I’m not a hippie—but sometimes, I play one.
As a cancer survivor, a veteran with a touch of PTSD, ADHD, and OCD, I’ve become pretty open to alternative treatments. Did you know it’s actually possible to stress yourself out while trying to learn how to de-stress? Because… I have. Repeatedly.
This year, I’ve read several books that shifted my perspective. Two in particular stand out.
It Didn’t Start With You by Mark Wolynn explores how trauma—especially inherited trauma—can surface in ways we’re not always aware of. It doesn’t just disappear if we ignore it; it roots itself into our nervous systems. Wolynn walks you through exercises to help trace the origin of your emotional roadblocks and release them, which, honestly, is as uncomfortable as it sounds—but it’s powerful work.
Breaking the Habit of Being Yourself by Dr. Joe Dispenza (yes, I read it four times) dives into the idea that we can reprogram our brains to create a new reality. There’s neuroscience, spirituality, and a lot of practical tools that, when applied consistently, really can help. The core message? We’re not doomed to repeat old patterns. We can break them—but only if we believe we’re worthy of healing and love.
These practices have taught me that emotional healing is inseparable from physical healing. If I want to keep multiple myeloma out of my body, managing stress is non-negotiable. Fear, insecurity, self-doubt—they’re like mold in a damp basement. I have to root them out and replace them with something stronger. Peace. Purpose. Positivity. (Even if it sounds a little woo-woo.)
Anyway, in a moment of questionable judgment, I decided to try online dating.
Yes. That internet. The one where long-term, life-changing, earth-shattering love lives in the form of profile pics and bios like: “Looking for someone chill who’s not dramatic. Must love tacos.”
And let me just say… wow. Somewhere between 2000 and 2019, we as a species apparently decided that sending unsolicited weenie pics is totally normal behavior? Did I miss the memo? Was there a vote? I still introduce myself with a handshake and eye contact. At no point in my life have I ever thought, “Gee, I wish I could verify a man’s manhood through photographic evidence.”
Deleted the app. But learned a lot.
Dating after divorce is hard enough. Dating after trauma and cancer? It’s a comedy of errors. My life now feels somewhere between The 40-Year-Old Virgin and Crazy, Stupid, Love—if Steve Carell had three kids, a disability status, and a tendency to trauma-dump at bars. (I’m working on that.)
Also, genuine question: When is a good time to mention that you have a chronic cancer that may come back someday? Date three? After appetizers? When you hand them your VA card? I try to live like I’m healthy, but my medical status sometimes has other plans.
I’m also trying to talk less. (Insert laugh here.)
But if you meet me, just know: my story doesn’t fit neatly in an elevator pitch. If you want to know me, you’ll have questions. And eventually, you’ll get a conversation that matters. Small talk has never been my thing. Real connection? That’s what I crave.
I’m not sure if cancer put my mortality more front and center, or if it just gave me permission to finally be honest about it. I think about time all the time. I wish my doctors hadn’t given me prognosis numbers—I’ve turned them into challenges. I beat the 3–5 year mark. Now I’m eyeing the 10-year milestone and I will beat it too.
I know many people thriving with MM beyond a decade. There’s hope for me—if I manage my stress. (Which is kind of hilarious, considering everything going on.)
But I’m here. I’m healing. And each day still matters, even if the moment feels small.
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