Falling Leaves and Flying Butterflies Part 2

Last Sunday, Guardian Bookshelf featured part 1 of Rashmin Sagoo’s upcoming book “Falling Leaves and Flying Butterflies”, which she has described as a gentle, nurturing companion guide for women recently diagnosed with cancer. Sagoo, as previously published in this space, is the director of the International Law programme at Chatham House, a century-deep British think tank based in London which helps governments and societies build a sustainably secure, prosperous, and just world.

Rashmin Sagoo has advised the British Red Cross, International Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement on international humanitarian law, international human rights law, international disaster laws, data, and counterterrorism. “I sometimes did not know how to receive that abundance of love. I did not think myself worthy. It took time to love myself enough to accept the love of others who would help me and my family, who were also suffering. Opening myself enabled others to reach capacities of love they were unaware of.”

Although Sagoo has an ongoing high-profile career as a lawyer, a devastating cancer diagnosis at the age of 36 brought about a tsunami of change in her interior life as she navigated the fear, sadness, and stigma. Sagoo used this charged time to help by writing a book with prompts that she hopes will help other women with a cancer diagnosis to find their own unique inner and outer support systems as “a gentle friend quietly holding your hand.”

“In my past life before my cancer, I often tried to do everything myself. Raised to be self-sufficient in everything from cooking to DIY, learning to be vulnerable and ask for help took time. Then, I found my tree. Family, friends, and even strangers who helped ease the burden. If you were to describe your own Tree of Life, what would it look like? Cancer can touch every aspect of your life–who may be able to support that part of your life? Sketch below, or maybe ask a loved one to help you. Add branches, roots, and leaves to this tree. Add everyone you can think of who may be able to support you over the coming weeks and months. Your family, close friends, colleagues, medical team, neighbours, delivery drivers, charities, a recommended acupuncturist. Who are your roots, trunk, leaves, and branches?

Telling family and friends about my cancer and dealing with their reactions was one of the hardest things I had to face. Many reached out, offering help and support and, of course, wanting news on my treatment and health. I created a little WhatsApp group called my ‘Tree’ to manage the communication flow. I kept my posts authentic but positive, knowing I would receive what I put out there. What flowed back was a wave of love in the form of poems, wisdom, grace, guidance, prayers, food parcels, home-cooked freezer food, flowers, cards, recommendations for books, music, promises of outings, art, voice messages, and– knowing my love for them–photos of trees from around the world.

Honestly, it was overwhelming. And I realised that I was, in fact, supported by something like a tree, with roots deep in love and branches spreading around the world. I sometimes did not know how to receive that abundance of love. I did not think myself worthy. It took time to love myself enough to accept the love of others who would help me and my family, who were also suffering. Opening myself enabled others to reach capacities of love they were unaware of. It was a big lesson for me to learn how to ask for help and receive it. It has helped me ever since.

This book is what resulted from those times. It is a collection of the wisdom and love poured into me by loved ones and from within myself. I can’t tell you what happens next. But I do know this: There is more to you than you know. And now is the time to draw on it. I gave only limited honest but positive information to help ensure that the messages that came back were supportive and buoyed me forward.

I used stock phrases to minimise too much communication and to protect my energy: No news is good news, but we will update when we can. Your prayers are all we need; I can feel them. If I don’t answer your messages, don’t worry–I’m probably asleep, resting, avoiding my phone to manage my fatigue, or trying to be a “normal” mum. I would love to have a chat or a visitor. So, if you’re nearby, let me know but please don’t be offended if I need to cancel at short notice. I’m conserving my energy right now, so not up for visitors. But thank you for sending me your positive energy and prayers; I feel them.

Grounding–a moment to catch your breath I kept a few grounding techniques in my back pocket when things felt overwhelming. The more I used them, the more natural they became. I would use whichever one felt right for the situation. Some are rooted in my yoga practice and Indian heritage. Others are gifts from loved ones around the world. I discovered my breath as my friend. The medical process can involve a lot of waiting. My energy levels didn’t always permit me to read. I couldn’t always listen to music in waiting rooms in case I missed my name being called out. So, I used any “waiting” time as a prompt to take a deep breath and follow it. Whether it was waiting for the train to take me to the hospital, waiting for a noisy machine to complete a scan, or waiting anxiously for a doctor to give me my latest scan results, I trained myself to focus on my breath. When I was stripped bare and had nothing else with me–no talisman, no trinkets, prayer beads, “keep-safes” from loved ones, books, earphones, not even the kara that I’ve worn since birth–I could always call on my breath. I could be grateful for each breath. It became a companion and best friend whenever I felt anxious or nervous. Even two or three deep, intentional breaths would stabilise me. Gently calming me, quietly disappearing, reappearing whenever I remembered it again. Always with me. It would transport me to places. To shores with waves lapping at my feet, up to God, down to the Earth, into my body and out of my anxiety-riddled mind. Focusing on my breath helped lower my stress and calm my nervous system. It didn’t stop the troublesome thoughts from popping up. But I learned to notice them and gently bring my attention back to my breath as an anchor. If I got distracted again, it was okay. I would just guide myself back to my breath.

–End of excerpt.

Rashmin Sagoo has advised the British Red Cross, International Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement on international humanitarian law, international human rights law, international disaster laws, data, and counterterrorism.