Karin Sieger is a UK-based psychotherapist, writer and boat dweller. She specialises in personal transitions, endings, making peace and the emotional impact of cancer. Her writing is jargon-free, personal and non-preaching, done from her orange houseboat in the Thames. Prior to training as a psychotherapist, Karin worked 25+ years in inter/national consumer / media research (incl BBCWS, AOL, UK, Africa, Asia). Her most life-changing moment to date has been Karin's breast cancer treatment in 2012/13. Things she value most: integrity, authenticity and human kindness.
To find out more visit KarinSieger.com.
For cooperation, media requests etc drop me a line: KarinSieger (at) KarinSieger.com
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When we are hurt, feel pushed to respond, and others tell us what to do, it is important to listen to our inner voice and follow our intuition. But often it is not as easy and as straight forward as that.
One week before my operation I carried my bicycle up and across the bridge. Six weeks later, due to chemotherapy, I was unable to climb the same steps without holding onto the bannister and later-on, without holding on to a friend.
Noticing, accepting and facing our fear takes courage and energy. It involves stretching our comfort zone, which ultimately can make us more resilient and less frightened. Self care, looking after our physical, emotional, mental and spiritual wellbeing, especially during frightening times, is essential.
Fear, uncertainty, relief, reprieve and human resilience - these are all part of going through a health scare. And regardless of the outcome, such scares can become personal milestones, we want to mark and celebrate. But how?
When it happened to me, I suddenly exploded and my cancer anger poured out of me. The flood gates, the iron gates, reasoning and rationality, trust and self belief - none was strong enough to hold back the eruption of rage, anger, bitterness, hate, resentment and fear.
Now I am a middle aged fool reconnecting with my dreams. I am still misunderstood and judged, but that's ok. I can cope with that. And I am hoping to live long enough to become an old fool with a heart full of passion.
It provided a frame for my experience, which was so dark and nebulous, that I almost lost track of everything including my sense of self. I was on a journey, literally ticking off the days of my treatment, never knowing how many days I may have left to tick off.
The diagnosis, illness and treatment had been like a massive earthquake, destroying everything. How was I going to rebuild? Was there time to rebuild? My life has been shortened. While the diagnosis was not terminal, predictions vary. So much uncertainty.