Discontent is defined as dissatisfaction with one’s circumstances.

This is the word that comes to mind when I look at myself.

Cancer took over my life for a year, give or take a few days. I am dissatisfied with cancer’s aftermath.

I am disturbed by the result.

Hell, the remnants of cancer are still floating around me.

I cannot speak for every woman who has had breast cancer, a lumpectomy, ATC chemotherapy, and radiation. All I can say is that I am not familiar with the woman staring back at me in the mirror.

When I was first diagnosed, I was concerned with my potential scars. I was just not really prepared for the physical aspects that came with my cancer treatments.

My focus has been from the start to not appear “sick” as much as I could help it. I still make sure that my headwraps, my baldie, and my face are on point!

Unlike the stereotypical results of cancer, I gained weight.

My treatment called for multiple steroids with chemotherapy medications over a 6 1/2-month period. I was told to limit my physical activity all the way through radiation.

At the end of my treatment, I had gained 60 pounds.

I am the biggest I have ever been. I have pudgy rolls where I have never had any rolls. None of my clothes fit.

I have lost my curly fro and it doesn’t seem to be growing back consistently. My eyebrows are not growing back. Some have mentioned I need to allow more time to see if my hair will return. I have tried oils, creams, vitamins, stimulation, and prayers. I have accepted the fact that a full head of hair will not come back.

As I stand looking at myself in the mirror, I just don’t see Keneene anymore.

My outward appearance has garnered comments from everyone, including strangers. The comments have been positive, negative, and just flat out backhanded compliments.

However, I am by far a lot harder on myself.

It has become overwhelming depressing to see my body.  Attempting to get active again has been hard. COVID-19 hasn’t helped at all. My energy level is so low. I have tried to push past the tired feeling to get back moving. Some days it works, some days it doesn’t work. Ideally, I want to get back to my pre-cancer weight.

I’m not sure if I will ever get back; I just want to feel better about my outward appearance.

My post-cancer body is a work in progress, both physically and mentally. I would even go so far as to say that the battle is more mentally. Mentally, I’m just sad, angry, pissed, and just over it all. Now I am fighting depression and a year of not being active as I try to whip this beat-up body back into form.

When I mention to people how I feel, they remind me I should be thankful I’m still here.

Does mentioning my feelings negate the fact that I realize that I am blessed?

Does it immediately cause my depression to dissipate?

This is the very reason why I tend to keep my thoughts to myself or my select go-to people. Recently, I’ve begun to work on my mental health with a counselor.

It is what it is <insert Kanye Shrug>.

I don’t know who this woman is before me and I’m not sure if I want to know her. It’s going to take a minute to see beauty reflecting.

I must spend more time with the new Keneene.

She is bald.

She is fluffier.

Her energy is low.

She does not sleep.

She has aches and pains.

She is unhappy.

She is moody.

She is angry.

She is also the type of person who tries to make the best of a situation.

She has a beautiful spirit and heart.

She kicked cancer’s ass!

She speaks for those who don’t have a voice.

She is taking it one day at a time.

She is a conqueror!

She is me. Keneene.