Welcome to ABDW Amazing, Brilliant, Gorgeous, Wonderful. I'm Cheryl. This is five minutes. No fixing, no forcing, just a small pause that might make today feel a fraction steadier. Cool. So this is for you. This is for the part of you that quietly is wondering why something so small can still feel so heavy. So over the next few minutes, we're going to slow things down just enough to help your nervous system remember something important. Calm isn't something you earn, it's something you practice. Yes, I know, I know. So wherever you are, find your breath. Ah, that's it. Find a lovely space and let's begin. So this episode is for the part of you that's wondering why something small can feel so heavy. Yes. You know that awkward silence when someone you care about is seriously ill and you've got no idea what to say or even what to do. Yeah. I have been there. And let me tell you, silence isn't golden in that moment. It's just lonely. Sorry. When my former husband was diagnosed with cancer, people kept saying, Let us know if you need anything. Which is lovely. Don't get me wrong. And it's completely useless. Yes. Because I didn't even know what I needed other than not to burst into tears in the supermarket while staring at the frozen veg. Then one friend just turned up with lasagna. Still warm. No biggie, no big speech, no awkward hovering, just here you go, love. She fed us, hugged us, and left us to eat in peace. And that's when it landed for me. Compassion isn't it isn't about saying the right thing. It's about doing the human being thing. When someone you love is fighting cancer, you don't get a manual, do you? You have no idea what you should be noticing and what you should be aware of, but you do get fear, exhaustion, hope, a sudden working knowledge of medical acronyms you've never asked for. And the people around you. Sometimes they freeze. I I get it, they're terrified of saying the wrong thing, or so they say nothing, or they offer their thoughts and their prayers, like as if they're sending you some Amazon gift voucher. But compassion doesn't live in the perfect world or even perfect words, it lives in small, slightly messy actions. And for me, compassion smells like baked pasta and garlic bread. Oh yeah. It sounds like a car door slamming as someone drives your loved one to chemo so that you can lie down for an hour or two. It feels like, I don't know, permission to breathe. At some point, I stopped waiting for people to offer help and started saying, here's what would actually help. That shift from polite to practical, it saved my sanity. And more importantly, I think it saved my daughter's sanity as well. And here's the thing, most people don't realize. Most people, in my experience, want to help. They just don't know how. They're so scared of doing it wrong that they end up doing nothing. I've been so guilty of that. Thinking that it has to be perfect what I do. But you don't need to fix cancer. You don't need the perfect word. You just need to keep showing up. Yes, just show up. We all like to think we're compassionate people. Yes. I think most of us are. But I think also that real pass compassion, the everyday kind, you know, usually shows up in tub aware and taxi runs and just being there. It's not glamorous and you don't get the Instagram likes that you might be used to. But it's it's such an emotion. Actually, it's it's it's a bit like love emotion. It says, I'll pick the kids up on Tuesday instead of let me know if he needs anything. Because the truth is this. When cancer walks into someone's life, it doesn't knock politely. And it doesn't only affect that one person. So as World Cancer Day rolls around, maybe don't just repost the quote. Maybe call the friend you've been avoiding because you you don't know what to say. Try this instead. I was thinking of you. Can I bring dinner on Thursday this week? You don't need to be perfect, just present. Because compassion isn't a grand gesture. Like I said, it's lasagna. And if you're ever been on the receiving end, you already know a warm meal can feel like hope on a plate. So if you're listening to this and someone comes to mind, don't overthink it. Be the one who turns up. You might feel you might feed more than their body. You might be feeding their spirit too. And I just want to say to all the carers, cancer survivors, and all those quiet heroes doing the unglamorous work, you're not invisible. You're the heartbeat of compassion. If something inside this episode landed with you today, even quietly, that matters. You don't need to do anything dramatic with it. Just notice it. Take this pause with you. Because every step you take, no matter how small, is a step towards a brighter, more balanced future. Trust in your journey and remember progress is progress no matter the pace. Bye for now and take care.