A friend once told me of a game called "Sores on You," which she played as a child. The game consisted of each child counting the number of their cuts, scratches, bruises, and similar boo-boo's, then comparing tallies. Whoever had been hurt the most, won. Six years ago, I felt like I'd stumbled into a karmic adult version of Sores on You.

First, I was diagnosed with lobular invasive carcinoma, a particularly aggressive form of breast cancer. Despite regular mammograms, the tumor wasn't detected until it had reached 9 cm. I underwent a mastectomy and alternative treatments.

Soon, my teenaged son began abusing drugs and running away from home. Next, my domestic partner left me. A few months later, a very dear friend committed suicide. The dot.com bomb hit, and I was laid off from a multimedia job I dearly loved. Not long after that, I fell more deeply in love than I'd ever been in my entire life-and in less than a year that relationship was aborted without reasons given or opportunity for closure. The heartbreak was so heavy, I could barely breathe. I had no job offers and one more mortgage payment in the bank. All of this occurred within a 2.5-year period. I was fairly certain I had the adult Sores on You championship wrapped up.

I wasn't exactly a stranger to challenges. I'd entered the military to obtain the GI Bill for college. I'd been a single parent for years, and though my occupation as a writer isn't the most lucrative, I'd managed to scrape together enough funds to buy a house in southern California. I'd been working as a multimedia writer where Marion Moss Hubbard was my coworker. We enjoyed each other's sense of humor and mental alacrity. When we talked about the metaphysical or spiritual realms, however, I'd turn to Marion and ask for a stepladder, "...since you're talking so far over my head." She'd laugh and try to re-state her thought into concepts I could grasp. Our relationship grew, in spite of the disparity in our spiritual maturity levels. She faithfully drove me to and from doctor appointments when I had my cancer surgery, and informed me of job leads when I was laid off. Marion knew I had humor and gumption, but what she didn't know - what she couldn't know - was exactly how non-resilient I felt during that Sores on You season of my journey.

I tried to get my feet under me, emotionally and psychologically, but my feet were wearing roller skates and I was standing on black ice. Fortunately, Marion, my favorite metaphysical mentor had my back. (Or, perhaps, my butt, since that's what I tend to land on when roller skating on black ice!) Without judgment or criticism, and with consistent generosity of heart, Marion found the positive in me when I could not. She saw me recovered, thriving, and living life to the fullest when I felt least capable of doing so. Perhaps this is the greatest gift we can give those we meet along our journey - the gift of believing in their better selves.

It took a while for my residual resilience to kick in. I saw a counselor. I parlayed my writing skills into a new occupation and began to recover financially. For a long time, I didn't date, but instead directed healing energy into recovering integrity of self, so I'd have an intact personality to offer another romantic partner when the time was right.

My son went through rehab and gradually began to allow a Higher Power to direct his own heroic journey. I'd long wished for adequate time to write creatively. So, when the real estate market boomed in California, I used equity from a house sale to buy writing time and a new townhouse in Oregon.

I've now been cancer-free for about 6 years. My creative writing is starting to pay off. I've completed two mystery novels, which have been picked up by a publisher! My soon to be released first novel, Sticky Fingers, is now available on Amazon. I'm working on a third book. My website won the 2006 nationally prestigous "Writers Digest Best Writers Web Site Contest." One of my poems also won honorable mention at the Oregon State Poetry Association.

On the relationship front, I've met a deeply loving person with whom I share mutual romance, respect, and enjoyment. And although I miss the special people I left behind in southern CA, the geographic move has proven highly rewarding.

Psychologists have studied emotional resilience, and some data imply it may be a genetically influenced characteristic, like shyness or mathematical ability. In addition to whatever helpful genetic proclivities I received, I'm grateful I was raised with faith in the Divine Mystery, and with a sense of humor. Humor offers perspective, much needed when our own problems threaten to overwhelm. My best advice to those in the midst a "Sores on You" season is to hold purposeful and loving intent (pray), laugh as much as you are able, and lean on family, friends, and mentors like Marion Moss Hubbard.

When Marion invited me to write an article on resilience, I felt humbled. She has seen me in my worst moments, when "resilience" to me was just a word in the dictionary somewhere between "rectum" and "retrograde." That she thinks of me as someone who can speak with any authority on the subject of resilience is a far greater testimony to her spirit than mine. Thank you, Marion. And now, I'm off to find a Joys on You competition!

—Morgan Hunt

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