Ask Perrie: Sick and Tired of Being Sick and Tired

There is a kind of exhaustion that comes from living in something that never resolves. It’s not just physical. It’s the repetition of it all and the mental labor that comes along with it. Managing chronic cancer is draining, and it makes sense that your spark feels harder to access right now.

Part of finding hope again is allowing your experience to be exactly what it is. There is nothing wrong with feeling worn down, tired, or even depressed in response to what you are living through. I’d actually find it a bit odd if those feelings didn’t show up from time to time. So first things first, I’d encourage you to make space for them. Yes, I am asking you to feel your feelings. Sometimes our emotions are like messengers trying to get our attention. It makes me curious what yours might be pointing to. Often when we give our bodies and minds space in this way, we learn something about what we need, whether that’s boundaries, tiny goals, more rest, or more support.

If “feeling the feelings” is too much, it can also be useful to orient toward what is livable right now. That might look like noticing even a small amount of ease, something that piques your interest, or where your attention lingers a little longer than expected. It might be a conversation that feels grounding, a nurse who smiled at you, a creative practice, or a stretch of time that feels even slightly less heavy. Noticing these moments helps your nervous system remember there are good moments too. You see, when our threat system is in overdrive, your brain often looks for information that confirms our thoughts first. By practicing making space for noticing neutral or positive moments, over time, it can make it easier for your brain to recognize what supports a sense of hope, connection, or even just a little bit of relief.

What I have seen, and what many people living with chronic illness come to over time, is that the spark does come back, but often in a different form. In cancer spaces, people sometimes talk about life before cancer and after, like there is a line in the sand. That shift is real for some. Your identity, your priorities, and your relationship to your body may all look different now. At the same time, you are not only your illness. I’d invite you to get curious about the shifts that have happened. What used to give you a sense of hope, wonder, or enjoyment? What did that look like earlier in your life? And now, as you are today, is there anything from that list you might be open to revisiting? Or is there something new that this version of you might be drawn to?

Something I often recommend, and have practiced myself, is intentionally scheduling joy. When you are living inside something this heavy, joy does not always show up on its own. It sometimes needs to be invited in on purpose. That does not mean forcing happiness. It means making space for moments that remind you that your life is more than appointments and symptoms. This can be small. Making your favorite drink, stepping outside, texting someone who feels easy to talk to.

If you want more support around this, you might check out the book How to Be Sick, which speaks directly to building a life within ongoing illness, or When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chodron, which discusses how one continues to live even when life feels like it’s falling apart. You might also consider letting your care team know how you have been feeling. You deserve support that meets you where you are at while you navigate this. A social worker, nurse, or doctor you trust can help connect you with additional support (like a well-qualified therapist or support group) so you are not holding this alone. And one last reminder: The spark you are looking for is not gone. It is likely changing shape, asking for different conditions, and moving at a pace that matches what you are carrying.

Sending you soft landings,
Perrie