Meet Brenda: Why I Gave My Breast Cancer a Name

She's judgmental, she's opinionated, and if I could throw her out, I would do it in a heartbeat!

I'd like to introduce you to Brenda.

Brenda is an old woman with a permanent scowl, a questionable relationship with lipstick, and a cane she shakes to emphasize every right and wrong opinion. You know that old lady at church who gives you the stink eye because you walked in seven minutes late? The one who looks you up and down because apparently your pants are inappropriate for the house of the Lord? The one who gossips about the various "scandals" within the congregation such as the Johnson boys cutting in line at the Fish Fry?

That's Brenda.

She's the kind of woman who could be standing in the middle of the Happiest Place in the World, surrounded by smiling children, beautiful weather, and literal magic, and still find something to complain about.

"It's too hot." "My bunions are acting up." "Why are there so many children?" "When are we going to eat?" "Why is it so expensive?" "Why did we park so far away?"

Ma'am. Please be so for real right now.

Brenda has never experienced a moment of joy or happiness. And unfortunately, Brenda is also my breast cancer.

Yes. I named my cancer. And there's actually a pretty important reason why.

Before Brenda, There Was Blame & Rage

When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer, I had a lot of very big feelings.

All the usual suspects showed up - fear, frustration, confusion, sadness. And RAGE - in all capital letters. I started seeing a regular therapist to help me work through the tough emotions, but what I uncovered is that I was blaming myself for my cancer.

I wondered what I'd done wrong. Had I eaten the wrong things? Not exercised enough? Ignored something I should have noticed? Had my desire to have a baby through IVF caused this? Was this some kind of punishment from the universe? Had I done something to upset the balance?

Logically, I know cancer isn't a punishment and that the karmic balance of the universe is mysterious & unknowable. Bad things happen to good people all the time, just as good things happen to bad people. But knowing something intellectually and believing it emotionally are two very different things. And I struggled with the second part - Virgos are notorious for following their head and not their heart.

After my cancer came back and it was determined that I needed to remain on treatment for the long term, those feelings became more complicated; my anger deepened, and the blame that I had been working through returned. I became resentful of my body and treated it poorly.

I felt like I was at war with my body - AGAIN. I'd already done the treatments. I'd already rearranged my life around appointments, medications, surgeries, and recovery. I'd already dealt with things I never wanted to deal with in the first place.

And now we were doing this again? What the actual hell? I mean, what the fuck, Universe?

I had all this rage and nowhere to put it. So I turned it inwards.

My Therapist Had an Idea

I returned to therapy to work through my feelings around my recurrence. As a therapeutic exercise, my therapist suggested something that sounded a little unusual - Give your cancer a name.

Not a medical name. Not a diagnosis. An actual name of a person.

The idea was to put my anger on something else - someone I could yell at, someone I could be angry with, and someone who I could fight against.

Therapy helped me realize that I wasn't the enemy - I was the person dealing with the enemy.

And while that might sound like a relatively small distinction, putting it into regular practice was difficult. It was so easy to turn my anger on myself. I'd been doing it for so long that it had become almost automatic. Naming my cancer didn't suddenly make all the anger or self-blame disappear. But having someone to visualize made it easier to separate myself from what was happening to me.

Instead of being angry at my body or wondering what I'd done to deserve cancer, I could be angry at this person.

Now I just needed to figure out who that person was

And Thus, Brenda Was Born

I had two requirements when choosing a name.

1. I wanted something that sounded good with "breast cancer."

2. I wanted the name to match the personality I pictured.

And for reasons I don't really understand, my cancer has always looked like a mean old church lady.

Not a sweet grandmother who sneaks you candy and tells you how beautiful you look - Not Brenda.

I'm convinced Brenda came out of the womb with her arms crossed, already irritated that the doctor was running late, tapping her tiny feet, and with her lips turned down into a frown. Brenda has appointed herself head of the Unsolicited Opinions Committee. She wears lipstick that is somehow both too bright and applied completely outside the lines. She's got a cane, orthopedic shoes, and a list of complaints longer than a CVS receipt.

She has opinions about everything - Your clothes. Your hair. The weather. The music. How tight her shoes are. Whatever is bothering her in that exact moment.

She's never been wrong a day in her life. That's Brenda.

