Joan Didion says “Life changes fast. Life changes in an instant. You sit down to dinner, and life as you know it ends.” This quote rings true in my story, except in my case it wasn’t dinner- it was breakfast. One morning, I was shoving down some toast on the way to my bus stop, and the next I was stirring my tea in silence, trying to quiet the noises in my head and grasp the fact that my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. Even while having several family members and friends who had lost their lives to cancer, including my best friend’s mother and my grandmother, to have a parent struggling with the same realities hit me in a way that I was utterly unprepared for. Despite her extremely positive prognosis, I found myself unable to look on any sort of bright side. In my anxiety-ridden state, every doctor’s visit was one where she could return with a suddenly fatal sentence and every round of labs she did was sure to render the worst-case scenario. As someone who has struggled with extreme anxiety for as long as I can remember, I still cannot think of a time when I felt so helpless. My mother elected to have a bilateral mastectomy later that month and recovered beautifully- the scans giving her the all-clear. And while we all rejoiced, hugged, and finally exhaled, the nagging “what ifs?” and “what thens?” still agonized my brain. I began having an extremely difficult time trusting doctors and their decisions regarding my health as well. It felt as though my body and mind were at war with each other- a battle I still find myself fighting almost 3 years later. But it was in the depths of this battle that I stumbled upon something beautiful. Something lifesaving. I decided to devote my time to my high school’s theatre program. At first, I used it as an outlet to disappear. All I wanted was to forget about my present circumstances and become someone else- even if it was just for a 2-hour play rehearsal. I began to find healthier ways of managing my anxiety and trusting the people I kept around me. They encouraged me to talk freely about my mental health and reassured me that I was never alone. As I venture into my future in college, I have faith that I can use the way that cancer has affected my life and turn it for good. The lessons that it taught me -and will continue to teach me- are ones that still live deep inside me. Inside the 14-year-old Reagan that I now keep tucked away. But, sometimes, I feel her resurface. When I lose myself in the “what ifs” or try to isolate myself- I hear her. She reminds me that there is no point in pretending that I can predict the future and just how miraculous it is that I can walk into my living room and hug my mother. An ability that I will never take for granted. The anxiety that was birthed in the wake of my mother’s diagnosis is something that I will battle with for the rest of my life, but now I know how I can coexist with it and accept it as a part of my life but not the defining factor of it. Because when you allow anxiety to walk with you instead of on top of you, you become the author of your own story.

Joan Didion says “Life changes fast. Life changes in an instant. You sit down to dinner, and life as you know it ends.” This quote rings true in my story, except in my case it wasn’t dinner- it was breakfast. One morning, I was shoving down some toast on the way to my bus stop, and the next I was stirring my tea in silence, trying to quiet the noises in my head and grasp the fact that my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. Even while having several family members and friends who had lost their lives to cancer, including my best friend’s mother and my grandmother, to have a parent struggling with the same realities hit me in a way that I was utterly unprepared for. Despite her extremely positive prognosis, I found myself unable to look on any sort of bright side. In my anxiety-ridden state, every doctor’s visit was one where she could return with a suddenly fatal sentence and every round of labs she did was sure to render the worst-case scenario. As someone who has struggled with extreme anxiety for as long as I can remember, I still cannot think of a time when I felt so helpless. My mother elected to have a bilateral mastectomy later that month and recovered beautifully- the scans giving her the all-clear. And while we all rejoiced, hugged, and finally exhaled, the nagging “what ifs?” and “what thens?” still agonized my brain. I began having an extremely difficult time trusting doctors and their decisions regarding my health as well. It felt as though my body and mind were at war with each other- a battle I still find myself fighting almost 3 years later. But it was in the depths of this battle that I stumbled upon something beautiful. Something lifesaving. I decided to devote my time to my high school’s theatre program. At first, I used it as an outlet to disappear. All I wanted was to forget about my present circumstances and become someone else- even if it was just for a 2-hour play rehearsal. I began to find healthier ways of managing my anxiety and trusting the people I kept around me. They encouraged me to talk freely about my mental health and reassured me that I was never alone. As I venture into my future in college, I have faith that I can use the way that cancer has affected my life and turn it for good. The lessons that it taught me -and will continue to teach me- are ones that still live deep inside me. Inside the 14-year-old Reagan that I now keep tucked away. But, sometimes, I feel her resurface. When I lose myself in the “what ifs” or try to isolate myself- I hear her. She reminds me that there is no point in pretending that I can predict the future and just how miraculous it is that I can walk into my living room and hug my mother. An ability that I will never take for granted. The anxiety that was birthed in the wake of my mother’s diagnosis is something that I will battle with for the rest of my life, but now I know how I can coexist with it and accept it as a part of my life but not the defining factor of it. Because when you allow anxiety to walk with you instead of on top of you, you become the author of your own story.

Joan Didion says “Life changes fast. Life changes in an instant. You sit down to dinner, and life as you know it ends.” This quote rings true in my story, except in my case it wasn’t dinner- it was breakfast. One morning, I was shoving down some toast on the way to my bus stop, and the next I was stirring my tea in silence, trying to quiet the noises in my head and grasp the fact that my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. Even while having several family members and friends who had lost their lives to cancer, including my best friend’s mother and my grandmother, to have a parent struggling with the same realities hit me in a way that I was utterly unprepared for. Despite her extremely positive prognosis, I found myself unable to look on any sort of bright side. In my anxiety-ridden state, every doctor’s visit was one where she could return with a suddenly fatal sentence and every round of labs she did was sure to render the worst-case scenario. As someone who has struggled with extreme anxiety for as long as I can remember, I still cannot think of a time when I felt so helpless. My mother elected to have a bilateral mastectomy later that month and recovered beautifully- the scans giving her the all-clear. And while we all rejoiced, hugged, and finally exhaled, the nagging “what ifs?” and “what thens?” still agonized my brain. I began having an extremely difficult time trusting doctors and their decisions regarding my health as well. It felt as though my body and mind were at war with each other- a battle I still find myself fighting almost 3 years later. But it was in the depths of this battle that I stumbled upon something beautiful. Something lifesaving. I decided to devote my time to my high school’s theatre program. At first, I used it as an outlet to disappear. All I wanted was to forget about my present circumstances and become someone else- even if it was just for a 2-hour play rehearsal. I began to find healthier ways of managing my anxiety and trusting the people I kept around me. They encouraged me to talk freely about my mental health and reassured me that I was never alone. As I venture into my future in college, I have faith that I can use the way that cancer has affected my life and turn it for good. The lessons that it taught me -and will continue to teach me- are ones that still live deep inside me. Inside the 14-year-old Reagan that I now keep tucked away. But, sometimes, I feel her resurface. When I lose myself in the “what ifs” or try to isolate myself- I hear her. She reminds me that there is no point in pretending that I can predict the future and just how miraculous it is that I can walk into my living room and hug my mother. An ability that I will never take for granted. The anxiety that was birthed in the wake of my mother’s diagnosis is something that I will battle with for the rest of my life, but now I know how I can coexist with it and accept it as a part of my life but not the defining factor of it. Because when you allow anxiety to walk with you instead of on top of you, you become the author of your own story.