Finding My Way Back: To Myself (and My Blog)

Nov 1, 2025
6 min read

I didn’t plan to come back to blogging today. I planned to do the practical things—answer emails, remember where the stapler lives at my new desk, and set three alarms so I wouldn’t sleep through the sunrise. But there’s a tug I can’t ignore anymore. After months of voice notes and drafts that never left my Notes app, here I am—back in this little corner of the internet, dusting off my words and letting them breathe again.

A lot has moved in my life since I last really wrote. Some of it felt like an earthquake; some of it felt like a quiet tide coming in. And all of it happened at once, like Guam rain: sudden and heavy, then clearing to the cleanest blue.

The Checkup That Reframed Everything

First, the milestone I’ve been building toward—my three-month post-op surveillance. I walked into that appointment with the kind of courage that looks calm from the outside but is doing jumping jacks inside your chest. If you know, you know: those appointments come with a different kind of silence. You sit in it. You count the ceiling tiles. You practice your breathing and your prayers.

And then you hear the words that make the floor solid again.

That checkup didn’t just give me medical reassurance; it gave me permission. Permission to exhale. Permission to rebuild routine without the constant fear that the other shoe is about to drop. Permission to look forward and plan, not just survive. In that moment, getting back to writing stopped being a “someday” and became a way of honoring how far I’ve come—scar tissue and all.

Closing a Chapter with Gratitude

Right alongside that came another big change: saying goodbye to my old job at Reaction Co. Leaving a place is never just about turning in your badge and tossing your hard hat in a bin. It’s a slow unraveling of habits, inside jokes, and muscle memory. It’s knowing which coffee mug was yours, which office light flickers if you tap the switch the wrong way, and which coworkers laugh at your terrible puns.

Reaction Co. taught me a lot—how to manage chaos, how to communicate clearly, how to find solution paths when the map looks like spaghetti. It taught me that I can hold my own in rooms that used to intimidate me. It gave me people I’ll always cheer for.

I didn’t leave because it was bad. I left because I’m different now. Cancer has a way of compressing time and expanding priorities, and I realized I wanted a new stretch of road—one that asked different things of me and helped me grow in a different direction.

Day One Energy at Camacho Calvo Law Group

Enter the new adventure: joining Camacho Calvo Law Group. There’s a particular magic to first days. Everything is both familiar and brand new. You’re figuring out the rhythm—how the team writes emails, where the good pens are hidden, which filing conventions are gospel and which ones are “we’ve always done it that way.” The learning curve is real, but I’m realizing I like climbing. I like the challenge of earning trust, mastering systems, and becoming the person who knows where things are and how to get things done.

More than anything, I’m enjoying the intentionality this role demands. Law is detail-heavy and pace-aware. It asks for precision and empathy in equal measure. It’s teaching me to slow down and speed up at the same time—to take five seconds to reread the sentence before I hit send, and five minutes to understand the human behind the task. That’s a combination I want more of in my life.

Doing All of This During a Government Shutdown (Because Timing is a Comedian)

As if to make sure the plot had enough twists, all of this unfolded during a government shutdown. If you’ve ever lived through one—especially from Guam—you know it’s more than headlines. It’s delayed emails, shaved budgets, uncertainty at the edges of everything. It makes you plan for Plan B while you’re still trying to finish Plan A.

But here’s what the shutdown reminded me: resilience is a muscle you can train. I can’t control whether the gears of bureaucracy grind or glide, but I can control my posture while the machine sputters. I can stay flexible. I can communicate kindly. I can make a list, cross off what I can, and release what’s outside my reach.

The Biggest Lesson: Be Gentle, Not Lazy

Somewhere in all this, I decided to be patient with myself—not as an excuse, but as a discipline. There’s a difference between letting yourself off the hook and giving yourself the space to do it right. Patience isn’t the absence of standards; it’s the presence of perspective.

Here’s what that looks like day to day:

Breathing before reacting. When a curveball hits, I take ten seconds. Ten seconds to soften my shoulders and choose my words. Ten seconds buys me grace.
Choosing depth over drama. I’m less interested in performing busyness and more interested in delivering results. If it takes an extra hour to make it clean and correct, I take the hour.
Not stressing over what I can’t speed up. Healing has its own clock. So does learning a new job. So do federal budgets. I can set an alarm, but I can’t fast-forward time.
Giving my best where my feet are. I can’t solve every problem today, but I can give 100% to the one that’s in front of me. That’s enough. That’s actually everything.

Why I’m Writing Again

So why blog now? Because writing is how I metabolize my life. It’s how I turn experiences into lessons instead of letting them pile up like unopened mail. When I write, I notice the small victories—the clear lab result, the new login I finally memorized, the way the trade winds found the kitchen window just as the kettle sang.

Blogging also keeps me honest. If I say here that I’m practicing patience, I’m more likely to catch myself when I rush. If I say I’m not stressing the things I can’t control, I’m more likely to put the phone down and go for a walk instead of doomscrolling. Words can be rails we place for ourselves—guides that keep our wheels on track when life wobbles.

What I’m Carrying Forward

If you like lists, here’s my short one—the promises I’m making to myself, and by writing them here, maybe to you too:

Show up—even when it’s messy. A B-minus start beats an A-plus intention.
Measure progress in weeks, not days. Learning curves are real; so is healing. Let time do its thing.
Ask better questions. At work, at home, with my health—curiosity is kinder than criticism.
Move my body. It’s not about “bouncing back”; it’s about thanking my body for carrying me through all of this.
Write it down. Capture the lessons before they evaporate. That’s how wisdom accrues.

A Quiet Thank You

If you’ve been here a while, thank you for waiting while I got my breath back. If you’re new, welcome to the part of the internet where we celebrate small wins, drink water, and say the hard things gently. I don’t know exactly what this blog will become—work reflections, healing check-ins, Guam life, the occasional recipe, maybe even a few “how to” posts for the systems I’m learning at the firm—but I know it will be real. I know it will be me.

Today’s Snapshot

Health: Three-month surveillance done. Shoulders lowered. Gratitude high.
Career: Reaction Co. chapter closed with respect. Camacho Calvo Law Group chapter open with intention.
Context: Government shutdown still humming in the background. We adjust. We carry on.
Practice: Patience, on purpose. No stress over what won’t move faster. All-in effort where it matters.

I’m not the same person who stopped writing months ago. I’m steadier now, clearer about what deserves my energy, and more willing to take up space with my voice. Coming back to this blog isn’t just about content; it’s about alignment. It’s about living a life that feels like mine—from the medical milestones to the Monday morning meetings.

So here’s to new pages. Here’s to work that sharpens and heals. Here’s to the kind of patience that isn’t passive, but powerful. And here’s to giving my all—at the office, in recovery, and right here on the page.

I’m back. Thanks for being here with me.