A Letter to my 2020 Self

Dear 2020 version of me,

I know you have a million emotions running through your head after hearing the word "cancer" for the very first time. You are scared, sad, and angry.

You are probably questioning yourself: "Why me? What did I do to deserve this?"

That is very normal. Know that you are not alone. What you are about to go through is the start of something that will change your life completely. All the plans you have made for the future have been put on hold and thrown out the window. You may feel like your world is crumbling in that very moment, especially while the entire world is affected by COVID. You might be wondering what is going to happen, if you will make it, and when you do—if you'll even recognize yourself at the end of it all.

You are going to experience so many changes in your life, and that goes beyond just your health. There’s so much I want to tell you. I don't even know where to begin but I can already reassure you: even if you experience very dark moments in your life, you will definitely be very proud of your future self. You will see. And this is why I wanted to write you this letter, as a way to dedicate and honor this stage of your life.

First, give yourself permission feel everything. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed, to grieve, and to not have all the answers. You’ll learn that grief isn’t just about loss; it’s about losing the version of life you thought you’d have. Sometimes it will feel like too much but that is because it is TOO much. Grief will come in waves—some days it will be like a storm, crashing over you, and other days it will come quietly when you least expect it.

You’ll encounter something called scanxiety. Every follow-up scan will come with a sense of dread, as if everything is hanging in the balance again. It feels like your life is on rent. You find yourself wondering if your rental contract will extend to another 3 months? You find yourself asking: "Will I get to enjoy and live my life for the next 12 weeks; the next 90 days; the next 2160 hours?" It feels like you are living on quarterly increments. Even after the cancer is gone, the fear of it returning will linger. It will take time for that fear to ease.

You’re going to experience the pain of losing people too—not just through death, but through distance. Some people will pull away, unable to handle the weight of your diagnosis. They’ll disappear when you need them most, and it will hurt. You might wonder if it’s something you did, but it’s not. The end of a friendship does not reflect your worth. It’s a reflection of their limits, not yours. You will also encounter "grief tourists" along the way. Be careful with those. These are the people who seem fascinated by your suffering, who ask questions out of curiosity rather than care. They might stick around during the hard moments, but when the intensity fades, so will they. This will teach you to protect your energy and your heart. Not everyone deserves access to your vulnerability, and that’s a lesson you’ll carry forward.

When treatment ends, life won’t immediately feel better. It will, in fact, get harder in ways you don’t expect. The support you had during treatment—people checking in, being there for you—will start to fade away. People will assume that because the cancer is gone, you’re fine. But you’ll feel lost. You’ll struggle to find your footing again. It will feel like everyone else is moving forward while you feel frozen in time. That’s okay. Life after cancer isn’t linear, and it will take time to figure out who you are now.

At first, you might find yourself feeling disconnected at times and shut down from people and the things around you. You will feel like you have an icebox where your heart used to be and perceive yourself as this cold person with no emotions. Your body has been working hard to survive, and sometimes it will take extreme measures to protect you from the pain, the hurt, the betrayal, and the abandonment you have been feeling for so long. At some point, though, you will experience all waves of emotions hitting you at once. You’ll have intense moments where you feel triggered, angry, and sad.

You’ll find yourself crying more often—but don't hold back. In fact, I encourage you to let the tears flow. Crying is NOT a sign of weakness or something that makes you soft. Society shames us for being too "soft" and not being "strong enough." The world is just not comfortable handling such emotions, so they assign labels as a way to tell people to silence them. In fact, it takes courage and strength to show vulnerability. It comes at the cost of rejection, but let me tell you that your vulnerability is your superpower. It’s what restores connection and helps others connect to you. Use your vulnerability as an outlet to create something beautiful. Channel your anger at the gym. Sing out your pain. Journal out your deepest fears and insecurities.

You will develop a lower tolerance and higher sensitivity to everything and everyone around you, and sometimes it will feel overwhelming. You’ll learn that it’s perfectly fine to step back, to say no, and to set boundaries without feeling guilty. With time, you’ll understand just how important boundaries are. Be patient with yourself, dear one.

But here’s the beautiful part: you will meet people who see you for YOU. They will encourage you to be yourself in ways you never imagined. You’ll stop holding back because you’ll realize you don’t need to. The version of you that emerges from this will be embraced, and those who stand by you will love the person you are, not the person you used to be. You’ll realize your accomplishments don’t define your value—who you are, how you treat others, and how you carry yourself in the world are what matter most. And it’s perfectly okay to rest, to slow down, and to just be. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.

Hair loss will be one of the hardest parts. It will feel like losing another part of yourself. But over time, your hair will grow back—fuller, thicker, and different, but still yours. It will serve as a reminder that nothing stays the same, but beauty and growth can come from change. When you look in the mirror one day, you’ll see that transformation reflected, and it will feel like a small but powerful victory.

Fatigue will follow you for a long time. Your body will feel heavy and tired, even when your mind wants to push forward. You’ll wonder if you’ll ever feel like yourself again. But slowly, day by day, you’ll rebuild your strength. You’ll return to the gym, hesitant at first, but you’ll try new things—Hyrox, MyPower, spinning. You’ll be amazed by how much progress you’ve made and how much energy you regain. It will be a journey, but with each step, you’ll reclaim parts of yourself you thought were lost.

You’ll have moments when you feel like you are too much or too difficult to handle, perhaps thinking that the accumulated trauma led you to internalize the belief that you are not enough and difficult to love. Remember that a bad day doesn’t define your quality of life. A moment where you don't feel like your best self does not reflect on you as an individual. The end of a friendship or a chapter doesn’t mean you are unlovable. You’ll learn that resting, slowing down, and taking time for yourself is not just okay, but necessary. Slowly and surely, you will get there.

As much as this experience will traumatize you, your story will help others in ways you can’t imagine right now. I don’t want to spoil everything, but believe me, God will open doors for you. New opportunities will come your way, allowing you to give hope to others, to share your experiences, and to educate those who need it. Your journey will become a source of support and wisdom for others, and you’ll find purpose in helping them navigate their own. You will later meet some amazing people who will play a very special part in your life that you cannot imagine. You will realize that the duration of a relationship or the distance does not matter—rather, it is the level of impact they have on your life. You will see. For now, just take it one day at a time, and know that God is always by your side every step of the way.

So, 2020 Carmen, I won’t tell you that it's going to get easier. There will be ebbs and flows, but I can reassure you: you have God and the right people along the way to help you make it through. You’ll discover a depth to yourself that you didn’t know existed, and you’ll learn to live with the uncertainty, the scars, and the changes. One day, you’ll look back and realize that while cancer took many things, it couldn’t take the essence of who you are—and in many ways, it will have added more to you than it took away.

With love and hope,

Your Future Self from 2025

The Chemo Diva