If you’ve ever felt like a wayward six‑year‑old trapped inside a grown woman’s body, you’re in good company. Some days I swear I could throw myself onto the floor, kick my legs, and scream, “I don’t wanna!” with the full conviction of a toddler refusing broccoli. Only I’m not six — I’m thirty‑eight, bald, exhausted, and navigating chemotherapy with all the grace of a child who missed her nap.
And honestly? I don’t want cancer anymore. I don’t want chemo. I don’t want shots, medicines, or to be more bald than my seventy‑five‑year‑old father. It’s not right to see this much of my scalp in the mirror. But here we are, and I promised I’d keep you all abreast on this journey… pun fully intended.
Round two of chemo was calm and uneventful, which is exactly the kind of boring I pray for on infusion days. No allergic reactions, no pain, just fluids — so many fluids — and the familiar wave of fatigue that hits like a slow‑moving freight train.
And that’s where today’s post is headed: the messy middle of chemo, the emotional whiplash, and the tiny, compassionate practice that’s helping me stay afloat.
Let’s talk about spiraling up — and how this gentle mindset shift is getting me through the hardest parts of treatment.
If you’re catching up, the beginning is the perfect place to settle in.
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Chemo Round Two: The Messy Middle
Infusion day leaves me feeling like a beached whale. Between the fluids, the anti‑nausea meds, and the general “chemo cocktail,” my body becomes a water balloon with opinions. Now I understand why the dietitian suggested reducing calories the days before infusion. Advice I will follow next time instead of inhaling Indian curry and naan like it’s my last meal on earth. (I love you, curry. I really do.)
The infusion‑day, anti nausea meds can cause constipation, which is a glamorous addition to the bloating. Thankfully, it usually passes within a day or two with enough water, probiotics, fiber, and Miralax when needed.
Thankfully, again, no nausea. But the fatigue? That’s the real beast.
It came on stronger this round and lingered longer. It’s a strange kind of exhaustion — the kind you didn’t earn. The kind that makes you feel like you’re being punished for doing absolutely nothing.
And yes, I had to take my own advice from a previous blog post: “Don’t be a martyr. Nap.”
The Cumulative Weight of Chemo Fatigue
I feel like I’m standing in the middle of a long hallway, staring down what’s ahead of me. Two more rounds, likely tougher than the two behind me. Fatigue is cumulative — you don’t bounce back fully before the next cycle begins, so you start each round a little lower than before.
And exhaustion is cruel.
It’s literally used as a form of torture.
It’s why we tell our screaming six‑year‑old that they’re tired and will feel better after a nap. But as adults? We push through. We squeeze in more tasks. We ignore our bodies until we’re crabby, depleted, and crying over nothing.
Chemo forces you to face that truth head‑on.
Food, Fatigue, and the Weirdness of Chemo Cravings
Food becomes a strange relationship during chemo. My taste buds were muted, so I craved things that were sour, tart, spicy, or sweet. Raw veggies. Tart Greek yogurt with berries. Pickles. Hot sauce. Anything with a punch.
But here’s the tricky part: when I’m deeply fatigued, my instinct is to eat. My body thinks food equals fuel. But chemo fatigue doesn’t respond to fuel. No amount of food fixes it. And as someone prone to emotional eating, that double‑whammy was a ledge I had to talk myself down from more than once.
Too much food can make me nauseous, constipated, and amplify the side effects I’m already battling. Smaller, more frequent meals were easier to digest while recovering from chemo.
This is where the concept of spiraling up came in and saved me from myself.
What Is Spiraling Up?
I’m a big fan of Rebecca Scritchfield’s book Body Kindness, and one of her tools — spiraling up — has become a lifeline for me.
If you want to dive deeper, get her book and start your own journey toward Body Kindness.
Spiraling up isn’t about perfection or pretending everything is fine. It’s not a makeover montage or a 30‑day challenge. It’s not a “new you.”
It’s about choosing one tiny, doable act of kindness toward yourself and letting that small shift create the next one.
It’s momentum, but the gentle kind.
🌱 What Spiraling Up Actually Looks Like
It looks like this:
- You drink a glass of water because your body asked for it.
- That clears your head just enough to take a breath.
- That breath gives you space to choose a softer thought.
- That softer thought makes it easier to rest, or eat, or text a friend.
- And suddenly the day feels 2% more manageable.
That’s it.
That’s the spiral.
It’s the opposite of all‑or‑nothing thinking.
It’s the opposite of shame.
It’s the opposite of the “fix yourself” culture that treats you like a project instead of a person.
Spiraling up says: you don’t need to overhaul your life — you just need one tiny kindness to start the upward drift.
🌤️ Why Spiraling Up Matters During Chemo
When you’re going through something hard — treatment, recovery, grief, burnout — your energy is precious. You don’t always have the capacity for big changes, I certainly don’t. But I do have the capacity for one small, compassionate choice.
And that’s enough.
Spiraling up honors the truth that healing isn’t linear. It’s a series of micro‑moments where you choose care over punishment, curiosity over judgment, nourishment over neglect.
It’s the slow, steady practice of becoming someone you’re safe to come home to.
🌼 A Few Ways to Spiral Up Today
These aren’t rules. They’re invitations.
- Put your hand on your heart and say, “I’m doing the best I can.”
- Eat something comforting and easy.
- Step outside for 30 seconds of fresh air.
- Swap one harsh thought for a gentler one.
- Let yourself rest without earning it.
- Celebrate the tiniest win — even “I got out of bed.”
Each one is a rung on the upward spiral.
I created a supportive resource you can grab here: Spiral Up Starter Guide
💛 The Quiet Magic of Spiraling Up
The beauty of spiraling up is that it doesn’t demand anything dramatic. You don’t have to be brave or strong or optimistic. You don’t have to “rise above.” You don’t have to pretend.
You just have to choose one small kindness — and let it lead you to the next.
My spirals over the last week went something like this…
- Read a few pages of an entertaining novel
- Honored my hunger and ate a nourishing snack
- Walked my dog when the sun came out
- Made a phone call to a friend for a laugh
- Attended a cancer support group so I didn’t feel alone
- Cleared a flower bed on a warmer day and planted daffodils
Spoiler…those were across multiple days! And if today all you can manage is the first step?
That still counts.
That is the spiral.
And if you need a little extra hope today, I keep thinking about that song from Annie — the one that promises the sun always finds its way back. Even when the day feels heavy or gray, light is already on its way. Maybe not instantly, maybe not dramatically, but steadily, faithfully, in its own time.
Just like you.
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