Finding Hope When It Seems Hopeless

*Lengthy post warning ahead*

I haven’t always been the most optimistic person.  I used to think negatively of just about everything. But, I grew up in a pretty negative household, so that was just what came naturally to me. Then, my senior year of high school I spent the vast majority of that year getting into trouble. 

First, I got grounded for months because my parents found weed in my room. Then, the day before my 18th birthday, somehow my high school found out I had a few handles of vodka in my car that I was hiding for a party for that weekend, and I got suspended from school for 10 days. (thank god it was the day before my 18th birthday, though. Otherwise I would’ve been arrested.) And then, a few months after that I got busted by excise police for underage possession of alcohol. I got a demeanor and eventually got it wiped off my record. I didn’t think I’d ever stop getting into trouble.

Then, I went away to Ball State University where I wasn’t in the best head space, and so I spent a good majority of my time binge drinking, feeling sorry for myself, and not really making any friends. I made a lot of stupid choices when I would drink like that and to boot, I ate chick-fil-a at least 4 times a week and didn’t really get any true nutrients in my diet.  I was depressed, self-conscious, and felt like there was no reason for me to even be away at college, so I transferred to a commuter school back home where I could spend more time with the people who mattered most to me.

When I moved back home, I decided to give up drinking for 6 months and to try to go to church more regularly. Eventually, I got bored with not spending my weekends getting black out drunk and so I started going to the gym to fill my time. This was the first time I really started to set goals, and although they were very loosely set, and overall pretty immeasurable, they were still goals nonetheless and they were still a step in the right direction. 

During this time, I got into the best shape & mental space of my life, my faith grew hugely and I started to see the reasons God put me through all of that. I felt like if I could ‘cure’ my depression with a healthy dose of endorphins, why not help other people get healthier & happier? This was the first time I truly felt like God gave me a mission for my life. And that mission was to help as many people as I could in my lifetime.

So I became a personal trainer. I’d like to think I helped a lot of people along my way. We had therapy sessions several times a week, talking about life, goals, and overcoming adversities. It really was the best job I’d ever had. I loved the connections I made with people and how valuable my clients and I’s time together was. 

This was the first job I’d ever had where I got to know my clients/customers on a deep, interpersonal level. It was at this time that I started hearing the words “Cancer” left and right. And trust me, I know I sound absolutely insane, but it’s okay if you don’t believe me. I think this is when God truly started drawing me nearer and nearer to my true life’s purpose.

Client after client, I kept hearing about how someone immediately close to them was recently diagnosed with cancer. I think I had about 6 of my 15 clients talking to me about this on a daily basis. I’d heard of people having cancer before obviously, but I felt like God was trying to tell me something. It was something I kept in the back of my mind and tried to just pay attention to as best I could. 

Within a couple of months, my boyfriend’s grandma was diagnosed with uterine cancer. Nothing fatal, necessarily. But still scary nonetheless. I figured that maybe that was what God was trying to tell me, so I was happy that she got that figured out and taken care of. (She’s now very healthy today.)

Eventually, I kept hearing more and more about cancer and how it affected my patients lives so I still thought it was weird but I didn’t pay as much attention to it. Then, slowly I started noticing my dad complaining of pain, inability to eat, losing weight, and sleeping more frequently. He brushed off the weight loss as “just trying to get into shape”, but keep in mind my dad was not the type of guy to try to get into shape or be concerned for his health. 

My dad and I were very close.. he was my best friend. We just saw eye to eye on just about everything and we had a special bond. So when I first started noticing the weight loss paired along with what I believed to be God’s warning to me about his health, a red flag started to wave. I had dreams of my dad calling me and telling me he had cancer and many other weird little ‘signs’. I tried not to say or think anything of it, until a few months went by and he lost about 50 pounds. All of my family started raising an eyebrow and asking questions. I tried to make my dad a doctor appointment, but again, he was not the type of guy to follow through with those things unfortunately.

It got to the point that he couldn’t eat even two bites of even mashed potatoes or applesauce without causing himself intense pain. On Christmas Day, he wasn’t able to take part in our traditional Christmas breakfast, which really ticked him off. So he said he’d go to the ER the following day. He was down about 80 pounds at this point. 

He went to the ER and had several tests ran, including MRI’s, CT’s, PET scans, etc. but all of which came back negative. They scheduled him an endoscopy for two weeks later for January 11, 2017. On that Tuesday, he was diagnosed with stage 3 esophageal cancer. 

