There comes a point where you realise that healing isn’t about forgetting what happened.
It’s about deciding that it no longer gets to write every page of your story.
For me, I think that point has arrived.
My brain tumour will always be part of who I am. Everything I’ve achieved since February 2018 has, in one way or another, been shaped by it. It changed my career, my priorities, my relationships, friendships and the direction my life has taken. Without it, I probably wouldn’t be an expedition medic. I wouldn’t be teaching resuscitation. I might never have discovered big mountains, crossed deserts or founded The Beyond Recovery Project.
Whether I like it or not, it will always be there.
The hearing loss. The balance problems. The tinnitus. The fatigue. They remind me every day that this isn’t something I’ve “got over”.
But the thing is, I’m tired of living in the brain tumour chapter.
Not because I’m ashamed of it, quite the opposite in fact – I’m incredibly proud of how far I’ve come. But because there are so many more chapters still waiting to be written.
I know I’m in a privileged position to be able to say that. Not everyone is fortunate enough to make it to 8 years after their diagnosis. Not everyone reaches a place where they can look forward instead of simply trying to get through the day. I don’t take that for granted (because I still have those bad days) and I know everyone’s journey is different.
What I’ve noticed, though, is how easy it is to become trapped by our diagnosis.
I meet people who still define themselves entirely by what happened years ago. Every setback is because of the diagnosis. Every missed opportunity is because of the diagnosis. Every difficult day becomes another reminder of what they’ve lost.
And sometimes that’s true. Brain tumours take so much away.
But what if we also looked at what they’ve given us?
Not because we’d ever choose this path. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But because once it has happened, we have a choice about where we place our focus.
What if, alongside everything that’s gone wrong, we noticed what has gone right?
The people we’ve met.
The strength we never knew we had.
The opportunities we would never have taken.
The perspective that only comes from having your world completely turned upside down in a matter of seconds.
For me, the biggest gift has been clarity.
I wake up excited about my work. I get to support people in demanding environments, teach skills that genuinely save lives, and respond to medical emergencies in my community. I spend my time outdoors, on expeditions, in training rooms and alongside people who inspire me every single day.
My work has meaning. Every role is different, but they’re all connected by the same purpose: helping people when they need it most and giving them the confidence to achieve more than they thought possible. It’s taken a lot of hard work to get to this point, but I feel extremely privileged to be able to do that.
My life looks nothing like the one I had before 2018.
And to be honest, apart from the side effects that I carry with me every day, I’ve never been happier.
So this isn’t me leaving my brain tumour behind, because that would be impossible -I’m typing this with one of those headaches, double vision and wondering how I’ll do my strength training session!
This is me thanking it for the lessons, accepting the scars, and deciding it’s time to turn the page.
“Beyond Recovery” was never meant to mean returning to who we were before. It means building a life that’s worth living after everything changed.
I think I’m finally doing that.
The story isn’t over.
In many ways, it’s only just beginning…