I Got Dressed

I Got Dressed

🌼 Date: Monday, December 22, 2025

⚡ Energy: Low, but showing up

💔 Status: Alive (bare nails, real clothes)

🌞 Outlook: Holding steady, with receipts

Today, I got dressed.

Not “clean pajamas” dressed.
Not “leggings and a hoodie, let’s survive” dressed.

I put on real clothes.
I did my makeup.
I looked in the mirror and recognized myself — even if just a little.

That hasn’t happened much since all of this started.

We went to the potluck and gift exchange for support staff.

I didn’t go for the food or the gifts. I went because sometimes showing up is its own form of defiance. Because I didn’t want cancer — or disappointment — to shrink my world any more than it already has.

Casey came with me, which immediately made everything better. Chauffeur. Buffer. Emotional support human. Knowing I wasn’t walking into that room alone mattered more than I expected.

Was it awkward?
A little.

Was it survivable?
Absolutely.

I smiled. I made small talk. I didn’t explain myself. I didn’t defend anything. I didn’t “have a face” (which honestly deserves an award). I stayed exactly as long as I wanted to — and then I left.

And here’s the part I don’t want to gloss over:

I showed up as myself.
Dressed. Present. Still standing.

That counts.

After that, I had to do something that felt surprisingly heavy: I went and had my acrylic nails taken off.

And no — this wasn’t vanity, and it wasn’t optional.

According to the nurses during chemo, the TC cocktail I’m on can cause fingernails to loosen and fall off. The added weight of acrylics can make that happen sooner. Over the last few days, the tips of my fingers have started to hurt — not sore, but deep, like the nail beds themselves are bruised or smashed with a hammer. Subtle. Constant. Impossible to ignore.

So today meant a visit to my favorite, long-time nail lady — the one I’ve been seeing for nearly 20 years, back when our youngest son was still in a car seat. Sitting there felt awful in a way I didn’t expect. Like I was sending her to the unemployment line. Like we were both pretending this was temporary when we knew it wasn’t.

Of all the silly things to be losing right now, this one feels like the final straw.

Not my boobs.
Not even my hair — hair grows back.

But my nails?
They’ve been me since high school. Every two weeks like clockwork. Nail art. Bling. Sparkle. Tiny armor. A small, consistent way of saying, “I’m still here.”

Maybe this is the straw that broke the camel’s back.
Maybe it’s the exhaustion.
Maybe it’s the lack of hormones.
Maybe it’s all of it at once.

When I got home, I changed into my black satin pajamas, and mourning felt appropriate — for more reasons than one.

Because my hair is really starting to come out now. In the shower today, it covered my hands. Every time I touched my head, more came away. Styling it meant rinsing handfuls of hair from my fingers, over and over again. I’m hoping I can make it to Saturday — to the head shaving party — but with how fast it’s going, I’m not sure I get to decide that.

By the end of the day, I was exhausted. Physically. Emotionally. Today took a toll.

So tonight, I’m letting myself rest.
I’m hoping for sleep.
And I’m crossing my fingers this isn’t the start of another 40-hour awake cycle — because I’m due for one soon, and honestly, I could use a break.

No big lesson today.
Just the truth.

I got dressed.
I showed up.
I came home with my dignity intact.

💗
— Tina
One Badass Day at a Time