" into "I can", "I am", "I will"
• I've shared truthfully about what I'm struggling with and what I need to friends and family, instead of telling them (err... lying about) how wonderful everything is
• I'm choosing to spend time with positive people who have mindsets of gratitude, and being okay with growing apart from friends who used to fuel my negativity parties
• I'm doing small things each day that "the person I want to be" would do. Sometimes tiny things like changing the toilet paper roll, picking clothes off the floor, or washing my face at night

But, I think the biggest shift has been in how I think and speak to myself. I'm noticing more compassion and understanding for myself. Patience when I don't do or say what I want to say. And accountability for my happiness. This must be what people mean when they talk about loving yourself.

Sometimes I feel ashamed that things had to get so bad and I literally had to have a cancer diagnosis to wake up, but the truth is, I did. And there's no way of knowing whether I would have gotten to where I am now, if I hadn't. So instead, I try to feel grateful for all the challenges I've recently experienced that they taught me about resiliency and strength. Without them, I wouldn't know myself as well. I wouldn't know what I am capable of overcoming. And I think that's really beautiful.