Hearing Your Heart

Today, a friend I haven’t seen in a long while reached out. She didn’t know my cancer was back. She didn’t know I was in treatment again. She just said, “I would love to hear your heart.”

That line stopped me cold.
Not “let’s catch up.” Not “tell me what’s been going on.”
She wanted to hear my heart.

And that got me thinking: what kind of peace, what kind of love does a person carry when they care less about your circumstances and more about your heart?

Do I even listen to mine?
Sure, when it comes to the big-ticket items—marriage, kids, family, love. Those are the moments when you’re “supposed” to listen to your heart.

But do I listen to it daily?
When I wake up bone-tired.
When the chemo wall hits and knocks me flat.
When Sassy drags me down the driveway like a reluctant sled dog.
Do I stop and check in?

Truth: most days, my head is way louder than my heart. My head is bossy. It says:

• Take the meds.
• Keep walking.
• Don’t puke in public.
• Try to be funny about this so people aren’t uncomfortable.

Meanwhile, my heart whispers. And I ignore it. Because sometimes, my heart says stuff I don’t want to hear—like “rest” when I’d rather power through, or “cry” when I’d rather throw up a sarcastic one-liner. Or, “it’s ok to be mad about this” when I don’t want to think about that.

But my friend’s words have been simmering all day.
Maybe what she really offered me was permission.
Permission to pause. Permission to tune in. Permission to let my heart speak, even if it doesn’t have the right words, even if it stutters.

So I asked myself: what does my heart say right now?

And here’s the messy, beautiful, unfinished truth:

• I’m still here, even if this is not what I planned to do this year.
• I’m still fighting, and will not stop.
• I still love, and need to show myself a little more of that.
• I still have stories to tell.

That’s my heart.
Maybe small. Maybe quiet. Maybe shaky.
But it’s still beating. And today, someone wanted to hear it.