For those of you who don’t know, esophageal cancer has similar mortality rates to those with pancreatic cancer. I think the statistic at the time was a 5-year survival trajectory was about 9%. It was basically a death sentence. But I kept the faith. I prayed and I prayed and I prayed that God would clean his body of cancer. He got several rounds of chemo & radiation, and when those didn’t work, he had an esophagectomy. He had an 8-hour, high risk, and highly invasive surgery to remove the lower 1/3 of his esophagus and about 30% of his stomach. They took a portion of his colon to resect what remained of his stomach to the remainder of his esophagus.

I got him a “cancer free” t-shirt to wear as a ‘congratulations’ for having your innards removed. It felt like the most noble thing to do. It sucked not being able to do much of anything to help him in that kind of pain. So I got him a t-shirt. 

His pain lasted for several weeks, and eventually got better. But he still wasn’t great come Christmas time 2017. Another several months and follow-up visits & PET scans passed, all of which, again, showed nothing. He was cancer free, as far as any of the doctors were concerned. But his immense pain still lingered. He asked time & time again for an increase in pain meds, but the doctors wrote him off as a pill-seeker. How wrong were they, and still, that ticks me off to this day.

My dad was quite the anomaly, because his cancer had actually spread to literally all of his major organs, and was visible even to the naked eye. But the PET scans saw nothing. Eventually he went to a new ER and when they saw nothing on his scans and were unable to get a colonoscopy, they drew his CEA levels (which should’ve been done from the get go in my opinion). And his counts were at a whopping 1,112. I think normal CEA counts should be below 10. Yes — TEN. His counts were legitimately more than 100 times higher than that. 

His death was imminent.

They gave him 2-4 weeks left to live. Yes — weeks. I heard this news and there was nothing I could do. He’d been robbed of so many things and now had to patiently await his death. It sucked watching the strongest man I once knew become vulnerable and weak and die. And I feel such an immense amount of guilt, shame, and responsibility for his death. 

I spent the better part of an entire year being depressed beyond what I hope any of you ever know. I let my grief get the best of me. I dropped out of school, let my finances spiral into a whirlwind of debt & uncertainty, and I contemplated life at some points. 

But I’m not telling this story to highlight all of the bad that went wrong, or to show what I didn’t do enough of.

I’m telling these stories of all of the major seasons of hopelessness I’ve had in my recent adult life. There were absolutely times I wanted to call it quits and give up. I can’t say that I kept my faith in the midst of those times. Hell, up until the day that my dad passed away, I had ALL of the faith in the world that God would pull through with a miracle and heal him. Yes, even until that last day. When He didn’t, my faith was pretty much broken and I felt like all of whatever ‘hope’ was left within me was gone. I can’t name a time that I’ve ever been more hopeless than that year following my dads death. 

I felt lost without direction.

I felt like I’d spiraled into a hole where rock bottom was the destination, with no way out. 

I felt like all of my efforts to remain positive and hopeful now stood no chance, and why try to even be optimistic? My dad just died. 

I felt like since he died, a part of me went with him and there was no purpose for me here anymore either.

But I decided to give my grief a year. One year to get used to every holiday, birthday, special occasion, etc. I allowed myself to feel sorry for myself for one whole year. I don’t think a single day went by where I didn’t cry or have debilitating anxiety. But I wanted to share this (long) story of resilience, purpose, and strength because as always, I want to remind you that you’re not alone in these battles. There are people who can relate to exactly what you’re feeling, who can help guide you, or who can just be a shoulder to cry on for you.

After all of the (excuse my language), bullshit, that I’ve been through in my life — and haven’t even really began to cover the tip of the iceberg — I think that it’s all now lead me to receive more precision for what I believe God’s mission is for me to achieve. Still, I’m here to help as many people as I can.

But I want to help people overcome their depression.

I want to help people see the light in their anxiety.

I want to help advocate for cancer patients.

I want to help find a cure for cancer.

I want to help people ultimately reach their highest, best versions of themselves.

I think the best starting point to achieving that goal is to share my own testimony. I don’t want to just share the highlights of my life. I want to be real, raw, and authentic with my audience so that you know that it’s OK to have dark times, and even more — that it’s OK to allow those dark times to help strengthen you. 

If you’ve made it this far, first of thank you for taking the time to read through this. And second off, here’s my biggest take-home message. 

Anxiety, depression, guilt, shame, and hopelessness is all NORMAL and it’s okay to feel it, talk about it, and live through it for a little bit. I just urge you all to try to let it build you up for your next season, try to see what good could come out of it (even if for an entire year it seems like there’s absolutely nothing good that could come from your adversities). Please stay hopeful, and as always, know that you’re not alone. xo