For those of you who don’t already know me, my name is Aspen, and there are a few things I want to share with you.

When I got cancer, it was like the floodgates of hell broke loose. Everything I knew about myself and the world was swept away and obliterated. The flood of dark waters threatened to sweep my very life away many times, but somehow they didn’t. 

While those flood gates eventually closed, and the raging torrent eventually subsided, I have been left to sink or swim in the remaining water.

(Along the lines of this analogy, let’s just say I have had to become a phenomenal swimmer).

It took me a long time to want to share my experiences. I couldn’t do it through the chemotherapy years that were full of immense physical suffering. Then, the trauma of those years smothered any spark of desire I had to tell my story.

I spent a long time running like hell from my cancer and everything it had done to me.

I had to run from it. I wanted to forget that it had ever happened to me and go on to be healthy and “normal”.

I needed my suffering to be in the past because my pain was threatening to drown me.

I initially had the delusion that once my cancer was gone and my treatment ended, my life would be okay. I thought I would be okay. 

I understood how wrong I was a few months into my chemo treatment. My life had been irrevocably changed from the moment I was diagnosed in the hospital. It just took me a while to accept that.

If you have not already done so, take the time to read My Story about what occurred during my years of chemotherapy. If you have already done so, or if you personally know me, the next line will make perfect sense to you:

When I had this monumental epiphany… I was furious. I was in disbelief at how unfair it was. I agonized through cancer and chemo, and I couldn’t even escape it? I wanted nothing more to do with cancer. I wanted my physical and emotional pain to end. 

I wanted to forget.

No one wants to coexist with their greatest tormentor— the thing that brought them more pain and suffering than anything. I didn’t want that. Like hell I was going to accept that.

Feeling like the world had ripped me off, I opted to remain in an intentional state denial for a while longer.

Then, I realized (with a SECOND epiphany) that I was giving in.

I was bending the knee (yes, this is a G.O.T. reference) to the world that told me I should die; the world that had convinced me life was just suffering and pain; the world that gave me every possible reason to hate life, despise my body, and give up.

And I was playing right into its hands. At that time, I hated myself, my life, and did not want a future.

This was unacceptable. Other people and external forces had been dictating what my life looked like for too long. And now the world was trying to shove me into a box right next to my cancer to promote my suffering. There was no way I was letting that happen.

So, I decided to do the last thing I ever thought I would do.

I chose to embrace everything I had been through.

I began to wade through the never-ending stream of horrible memories and trauma that I had encountered. I challenged my beliefs, perceptions, and fears, recognize where I needed to grow, and learn how to keep my past from ruling my present.

I accepted that cancer had messed me up and that I had to fix myself and learn to be better than I was. 

I began to see how cancer has made me strong, empathetic, introspective, wise, compassionate, and resilient.

I chose to embrace myself despite feeling betrayed by my own body and in spite of long-lasting physical and emotional challenges that affect me to this day. I came to believe that I am more than my physical body and whatever it goes through.

I refused to let cancer and it’s long–term effects define who I was.

I embraced the hell of the past, the frustration and limits of the present, and the potential hardships the future may bring, and made the decision to do everything in my power to grow from my experiences.

I accepted that I may very well be forced to swim in the dark water that remained after my chemotherapy.

So I became a damn good swimmer. 

The world tried to screw me over, and I raise my middle finger in response.

As you can tell from the pictures below, my camera is basically a natural extension of my hand. My personal philosophy as a photographer is that you can’t be afraid to be in socially questionable poses to get a good photo (such as laying flat on the ground).

My photos are all over this blog. Just look for the photos with my name on them!

I still get to points where I don’t know how to go forward. I often think life is unfair and hate my circumstances.

But I never give up. I never stop trying to be happy.

When bad things happen, I scream, I cry, I get angry, I feel the unfairness of it all. (believe me, it’s not a pretty sight).

But then I find the strength to keep going. I choose to take control of where I can and make the best of it. 

I keep trying to improve and be the best version of me possible.

I take joy where I can find it, and work ridiculously hard to live a happy life.

Where there is a will, there is a way. 

I have no idea how much time I may or may not have, given the numerous post-chemo concerns for my health in the future.

And I will fight until my very last breath and do everything in my power to live this life to the fullest.

And for me, that means experiencing all that life has to offer—the good and the bad. This means taking everything I am given and making the very most of it. 

This is my life. I only get one. And I refuse to waste a moment of it.

However short or long, I will make the most of the time I have.

So now, nearly eight years after my cancer diagnosis, it is time to share the story of my journey, my Metanoia, with the world. It is a tale of surviving and overcoming, but more than anything it will be a story about living.