The Butterfly Path

Before my diagnosis, I thought I knew my body. I knew when I was tired, when I was hungry, when I needed to rest — or at least I thought I did. But cancer has a way of waking you up. It’s not just a disease of the body; for me, it became a loud and painful message from within, a symptom of something much deeper that I had been ignoring for far too long.

When I was diagnosed, it felt like betrayal. My body had turned against me — or that’s how it felt at first. But as I began to unravel the journey that led to that moment, I started to see things differently.

Cancer, I came to learn, wasn’t the beginning of something wrong — it was the result of a body that had been carrying more than it could bear, for longer than it should have. A body that had spent years quietly whispering for help while I pushed through stress, swallowed emotions, ignored fatigue, and overrode the quiet calls for rest, nourishment, and balance. Eventually, my body stopped whispering and started screaming.

And that scream was cancer.

Understanding that a cancer diagnosis isn’t where my ill health started, has been the most transformative journey of my life. Going back over the years preceeding my diagnosis I saw a history of chronic stress (physical and mental) and emotional suppression. There were signs, but like may of us, I believed that I needed to “stay strong”, to “keep going” and to “push through”. What I really needed was to stop, rest and process some of the difficult and traumatic things I’d experienced.

Some in-depth hormone, genetic and metabolic testing, after my cancer diagnosis, confirmed what I was already starting to realise, that I was on the brink of burn-out. And by burn-out I don’t mean the type of tired that can be fixed by a relaxing weekened away, I mean (and my doctor didn’t mince her words about this) the type of exhaustion that prevents you from even getting out of bed for several years.

So here’s the truth I hold close now: my body was never my enemy. It was my ally — an exhausted, overburdened friend waving a white flag, begging for care and attention. It didn’t betray me. It was trying to protect me, to compensate, to heal, until it could no longer do so on its own.

Since then, I’ve been learning a new way of living. My new mantra is “more tortoise, less hare”. It might be slower but it’s more attuned, more responsive to my own internal barometer and less responsive to external pressure and demands. I’ve come to understand that healing isn’t just about killing cancer cells — it’s about restoring the energy it takes for the body to want to heal. That begins with listening, deeply and consistently.

What It Means to Truly Listen to Your Body

Listening to your body isn’t just about responding when something hurts. It’s about developing a relationship with yourself — one built on trust, respect, and compassion. It’s about paying attention to the subtle shifts: the tension in your shoulders when you’re overwhelmed, the lump in your throat when you’re suppressing emotion, the exhaustion that sleep doesn’t fix, the cravings that mask a need for comfort, not calories. When you practice tuning in, noticing your needs, respecting your limits and offering yourself comfort you’re creating a foundation for internal safety – something we all really need when dealing with something as terrifying as cancer.

I now regularly ask myself:

• What am I feeling right now — physically and emotionally?
• What does my body need in this moment?
• Where have I been ignoring myself for the sake of productivity or people-pleasing?
• What do I keep pushing through and ignoring that actually needs space and attention?

Your Body Shouldn’t Have to Scream

I wouldn’t wish cancer on anyone. But I do wish more of us would learn to listen before our bodies have to raise their voices. Because they always speak — in fatigue, in anxiety, in gut feelings, in subtle imbalances — long before chronic illness manifests. The mind-body connection is well documented but still many of us are reluctant to acknowldge the role our mental or emotional states play in our physical ill health. If we supppress our negative emotions deep within ourselves and ignore our own needs, we’re asking our body to carry too much with not enough support, and eventually our bodies will get tired and break down.

So here’s my invitation to you, wherever you are on your journey:

• Slow down. Rest isn’t laziness — it’s essential maintenance.
• Be curious. When something feels “off,” don’t ignore it. Explore it.
• Feel your feelings. Suppressed emotions don’t disappear — they settle in the body.
• Nourish yourself. Not just with food, but with movement, connection, boundaries, and purpose.
• Make space for stillness. Sometimes silence is the only way we can hear the truth rising up from within.

Your body is not a machine. It is a living, breathing, feeling part of you — and it’s always trying to help you heal. Read that again – it’s always trying to help you heal. Nothing is working harder for you than your body trying to heal. When you acknowledge that, you can’t fail but to respect it and nourish it rather than punish it.

I ignored the whispers. My body had to scream. Yours doesn’t have to.