I could accept myself pretty well. I could still work and be useful. That was the most important thing, wasn't it? I went into therapy for about two years and talked about the cancer and also dug up many confused and terrifying memories of my childhood. Although I was a psychologist myself, I found little help in therapy. It seemed to keep the current wounds open and raw, as well as adding to them by reopening wounds that had long since healed.

I am, in many ways, a multiple survivor. As well as a cancer survivor, I'm the only adult child in a family of three children. My brother and sister were infant victims. I survived poverty, isolation, abuse, deprivation, and neglect as a child. I was strong, and I could lick this too.

The first step toward loving myself was to look in the mirror. In our primary bathroom, there is a large and unforgiving mirror directly across from the tub. It's impossible to climb out of a bath without catching a glimpse in it. I made a point of looking at my body, acknowledging every bone, every scar, every flaw. I told that body that it had served me well, and that I was going to be extra special good to it. I stopped eating red meat and ate a high fiber, low fat diet. I began taking vitamins and minerals. I did ballet exercises almost faithfully, as well as an hour of low impact aerobics and 7 flights of stair climbing daily. Once I started being good to myself, my body started being good to me.

I learned to find the little luxuries in my life - hot baths, iced tea, granola bars, big warm bathrobes. I got up early and watched sunrises; later in the day I watched sunsets in the west. I acknowledged the circle of life and the perfect order of our universe. I placed my faith in God.

I began reading more and found beauty I had never taken the time to find. I also wrote more, expressing feelings I had locked away for too long. I developed more than a passing interest in genetics, and read everything I could find about genetic research. I'm totally intrigued by the idea of a "violence gene" and a "happiness gene" as well as all the genes we tend to think of. I opened my heart to the beauties of nature and my mind to new and wonderful areas of knowledge.

I learned to pamper myself in little ways, such as painting my toenails and getting a sharp looking hairstyle. I had a slim waist, and I accentuated the positive by wearing wider belts. But, most of all, I learned to love myself by learning how to give.

I started working with other adult survivors of abuse and sharing with them. I did tangible things too, like providing a safe home from time to time and donating to the food shelf. Each time I shared with another survivor, something inside me grew stronger and more beautiful. It is by giving that we truly receive. I also became active in the American Cancer Society, and have been a buddy for women getting their first mammograms, as well as the person who solicits yearly donations door-to-door. Driving and walking now felt good, and I became strong with each endeavor.

My love for animals surfaced, and I took an active interest in the local animal shelter. I visited and donated time, cat and dog food and bedding, and money. I pray for the day when healthy young animals are not euthanized simply to make space.

There are still many facets of myself I do not love. I'm easily frightened and panicked, and I get moods of depression. Allowing myself to get overtired seems to contribute to this. I'm no Pollyanna on the inside. But, each day that I see a sunrise, I see a new promise. I've found that lots of situations and people can make me miserable, but only I can make myself happy. I'm learning.