Tag: Intuition

A Quick Note to my Readers:

You might notice a shift in how I write some of my posts from here on out. While Letters to Life started in a letter format (and some posts may still follow that style), I’ve found that sometimes, writing more directly feels more natural, and more me. I’m still figuring out what fits best as I grow and heal, so you’ll see a mix as I go. The heart of it stays the same. And honestly… it’s my blog, so I get to do what I want. 😉

I’ve had brushes with death before. But this one felt different.

As many of my readers know, I had a cryoablation and biopsy done on several liver tumors, which resulted in a hospital admission for a few nights due to unexpected complications. During the procedure, I was sedated, but not asleep. I could hear everything. I could feel everything. They had me heavily medicated, but the pain cut through it all. It got so intense I wanted to scream for them to stop. And then, after it peaked… everything blurred.

I don’t remember much until I came to in a hospital bed, pain crashing back in. I didn’t know yet that I was bleeding internally, not until they told me there were complications. After they came in with an ultrasound machine and confirmed that blood had traveled from my stomach and into my chest cavity. That they were admitting me. Hearing “internal bleeding” suddenly made all the pain make sense. It also made it real. That’s when fear started creeping in. But something else happened too.

I remember looking at Carl, sitting by my side. I could see the worry in his face, the kind he tries to hide. And in that moment, something in me shifted. I felt this wave of love. Deep, grounded love. I knew, somehow, that I was being held. That I wasn’t alone. That I could go inward and let my body do what it needed to do.

The pain was still there, but peace showed up too. There was a strange separation, like I wasn’t fully in my body anymore. Time didn’t exist. It wasn’t fast or slow… just gone. And I wasn’t scared. Not then. Fear didn’t hit me until I was fully “back” in my body, when the pain spiked again and I felt myself slipping into survival mode. But looking back, even that fear was a gift. Because it meant I was alive.

Something shook loose in me during that experience. Not just fear. Not just pain. But old beliefs and baggage I’d been trying to release for years. I’ve said it before, I knew I needed to let go of control. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t let go completely. This time, it wasn’t up to me. The universe took it out of my hands. It helped me see what had always been there: love, support, and a reason to keep going.

Once I was stable again, I felt different. Lighter, maybe. More aware. I could see my people more clearly, the ones fighting for me so I can keep fighting. I felt their love in a way I hadn’t before. Not just in my head, but in my bones. In my soul. And something else shifted, too. How I love others.

Before, I think I was tangled up in my own thoughts, wondering if I had to earn love, or who truly cared, or whether it was safe to trust it. But now… I just love. I don’t need to hold it so tightly. I don’t need to make sense of it. I just let it be what it is.

What matters most to me now is living. Truly living. Letting go of the stress I began to carry again over the past year. The fear of what might happen. The pressure to control every outcome. I still have cancer. I still have pain. But I also have something I didn’t before. Permission. Permission to live the way I’ve been trying to live for years.

And I plan to.

Love, Me