Meet Brenda. She's a delight. (Said absolutely no one, ever.)

Brenda Is Not Me

Here's the thing about giving my cancer a name: It helped me create some separation between myself and my illness.

For a long time, I struggled with the idea that cancer was something I'd somehow brought upon myself; that my body had failed or perhaps even worse, I failed.

But Brenda gave me a different way to think about it.

I didn't choose Brenda. I didn't invite her. I certainly didn't do anything to deserve her.

She's just an incredibly rude, unwanted guest who showed up and decided to make herself everybody's problem. And I am allowed to be angry about that.

I'm allowed to hate what cancer has done to my body and my life without hating myself in the process. I'm allowed to be frustrated when I'm tired, when plans change, or when my body doesn't cooperate. I'm allowed to be mad at Brenda.

That doesn't mean I spend every day angry. It doesn't mean I've stopped taking responsibility for my health or that I don't love my body.

It means I've learned something important: Being sick isn't a moral failure.

Adrian Knows Brenda, Too

One of the unexpected benefits of naming my cancer is that Brenda has become part of the language Adrian and I use. Now, Adrian doesn't talk about Brenda the way I do. He's not sitting around imagining arguments with an elderly woman in a red cardigan, telling her to behave, or pushing back when her knitting threatens to take over - That's mostly my department (and for the record, I'm winning).

But he knows who she is and when I say her name, he knows what I mean.

Sometimes we're out somewhere, and I'll just look at him and say: "Ugh. Brenda." Two words.

He knows that something is up. Maybe my energy is running low. Maybe I'm not feeling particularly great. Maybe I'm reaching the point where I need to go home.

I don't have to explain every symptom or provide a detailed account of what's going on with my body. He understands that Brenda is acting up, and we can adjust accordingly.

It's become a kind of code word between us- a simple way to communicate what I need and quickly remind us that we're dealing with a common enemy.

She's my cancer, but her presence affects both of us. We both have to deal with her. And we both hate her.

Humor Doesn't Make It Less Serious

I know that giving cancer the personality of a cranky old woman might seem strange to some people. And that's okay. Not everyone deals with difficult things through humor. But I do - laughter is often one of the only ways that I can get through some of the toughest moments.

Sometimes I need to picture Brenda sitting in a ball pit with her arms crossed, absolutely furious that children are having fun around her. I like to imagine how pissed off she is when something sparks joy for me.

Sometimes I need to say, "Brenda, would you PLEASE mind your business?" when my body decides that we're done for the day and I need to go lay down for a while.

Sometimes I'm not laughing at all. Sometimes I'm tired. Sometimes I'm frustrated. Sometimes I want to exist without having to think about cancer.

Giving her a name doesn't make those moments easier every single time. But it gives me a way to talk about them and to work through the feelings that often accompany these difficult moments.

I also don't believe that everyone needs to find the humor in cancer. You don't have to be positive, inspirational, or particularly graceful about something that genuinely sucks.

Hell, I know my own positivity is chemically supported by my antidepressants. Everyone dealing with cancer finds their own way to navigate the hard times.

This is simply one of the ways I've learned to live with it.

Unfortunately, Brenda Has Entered the Internet

Which brings us to today - I've decided it's time for Brenda to make her public debut.

And it gives me great pleasure to know that she's going to hate this!

First of all, she has absolutely no idea what Instagram is.

I'm fairly certain she'd call it "the Instant Gram" and then complain about young people putting their personal business on the World Wide Web. She'd probably demand to know why I'm sharing pictures of her without permission. And she'd definitely have something to say about the comments section.

But that's just too bad - for her.

Because Brenda has spent enough time making herself known in my life, and I've decided it's only fair that the rest of you get to meet her.

So welcome to the world of Brenda.

She's cranky. She's judgmental. She's perpetually inconvenienced. She's always butting into places where she doesn't belong with her horrible lipstick and collection of ridiculous handbags.

I don't know how long Brenda will be part of my story. But while she's here, I'm going to keep finding ways to live my life, take care of myself, love my people, and laugh at every opportunity.

And if that means occasionally making fun of a fictional old lady who represents my very real cancer? Well - I'd say that's fair, and Brenda is just going to have to get used to it.

As a matter of fact, I can confirm that she's filed an official complaint - which has been filed away.

Brenda's complaint has been filed appropriately.