Goodbye Cancer, Hello Depression: How I'm Managing My Mental Health

It happened so fast. In one summer, my lesions were removed, the chemo was applied, and the radiation treatments were executed. Because of the early diagnosis, the doctors were confident of a positive outcome. So, with words of encouragement, they tossed me back into life to wait for the results of my next scan. And the next and so on.

There was practically no time to process what I went through. I had slept through most of the regimen because of the pain, and rejoined the workforce so fast I didn’t properly ask myself if I was ready to.

So, I moved on with my life, chalked it up as an experience, and focused on the future. But the cancer didn’t let go that easily.

What cancer left behind

The doctors called it a clean slate, but that was my body they were referring to. My mind and my life were another matter. I kept expecting the worst outcome of any situation that arose, and when we learned that my husband's stage 4 colon cancer had spread, my worst fears were confirmed.

It seemed as though cancer was the only thing people wanted to talk about. They asked endless questions to which I had no answers.
“Where did it come from?”
“How long did he have it before they found it?”
“It’s not going to come back, will it?”

Yet, cancer seemed to be the only thing that I talked about when I met up with my friends. People began to change the subject or not respond at all. I took the cue and began avoiding the subject. Soon, I had withdrawn so much that I had no one left to talk to.

When the isolation became too much

I felt isolated and despondent and needed to talk to someone. I sought out a therapist. I joined an online support group. I made a promise to get to the root cause of why I felt depressed.

But my therapist anxiously sat there waiting to give me three great exercises to explore my feelings. And the support group always seemed poised to shower me with advice and shared stories.

I realized that what I really wanted was for someone to sit with me and say: “Yes, this is a horrible thing that has happened to you. This is so unfair. Go ahead and be mad and cry. Tear something up, be angry. Let it all out.”

I was separated from my friends, unable to talk to them anymore, because I believed they were no longer concerned. I couldn’t burden my husband with this; he was facing a terminal illness. I was reduced to sitting in the dark, late at night, and crying until I was ready to pass out.

How I found relief from depression after cancer

Left alone with my own thoughts, I realized that most of my fears were just voices in my head. I had to work on stilling the endless stream of words running through my mind.

I allowed my thoughts to enter, acknowledged them, and then let them pass. In my darkest hour, I remembered how to meditate, and it began to make a difference.

I brought that practice into the daylight hours. Whenever I felt overwhelmed or shadows encroaching on my thoughts, I would stop and take a few breaths—breathing in for a count of four, holding for a count of two, and then releasing for a count of eight.

This was not a cure for my depression, but it gave my mind a chance to settle down. In those calm moments, I made decisions and set some goals. I was learning how to interact with myself once more.

I resumed journaling. At first, it was just listing small goals for the day and then recapping what had happened. Daily, I wrote out my fears and worries. I would read over them and try to find truths that I could face or correct.

But I still had days when I couldn’t face life. I struggled to smile and didn’t want to go anywhere. I preferred to sleep 10 hours a day, and my lack of energy from the treatments didn’t help my search for motivation.

Finding the right therapist for cancer-related depression

I sought out a professional a second time and decided to set expectations for what I needed from the very start. I had to have acknowledgment of feeling victimized before I could move on from it. And they gave it to me, without enabling the feeling. They suggested that I bring boundaries into my relationships.

I explained to my friends what I needed from them. There would be times to talk about cancer and other times when we wouldn't discuss it at all. I also committed to letting them know in advance when I needed to talk about serious matters so they could prepare. I was beginning to interact with the world again.

I also set aside time to embrace the feeling of loss and to allow myself to mourn. But that had to be balanced by giving myself time to get up and move, to plan, and to cherish the time that Scott and I had left together. Most importantly, I opened myself up to treatments and therapies that I had to admit I needed.

Coming out of depression is a step-by-step process. It is part of the path you take on your cancer journey. Right now, I’m still walking it, but I’m not doing it alone anymore.