As you no doubt know, memoirs emerge from the ashes of life’s most painful and unexpected events. Cruelty from others. Illness. Abuse. Addiction. The death of a loved one. These wrenching, upside-down events hit all of us at one time or another. They are the fires that change us, the crucibles that cause us to reassess our life.

For the last several months, while I’ve been helping clients process their own painful and unplanned life experiences, I’ve been dealing with one of my own.

In January, my husband and I learned that his “slow-growing, nothing-to-worry-about” cancer – first diagnosed last year– had transformed and become more aggressive. In February, chemo began and so did all the expected side effects: nausea, hair loss, sleepless nights, knife-stabbing fear.

Early on I told Bruce that I wanted, no needed, to be more than just a cancer wife. I had to find a way of attending to my own needs, while also attending to his. I had to put on my oxygen mask first.

Not being solely a cancer wife meant continuing my work as a memoir coach, which was easy… at first. Coaching allowed me to take the focus off my own sadness and anxiety, so that I could help clients manage the difficult emotions that typically arise when writing about painful experiences.

But you can only live in a place of sadness and fear while helping others process their own sadness and fear for so long without it taking an emotional toll.

Which is why I will be officially out on sabbatical starting August 1 until the first of the year. While I’ll likely be reaching out via email with updates, I will not be available for any coaching or consultation.

For someone whose work has been a big part of her identity, the thought of not having a client or deadline for the next several months is slightly terrifying. What will I do with all my time? Will I even matter if I’m not helping others? Will I feel free to travel and explore when my income stops and my life-long feelings of scarcity (which have nothing to do with my bank account) rears its ugly head?

 The answers to all those questions, and more, are what I’m hoping to learn.   

 In short, after twenty years of helping other people uncover and understand their life on a deeper level, now I get to do the same thing. I’m giving myself the time to imagine what the story of my life might look like going forward.

One thing I do know, at least right here right now, is that although I’m 64 and many of my friends are retiring, this is not a retirement. Gawd no. Golf? No thank you. Instead, I’m hoping to see how I can take the deep and abiding love I have for personal storytelling and apply it in new ways.

Before I go, I’m happy to share the good news that Bruce’s last scan showed no more evidence of disease. None. Nada. Zip. But as any of you who’ve dealt with cancer know: once the cancer bogeyman arrives on the scene, their shadow always remains.

Please, live your live! You never know what’s waiting in the wings.