Or I Stop and Rest, or I Stop and Rest

⚠️ Trigger warning: This post touches on sensitive topics and may stir deep emotions. Or simply can make you think!

People who know me—those who’ve spent real time with me, my friends, family, or even anyone who’s read my birth chart—would describe me as “energetic,” “passionate,” “a hard worker.”No one close to me would ever say “calm,” “cute,” or “zen.” That’s just not me.

Patience? I've been working on it since forever. Procrastination? Not in my vocabulary. I’m a doer. Always with a new project or idea. I feel like if I don’t create, I’ll explode from excess energy.

Meditation? I like it—for 5 minutes. Yoga? Love it—as long as it’s fast-paced. That’s just my nature. Denying it doesn’t help.

On top of that, I like to control things. Not people—just me: my schedule, my health, my routine.Annoying, I know.

Now mix that: high-energy + control-freak…Add physical limitations, being 95% at home, needing help for nearly everything I usually do, for at least five weeks, plus the looming fears: “Will my skin heal? “Can I still do the reconstruction? “How long until I get back to my active life?”“When will I be able to raise my right arm again?”

Simple questions with no simple answers. And the only thing I know for sure is: I need patience. Which, of course, is the one thing I lack.

I was doing really well with this second treatment, just like I did with the first. I was even recovering fast from the one-sided mastectomy. But then my skin (thanks to previous radiation) decided not to cooperate. Two unexpected surgeries within two weeks later, and here I am… deep in “WTF is life?” mode.

Yes, I’ve had my “poor me” days—they’re mostly gone. I’ve had (and still have) sad days. But I’m managing: therapy sessions, spiritual tools, and lots of venting to my mom and Alan (thank you and sorry!).

I know that in a couple of months, I’ll read this and think, “Why was I overthinking? Everything’s fine now.”But right now, riding this bumpy road is exhausting, and my butt is tired.I want to reach the final destination—with new boobs, good news, and full independence. Is that too much to ask?

Apparently, yes. But this time, there’s no other option.

Either I stop and rest, or I stop and rest. That’s it.

It may sound silly, but I wrote myself a Post-it note that says “REST” and stuck it to my laptop.I even set daily timers to remind me of this incredibly hard task: just relax. Ommmm.

Just for Today

Happiness is all that we take with us. This small excerpt from the song "Bem-Te-Vi," composed by my aunt Lucina, her partner Lulli, and my father, Mário Avellar, has always struck a chord with me. Happiness is all that we take from this life. Whether destiny knocks on the door or sneaks up on us, as it did to me two years ago when I received the diagnosis of an aggressive breast cancer, this phrase reminds me again that sorrows, disappointments, and angers pale in comparison to moments of pure happiness.

But this topic also makes me ponder the finitude of life. In advance, I apologize for broaching this subject again. Aging, time, death. There's actually a subject that the majority of the world's population avoids talking about at all costs, but that everyone, without exception, regardless of social class, gender, favorite team, or zodiac sign, will experience: death. The so-called "grim reaper" seems distant before turning 50. At least it was for me. As I approach the halfway mark of my existence, with less than three years to go, and after experiencing the scare of cancer, it's something I constantly grapple with.

This reminder of death has two paths. Depression, being the first. Thinking that I have less time to accomplish things I haven't even started yet. That my body seems unable to keep up with my mind anymore. And even my mind is showing signs of weariness. Depressing. The other side is precisely the happiness side. Quite ambiguous, I know. This other path is exactly the opposite of the former. This is where thoughts of still having about 50 years to build everything I haven't started yet come in. That everything I've done for my body and mind in these past 47 years is paying off since I'm aging well. That the eagerness to learn more and more keeps me alive and vibrant.

Let's do this. Following the AA principles and affirming that "just for today" I'll choose the path of happiness. Tomorrow we'll reaffirm, and so on every day, grateful for the experience gained, for the years lived, and for many more to come. Just for today, I choose happiness.

