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.

A Dive Within Ourselves

In times of extremes, when external opinions hold so much power, why not focus on getting to know ourselves better? I have the feeling that the more I understand myself—my desires, needs, past, fears, and anxieties—the more connected I become to what truly matters, even as the chaos rages on outside.

No, this is not about escaping unpleasant situations or opposing opinions, but rather about building a strong shield to protect my essence. When you dive deep into yourself, there is no room for doubt about who you truly are.

The journey toward authenticity is a process. A process that can be long, challenging, and sometimes even painful, but I see no other way to live than by facing it head-on, being fully yourself—from the tip of your hair to the tip of your toes.

Being true to yourself and embracing who you are is so difficult for some that they reach the end of their lives without ever having had an honest relationship with the most important person in their journey: themselves. There is no one-size-fits-all formula. Each person follows a unique path. The tools for this inner dive also vary. What truly matters is that once you start down the road to self-discovery, you don’t look back or get distracted by outside noise—because it will always be there.

It’s challenging, but the rewards of looking within are worth it. Take the plunge today!

Eternally an Immigrant

Sometimes I think I have a tendency to do things on autopilot, without thinking too deeply. Something perhaps a bit cold. People looking from the outside might think I dive headfirst, full of emotions, but honestly, I jump into the dark more with a “let’s just live and see what happens” attitude than with overwhelming passion. But what does that have to do with the theme of this text? Well, the fact that I’m about to celebrate 10 years of moving to another country — of immigrating — fits precisely into this category of “let’s see what happens” without overthinking. Reckless? Maybe.

My immigration wasn’t because I wanted to live in another country or because I wanted to work abroad. It wasn’t because I needed to leave a place with no opportunities, and it certainly wasn’t about seeking so-called “freedom.” I immigrated to live a love that was just beginning to bloom, to see where it would lead. And so, we return to the first paragraph. Reckless? Maybe.

I believe that when you immigrate for a reason like this, you’re left with the feeling that you’ll always be an immigrant. That my heart, my history, my culture, my roots, my language, my accent, and my soul will always belong to my home country. It doesn’t matter how long I’ve been away, what documents I have, or how much I adapt. Once an immigrant, forever an immigrant.

Yes, that's me!

With each passing year in the United States, I feel more Brazilian. And with each year here, I miss my homeland even more. I don’t want to get into the debate about which place is better. Not at all, because every country has its own issues, its little things to complain about. Oh, of course, they had to be Brazilian, American, Swedish, Jamaican, Polish, Korean... and so on.

Will this feeling of not belonging ever go away? I think probably not. And honestly, I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. I just keep moving forward, feeling like an eternal immigrant.