The Part Where It Changes

Not a finish line, a shift. Subtle, but irreversible.

Chemo is done. That part is over.

The PET scan is coming. Surgery will follow. Then most likely radiation. But something in me already knows the tide has turned.

The lump is shrinking. I don’t wake up with the same panic. I still check sometimes, but it’s softer now.

I found myself whispering the other day.

You can go now.

You’ve done what you came here to do.

Not in fear, more like a quiet acknowledgment.

A release.

My body already understood.

I’m letting myself plan summer.

Not from a place of escape, but from the reality that I get to have one. That this version of life includes movement again.

And in the middle of all this, I made something.

Not because I had space. But because I needed something real to hold onto.

It’s called The Soft Rebuild.

It’s quiet. Honest. Unpolished.

Six rituals for women in the middle of a change. Or a collapse. Or something unnamed.

It’s free right now.

That felt important. This wasn’t made to sell. It was made to survive.

No pitch.

Just sharing it in case you’re in your own strange season.

That’s all for now.

No tidy ending. Just a beginning that doesn’t need explaining.

S

The Soft Rebuild