
It all started in January.
While cold and snowflakes settled over much of the country, I stepped into an intentional journey — a carefully held ceremonial space where I was guided deep into the subconscious. I navigated terrains that were both familiar and strange.
During the heart of the journey, I was asked a question.
“Do you want to live?”
I sat with that for a moment. Did I really want to live? A recent scan had revealed a breast lump and I was facing a lot of fears. There had been many moments during the first 50 years of my life when I hadn’t really wanted to live. Sadness and depression used to be my normal.
But I have found so much healing during the last few years and settled into a joy unlike anything I had known before. So the question felt strange — even though, at one time, it would have felt like a relief.
My answer was Yes — because I knew that there is so much more love that wants to flow through this body and out into a love-starved world.
A few days later, on my birthday, I got a call from my dermatologist. Melanoma.
I forgot all about my resounding Yes and slipped into a dark hole. Overwhelmed. Alone. Hundreds of miles from friends and family, I wondered if I had made a mistake when I uprooted my life and replanted myself so far away.
I remember crumbling on my kitchen floor. A well of grief erupted and I wailed.
It wasn’t death itself that terrified me. It was the aloneness.
One morning during meditation, I saw myself sitting in the middle of a mossy circle — a place where some of my dearest friends like to gather. I looked up and found myself surrounded by community. A protective wall of living, breathing hearts.
And I remembered the question. And I felt the answer still alive in every cell of my body.
YES.
So I decided I was going to live.
The next few weeks were a whirlwind of fighting with insurance and finding a surgeon. Due to a technicality, my insurance refused to cover the surgery I needed. I spent hours every day battling and advocating for myself. The depth of the melanoma meant the surgeon wanted to do a lymph node biopsy as well as the excision — far more complicated and costly than it should have been.
But my community rallied. They helped me find a way through something that looked impossible. Eighteen days after the diagnosis, my best friend and soul sister drove in from Atlanta and sat with me through surgery. Three days later — all clear. Cancer-free.
Today I have a six-inch scar on my back. A reminder that it’s worth doing what it takes to really live.
The breast lump turned out to be nothing worrisome. The melanoma is gone.
And then the initiations kept coming.
2026 has not let up. I had my heart broken and lost the person I thought was my soulmate. And now it looks like I’m losing my job. Each one its own kind of loss. Each one asking the same question in a different voice: Do you still want to live? Do you still choose this?
And each time, the answer is the same.
I am leaning into my community. I am tapping into the non-traditional and non-ordinary healing modalities I’ve encountered over the last few years — the ones that have cracked me open and put me back together in ways nothing else could. And I have never felt more alive or more whole. In spite of all the pain and loss. Because of it.
If you’re stuck in a dark place and the things you’ve tried aren’t working — reach out. If I can go from the kitchen floor to absolutely loving life, you can too.
I’m not a therapist or a doctor. But the lessons I’m integrating are their own special medicine, and I may be able to point you toward something different worth trying.
Want to hear more? Find me on Instagram @marshandmoon1 and Facebook Marsh and Moon. Drop me a line to be added to my email list.








