​During my cancer battle I learned that silence has a weight.​

There is the heavy silence of the people who love you but are paralyzed by the fear of saying the wrong thing. You can feel their heart, even if you can’t hear their voice.​

But then, there is the cold silence. The silence of those who only showed up when there was a tragedy to watch, the spectators who were there for the “drama” of the crisis, but have no interest in the “work” of the recovery.

They were comfortable with the version of me that was in the hospital bed, but they don’t know what to do with the version of me that is standing on her own two feet.

The silence can be deafening, but it’s also clarifying. It acts as a natural filter for your life. It tells you exactly who is coming with you into your next chapter and who was only there to witness the wreck. 👁

​When I launched my blog and heard those familiar “crickets,” it didn’t break me. It reminded me that I’ve already been through the ultimate audit of my inner circle. I’m no longer auditioning for the approval of the many. I am investing in the loyalty of the few.

To those who have clicked, commented, and shared: You are my tried and true. You aren’t just here for the storm; you’re here for the sunshine, too. ☀️✨

​If you are building something in the face of silence, remember: The spectators always leave when the fire dies down. The believers stay to help you build from the ashes.

Sorry I’m no longer a poor cancer girl in a hospital bed…Goodbye “grief tourists.” 👋🏻