Walk With a Wink

I didn’t plan to write about illness. I didn’t even plan to write about healing.
This is a story about listening. About what happens when we don’t. And about the moment when the body decides it’s time to speak louder than the mind.

We often feel disconnected.
Not only from the world around us, from circumstances, or from other people… but from ourselves.
Somewhere along the way, we learned to believe that the mind is in charge. As if it were separate from the body. As if it knew better.
It gives instructions. It explains. It judges.
“You are not well… it must be because of something outside of you.”
And so the mind becomes the first voice we listen to on our physical journey, while the body waits—patiently, quietly—to be heard.

I was always active. Sports were part of my life. I grew up with a healthy education, balanced eating habits, and no worrying family medical history. On paper, everything was fine. There was no reason for concern. No reason for fear.
And yet, during a particularly delicate moment of my life, I was diagnosed with cancer.
The first few days were quite unreal, as if you were watching a movie that had nothing to do with you. A parallel reality. It was an avalanche of emotions: adrenaline, questions, uncertainty. And at the same time, a strange and calm sensation that this was an episode I simply had to go through. As if it had a beginning, a process, and an end—already known somewhere deep inside me.
I think the only fear I truly felt came from the people around me. From their powerlessness, their compassion, their despair.

I can say this with absolute clarity: I was never afraid. Not once did the thought cross my mind that I would not make it.
It wasn’t easy. I went through every imaginable therapy and several surgical operations. But fear was never present. Instead, there was a strength I had never experienced before. A solid, grounded force. I think the people around me felt it too—this quiet but unstoppable energy that carried me through the illness.
It wasn’t something I created. It wasn’t positive thinking. It wasn’t mental discipline. It was flowing through me.
Even then, I sensed that something unexplainable was happening—something I would perhaps understand later.

A couple of years after my recovery, I consulted a holistic doctor for side effects caused by cancer therapies. During one of our conversations, she asked me a question that hit me like a rock.
“Do you know why you got cancer?”
Boom.
I stayed silent. Time stretched. I think she repeated the question. And then I started to stutter an answer that sounded reasonable, logical, socially acceptable:
“I don’t know… There’s no family history… I’ve always lived a healthy life… The doctors said it was pure coincidence…”
Obviously, I was lying.
I knew the answer the exact moment she asked the question… And it was: “You just forgot about yourself!”

Whether the illness came to show me how strong I could be, or to remind me that I had forgotten myself, or simply to wake up a curiosity about life that had gone quiet—it doesn’t really matter.
What matters is this:
We all have an inner voice. It speaks constantly. It keeps us company. It guides us through every second of our lives. And still, we refuse to listen.
Because what it says often contradicts what we were taught. Because it challenges expectations. Because it asks for honesty instead of approval.
So we trust everything else more than ourselves.
And the body responds. Not out of revenge. Not to punish. But to protect.
First, it whispers. Then it creates discomfort. Then pain.
And if we still don’t listen, it raises its voice.
“Hey. You are forgetting yourself. You are the priority. Stay connected. Stay whole.”

We all carry our inner child in our hearts—small, quiet, endlessly patient. It waits. It observes. It keeps sending signals. And we ignore it.
Because it feels safer to meet expectations than to meet ourselves. Because approval from the outside world often feels more important than truth from within. Because listening inward might require change.
So we betray ourselves. Gently. Daily. Almost politely.
And the body keeps the score.

This is not spirituality.
This is not philosophy.
This is biology. Intelligence. Survival.
Your body is not your enemy.
It is your last honest friend.

The question is no longer why something happened to you.
The real question is:
When your body speaks, are you finally ready to listen?

❤️