Toronto, March 28, 2025.
I’ve always been an overachiever: driven, strong-willed, someone who makes things happen. That’s been my identity, my brand. It’s how I’ve measured success.
Thirteen years ago, cancer knocked on my door and softened me. My priorities shifted. I started valuing relationships more, slowing down rather than constantly executing. But apparently, the universe wasn’t done teaching me.
It seems to be saying: One cancer wasn’t enough. A second? A third? Still, she keeps pushing. Maybe a broken leg will finally force her to stop and take stock.
The universe is wise.
Three weeks ago, I had surgery—an 18-inch rod placed in my femur, from hip to knee. The pain was excruciating, the experience surreal. But I’m healing. I’m now climbing stairs, taking showers on my own—small but significant victories.
Yet, here’s the contradiction:
I value independence, but now I have to ask for help.
I thrive on getting things done, but now my body dictates when I rest.
I measure success by productivity, but right now, healing is my only job.
This broken leg is more than an injury. It’s a lesson in patience, moderation, and humility. It’s reminding me to appreciate achievements I once took for granted. It’s teaching me compassion—for myself and others.
The bigger question is: How do I reconcile who I am with what the universe is asking me to learn?
That’s the work in progress. And I’m approaching it with curiosity and an open heart. Because once I integrate these lessons, I know I’ll step back into the world stronger, wiser, and more whole.
For now, I have no choice but to sit with these thoughts—because, well, I won’t be driving anywhere for a while!
