Releasing the Why

As I walked through downtown Portland, everything felt surreal. I looked at the people passing by—businesswomen, joggers, a couple holding hands—and wondered, Why me? Why did I get cancer and not them?

(Even though I had no idea what any of them were carrying.)

In my search for meaning, the question of why became a pressure point—an invisible weight I kept pressing on. I thought if I could figure out the cause, I could fix it or avoid making it worse, or getting it again. But the deeper I leaned in, the more stress it caused. I could see how easily this quest could spiral into blame—toward my environment, my body, my choices, even myself.

There were moments I felt ashamed, wondering if I hadn’t done enough to prevent this.

And then, in a quiet breath, something softened.

I realized: I’m making all of this up. Every story. Every reason. Every layer of blame and fear.

What if it wasn’t personal?

What if I simply had a few cells that went rogue, out of rhythm with

the whole—but not as punishment, and not because I failed?

What if I didn’t need to carry the weight of why?

That shift opened something. I felt a lightness, a little more room to breathe.

Instead of battling with the why, I brought my hands to the area of my body that had carried the diagnosis and simply said: I’m here. I see you. I accept this.

Not from defeat. But from peace.

I let the cancer cells be in my body, without shame, without rejection.

Just presence.

And that was another layer of my healing—not necessarily from cancer, but from the inner war.

• Where am I blaming myself?

• What do I want to understand?

• Where am I trying to make meaning out of this?

• How do I think knowing why will serve me?