Do you know all the ways to love? - Part 2

(this text was originally posted in Portuguese on August 2020)

Around noon, he approaches me as if he's announced, 'It's time for my nap.' Starting from this hour, after a burst of extra energy, he gradually calms down. Then, I cradle him in my arms like a baby and make my way to the kitchen, where his crate sits nearby. I retrieve his brush. On my lap, he relaxes even more, exhaling in a way that's amusing and brimming with tenderness. He closes his eyes as soon as I begin brushing his soft coat, tilting his neck for me to continue. It's a daily ritual that lulls him into a deep sleep within minutes. In these moments, his body rests beside mine, and I can feel the gentle rhythm of his heart against my chest. Even though we don't belong to the same animal kingdom, I am absolutely certain that he is my son.

Hercules, affectionately known as Herkey, among other nicknames that I've bestowed upon him, is a Shichon mutt. Here in the United States, this Shih Tzu and Bichon Frise mix is referred to as a 'Teddy Bear,' and rightly so, given its sheer adorableness.

In 2007, I penned a reflection on a profound question: 'Do you know all the ways to love?' (here is the link in Portuguese) In that piece, I shared my brief experience of caring for a dog for two weeks. As I mentioned in the text, I had never before encountered a furry companion in my entire life. Their licks and exuberant leaps of joy onto me were synonymous with 'Help, someone rescue me, get this little rascal away from me!' But at the ripe age of 42, almost 43, I welcomed my first canine companion into my home, and it transformed my understanding of love, even more profoundly than in 2007.

The idea of having a dog wasn't originally mine. Since getting married and relocating to North America, my stepchildren had been lobbying for a dog, especially the youngest. However, our home had an open backyard, no fences, and we were renting. So, how could we have a dog when I was 80% allergic, and winter was looming? Dogs were out of the question, or so I thought!

Yet, as time went on, my stepdaughter's persistence became a family crusade, with even my husband joining the 'Let's get a dog' team. But guess who had the final say? Me!

Allergies, our home, patience, and the biggest concern of all – the responsibility of caring for a furry companion. For me, these were all obstacles. For each one, my stepdaughter had a solution. She even created a manifesto, pledging 100% responsibility for feeding, walking, bathing, playing, and more.

I was skeptical about the 100% responsibility claim. I knew it would ultimately fall to me since I worked, cooked, managed the house meticulously, and loathed mess. A dog would surely disrupt my routine. But eventually, I relented.

We traveled two hours away to bring Herkey home. He was incredibly fluffy, and according to Google, this Shichon mix was hypoallergenic. The decision was clear – we chose the teddy bear. However, he had been living with other Shichons for three months and had a distinct 'eau de pee,' and dog urine is like kryptonite to those with allergies. Two hours into our journey back, I had to stop to buy allergy medication, as I was already sneezing, my eyes were watering, and I had hives on my neck. But beyond the allergies, something strange happened – I developed an unconditional love for this little guy who smelled like urine.

As Herkey acclimated to our home, my allergies worsened. We were both adjusting. Curiously, he had allergies too. Life's peculiar connections, right? Who ended up spending the most time with him? Me. The '100% responsibility' was practically transferred to me. Well, let's be fair, it was more like 80%. The rest of the tasks, such as taking him for walks and cleaning up after him, were reluctantly divided among the children with threats like 'Didn't you want a dog?' Eventually, my husband also shared a portion of the care duties with Herkey.

Amidst all this adjustment, particularly the allergy issue that seemed to be subsiding, the COVID-19 pandemic struck. This meant that not only was I already at home more than anyone else, but now the house was consistently full. And guess who reveled in this new arrangement? Herkey, of course!

Our bond with Herkey deepened, and the love that gradually grew not only helped alleviate my allergies but also made me a softer, more compassionate person. I can no longer read stories about abused dogs, those without limbs, or those abandoned to cry their hearts out without shedding liters of tears myself.

No, I wasn't always like this. It's not that I was insensitive, but I couldn't fully comprehend the depth of love for animals. I used to judge those who shared photos of their dogs on social networks or bought numerous toys for their four-legged companions. Today, I find myself doing the same, perhaps even more than before, and feeling a pang of sorrow when I have to leave my dog at a boarding kennel for nearly a week. I end up calling every single day, earning the title of a 'helicopter dog parent,' but I don't mind what others think about my canine indulgence.

It's our noontime ritual, those moments that fill me with love and joy. These are the times when I'm engrossed in work, and he comes seeking affection, melting my heart. Do I know all the ways to love? Perhaps not. But this love, oh, this love, it transforms.