The phone call came in May, a chilling diagnosis: a brain tumor, more aggressive than initially thought, cancerous. Devastation and fear washed over me, but so did a familiar pang—self-pity. It felt like a reflex, a default response to life’s curveballs. At 36, with an incurable brain tumor, it felt justified. But the ‘why me’ mantra echoing in my head was unsettling. I knew I had to calm myself, to find a different path.
This wasn’t the first time self-pity had gripped me. In my mid-20s, alcoholism had taken root. I couldn’t drink in moderation, spiraling into blackouts or waking up in stranger’s homes, often naked. The cycle was vicious: anger at my inability to control my drinking, sadness about the situation, and frustration at my futile attempts to change. By 30, my mental health was shattered. A cherished relationship crumbled, two jobs were lost due to intoxication, and suicidal thoughts were commonplace. Isolation became my refuge, a world of chain-smoking and self-loathing. I didn’t recognize my behavior as self-pity; I thought I was simply coping.
The pandemic brought a turning point. Back in the UK, living with my mother and drowning in depression, I knew something had to change. I sought help from recovering alcoholics, and their words resonated: ‘Poor me, poor me, pour me another drink.’ It was a stark truth. I needed to break the cycle, and I did, getting sober at 32 through 12-step programs, therapy, and the support of loved ones. But escaping the quicksand of self-pity was a longer journey.
At 33, a sober break-up sent me spiraling. The pain felt overwhelming, and I retreated into familiar patterns of isolation and lamenting my failures. Therapy became a lifeline, a space where I could unpack these patterns and learn to see them for what they were: a self-defeating way of coping. My therapist introduced me to the concept of self-compassion, a revolutionary idea.
Self-compassion, she explained, is about separating yourself from the pain and offering empathy to your inner self. It’s about acknowledging the hardship without blaming yourself. It’s about replacing anger and resentment with kindness. I started to practice this, even in the face of a cancelled project, offering myself understanding and support.
Now, facing a brain cancer diagnosis, self-pity is a recognizable enemy. I can hear the familiar voice—’Why me? This is unfair!’—but I’m learning to choose a different path. I can choose to wallow in despair, or I can choose to embrace self-compassion. I can choose to accept the challenges without succumbing to negativity.
Yes, this is a difficult journey. But it’s a journey I can choose to navigate with strength, kindness, and hope. I may not control the course of my illness, but I can control my internal narrative. I can choose to find solace in self-compassion, a far more powerful ally than self-pity ever was.
