When I was diagnosed with breast cancer and pretty much continued with my life—or at least gave the appearance of normality—friends often told me how much they admired my courage. It always puzzled me, because what were my choices? I could go on with my life as it was, as best I could; I could take time off to heal; or, I could…what? Kill myself?
The fact is, coping with something I had no choice about didn’t feel much like courage. Maybe I see courage as choosing to brave danger for a good cause, or choosing to do something for other people that requires self-sacrifice. But even those definitions don’t always work for me. Women have long sacrificed their emotional and physical health for that of others, a choice that too often backfires.
So when everyone says, as so many seem to be saying, editorially speaking, that John and Elizabeth Edwards are courageous because they intend to continue life as usual, I say, carrying on is how many people deal with stress, and that’s okay. The illusion of normality can be welcome and comforting, providing the support of a familiar framework. But it’s not the only courageous way.
I believe it also takes courage to change your life, to face reality and loss, and endure the frightening transition from what was to who knows what? Which coping mechanism a person relies on most depends on which helps her cope the best. I don’t think one is better, or more courageous, than the other. Like many people, I combined the two, working about half my usual load and taking the remaining time for treatment, rest, and travel.
I guess I’m feeling a little defensive, having recently questioned John Edwards’ choice to continue to campaign for president. I assume, based on what I’ve read, that "normal life" is Elizabeth Edwards’ coping style. I hope she is not sacrificing her health for the greater good.
And I’m glad the press is so supportive of the Edwards family. I think that will continue whatever choices they make. Call it courage. Call it coping, grit, or grace. Cancer in others fills us with fear, and most of us believe—at least I once did—that if it came to us, we wouldn’t have what it takes to deal with it. But we do.
The fact is, coping with something I had no choice about didn’t feel much like courage. Maybe I see courage as choosing to brave danger for a good cause, or choosing to do something for other people that requires self-sacrifice. But even those definitions don’t always work for me. Women have long sacrificed their emotional and physical health for that of others, a choice that too often backfires.
So when everyone says, as so many seem to be saying, editorially speaking, that John and Elizabeth Edwards are courageous because they intend to continue life as usual, I say, carrying on is how many people deal with stress, and that’s okay. The illusion of normality can be welcome and comforting, providing the support of a familiar framework. But it’s not the only courageous way.
I believe it also takes courage to change your life, to face reality and loss, and endure the frightening transition from what was to who knows what? Which coping mechanism a person relies on most depends on which helps her cope the best. I don’t think one is better, or more courageous, than the other. Like many people, I combined the two, working about half my usual load and taking the remaining time for treatment, rest, and travel.
I guess I’m feeling a little defensive, having recently questioned John Edwards’ choice to continue to campaign for president. I assume, based on what I’ve read, that "normal life" is Elizabeth Edwards’ coping style. I hope she is not sacrificing her health for the greater good.
And I’m glad the press is so supportive of the Edwards family. I think that will continue whatever choices they make. Call it courage. Call it coping, grit, or grace. Cancer in others fills us with fear, and most of us believe—at least I once did—that if it came to us, we wouldn’t have what it takes to deal with it. But we do.
Read related SharePosts on Elizabeth Edwards:
Dear Elizabeth Edwards: Thoughts from Breast Cancer Patients, Survivors and Families
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Don't Call Me "Honey"
