As I write this today, March 9, it is the one year anniversary of my cancer surgery. The one year anniversary of the beginning of a journey to healing. As I remember it, it’s fuzzy. It’s a blur. I was in a lot of pain prior to my surgery, so I was actually looking forward to getting the surgery.

I made a simple voice memo the other day. I heard a recording of my voice and it stopped me in my tracks. Brought instant tears to my eyes. You see, I forgot. When I hear my voice in my head, I sound like me. I sound like I have always sounded. But that’s not what I sound like now.

We are all sponges. I recently heard this theory of self-care that resonated with me. When we take care of ourselves, we absorb water like a sponge. Then throughout the day as we navigate life’s tasks of work, family, etc, etc, we are slowly - or quickly - squeezing out the water. Or, more literally, squeezing out our energy, our capacity for work, our good mood, our tolerance for frustration, etc. If we don’t take time to adequately fill our sponge, we won’t have anything left to squeeze out. Alternatively, if our sponge is empty by mid-morning, how do we fill it back up again to make it through the remainder of the day?