Dear Tiny Lump,
It’s becoming increasingly clear that you have no intention of leaving my side. Oddly enough, I’m getting used to you being here – almost like a strange case of Stockholm Syndrome. I still tell myself you can’t be cancer, but looking back, maybe I always knew you were trouble. Maybe I was just in denial. Life had been so overwhelming that, at one point, I remember thinking, if it is cancer, at least I’ll have an excuse to rest.
Heavy stuff to admit, I know. And knowing what I know now, I can’t believe that ever crossed my mind as a way out. But what’s the point in lying to you, Tiny Lump? You’ve known me from the inside out – literally.
The truth is, our world glorifies stress. Overworking, living an unbalanced life, constantly chasing goals – it’s all seen as an achievement. We wear exhaustion like a badge of honor, pushing ourselves to keep up with unrealistic standards, trying to prove to ourselves and others that we are enough. But as Corrie ten Boom once said, “When we look at the world, we will be distressed. When we look inward, we will be depressed. But when we look to God, we will find rest.”
God desires rest for us, yet it doesn’t come naturally. The enemy thrives in our busyness – filling our lives with stress, sleepless nights, unhealthy habits, and distractions that make us forget our true purpose.
Lately, I’ve been rethinking everything – including my career. I started seeing a career coach a while back, hoping to gain clarity on what I truly want and need in life. Maybe accounting is still the path for me, maybe it’s not. But the uncertainty weighs heavily on me.
I feel like I’m having a midlife crisis in my early 30s. Every day, we’re bombarded with messages telling us our lives aren’t good enough – that we should want more, be more, do more. But at what cost? My job is stressful, yes, but it offers security, a good salary, and continuous learning. I sacrificed so much to get here, yet I feel immense guilt even considering walking away.
But I’m just so tired, Tiny Lump. My tired is tired.
For a brief moment, I wonder – are you the reason I’m so exhausted? But I’ve never read that fatigue is an early sign of cancer, so I brush the thought away…
It’ll be just me, Toothless and you for a while, Tiny Lump. Dickie is flying back to South Africa today for a surprise visit. He’ll be gone for the next few weeks, and when he returns, my mom and mother-in-law will be joining him.
You can probably guess my plan – work as much as possible while he’s gone. No distractions, no responsibilities apart from Toothless. The irony isn’t lost on me. I’m exhausted, yet the thought of unrestricted work hours excites me.
In hindsight, though, I realize this was just another way to distract myself. From you, from my declining mental state, from my failing marriage…
Technically, I should be heading back to the GP around now. It’s been a month since I last saw her. But Dickie isn’t here, and soon the moms will arrive for their visit. I’ll deal with you after the holiday, Tiny Lump. For now, you can wait.
Today was the South African “Out-of-Country” voting day in The Hague, and I volunteered. What on earth was I thinking, Tiny Lump? I had no idea what to expect, but the weather was promising, and at least it got me out of the house.
Can you believe over 4,000 South Africans showed up at the embassy?
It turned out to be an amazing day. I was assisting voters, answering questions, making friends, and just enjoying myself. Normally, new environments and social interactions drain me, but today? Today, I caught a glimpse of my old self again. The Marlene I thought had been completely buried under years of stress and uncertainty.
And wow.
How good it felt to be alive again. To feel like I had a purpose beyond my own selfish, sinful desires.
Dickie, my mom, and mother-in-law are finally here! It feels good to have a full house again. We have so many exciting plans for the next ten days – Paris, family time, new memories to be made.
But, Tiny Lump, I didn’t think I’d have to consider you in these plans. I’ve decided – I’m not telling the moms about you. I won’t mention how much you’ve grown. I won’t say that I now have to take paracetamol at night just to sleep because of the pain you cause.
I won’t tell them that I, a lifelong left-side sleeper, now struggle to rest comfortably because you had to take up residence on my left side.
No, Tiny Lump, I won’t give you any power over this holiday. These days are for good memories. And I have a feeling that if I let you take center stage, you might create some not-so-good ones instead.
The strange thing is, even though I think you could spoil my holiday, I still don’t fully believe you’re something to be truly troubled over. I mean, common sense would argue that the fact you’re no longer tiny – that you’ve grown so much my left breast has basically gone up a whole cup size – should be concerning. And yet, I don’t feel like my life is being threatened.
I normally pride myself on having more common sense than the average Joe, but Tiny Lump, this time? I had none.
I guess that’s how addiction works. Mine wasn’t to alcohol or drugs – it was to my work. I was too committed to my job to worry about you. Too committed to notice the cracks forming in my marriage. Too committed to even acknowledge how distant I had become from God. Everything took a step back to my work addiction.
And yet, at the same time, I could feel life slowly draining from my soul.
I knew this addiction was killing me. (And looking back now, I feel it even more.) But I had no idea how to break free. The only thing I did know was that when my psychologist asked me where I saw myself in five years, I burst into tears. Because I told her… I didn’t see myself here anymore.
Not necessarily physically (though I had wrestled with suicidal thoughts before), but I meant that at this pace, in five years, there would be nothing left of me. The person inside would be gone. And I guess that’s what you were trying to tell me, Tiny Lump. You were warning me. A physical manifestation of my troubled soul.
If only I had truly started paying attention to you, maybe – just maybe – I could have avoided all the heartache that was about to come.
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