The Productive Emptiness of Chemo

I'm bored.

Not in the "scroll through my phone for ten minutes" kind of bored. I mean deeply, profoundly, restlessly bored in a way I haven't experienced since I was a kid stuck at home during summer break with nothing to do.

My body won't let me do much. Chemo fatigue isn't like regular tiredness where you can push through with enough coffee. It's a wall. Some days I can manage light tasks around the house. Other days, sitting upright for too long feels ambitious. My brain works in bursts - sharp and clear for an hour, then wrapped in fog for the rest of the day.

So I sit. I rest. I wait for the next infusion, the next round, the next scan. And I'm bored out of my mind.

Here's the strange part: this boredom might be the most productive thing that's happened to me in years.

When Everything Stops

Before cancer, I was always moving. Career, kids, household management, staying current with technology, side projects, social obligations. There was always something to optimize, something to fix, something to accomplish. I was good at it. I liked being good at it.

Then chemo forced me to stop, and suddenly I had something I haven't had in over a decade: empty space.

Not peaceful meditation retreat empty. Not vacation relaxation empty. Just... nothing to do. Nowhere my body will let me go. No energy to execute the long list of projects in my head.

At first, it was excruciating. I'd think of things I wanted to do and my body would laugh at me. Want to reorganize the garage? Too bad. Want to dive deep into that new JavaScript framework? Your brain can't retain information right now. Want to take the kids to the park? You'll be exhausted before you get there.

But after weeks of this forced stillness, something shifted. The boredom stopped being just frustrating and started being... useful.

The Space Between

There's research on boredom that I find fascinating. Psychologists distinguish between different types: indifferent boredom (low arousal, don't care), calibrating boredom (uncertain what to do), searching boredom (restless, looking for engagement), reactant boredom (trapped, want escape), and apathetic boredom (learned helplessness).

I cycle through most of these daily.

But here's what the research also shows: boredom, particularly the searching and calibrating types, can be a catalyst for creativity and self-reflection. When you're bored, your brain doesn't just shut off. It starts making connections it wouldn't make if you were constantly occupied. It asks questions like "what do I actually want?" and "what matters to me?" instead of "what's next on the list?"

Chemo gave me boredom I couldn't escape by opening another browser tab or starting another project. I had to sit in it. And in that uncomfortable space, I started rebuilding.

Building in the Margins

I can't do much, but I can do something. And that something has become surprisingly important.

I started therapy. Not because crisis hit and I needed emergency intervention, but because I finally had the mental space to recognize patterns I'd been too busy to examine. Childhood wounds I'd worked around instead of through. Thought patterns that served me once but don't anymore. Boundaries I never learned to set because I was always moving too fast to notice when they'd been crossed.

I'm building habits now that I wish I'd built years ago. Small ones, because that's all my body can handle. Drinking enough water. Taking medications on a schedule I created intentionally instead of reactively. Reaching out to friends before I'm desperate for connection. Asking for help before I'm drowning.

These feel boring compared to launching a new website or solving a complex coding problem. But they're the foundation I never built because I was too busy building everything else.

I'm thinking about what I want my life to look like after treatment. Not in the vague "someday" sense, but concretely. What kind of work do I want to do? How do I want to spend time with my kids? What relationships matter enough to protect and invest in? What am I doing out of obligation versus genuine desire?

These aren't questions you can answer while you're sprinting. You need the boredom. You need the empty space where the urgent isn't drowning out the important.

The Paradox

Here's the paradox I'm living with: I'm bored and frustrated by my limitations, and simultaneously grateful for what this forced pause is teaching me.

I want my energy back. I want to code for hours without brain fog. I want to play with my kids without needing a nap afterward. I want to feel like myself again - capable, productive, useful.

But I also don't want to lose what I'm learning in this space. I don't want to go back to constant motion without the foundation I'm building now. I don't want to resume my old patterns just because they're familiar.

Philosophers have written about the value of contemplation versus action for millennia. Aristotle argued that contemplative life was the highest form of human existence. Modern hustle culture argues the opposite - that your worth is measured by your productivity.

Cancer doesn't care about either argument. It forces you into contemplation whether you value it or not. And in that forced stillness, you realize both are necessary. Action without reflection is just motion. Reflection without action is just thinking.

I'm bored because I'm ready to act again. But the reflection happening in this boring space is shaping what those actions will look like when I'm finally able to take them.

What Boredom Built

When I come out of this - and I will come out of this - I won't be the same person who went in. Not because cancer changed me in some inspirational poster kind of way, but because the boredom forced me to examine who I was and decide who I want to be.

The therapy is working. The habit-building is working. The boundary-setting is working. Not perfectly, not without setbacks, but it's happening. And it's only happening because I had the time and space to do it, even though that time and space came wrapped in exhaustion and frustration.

I'm still bored. I still want to do more than my body will allow. But I'm also using this boredom to build something that might matter more than any project I've shipped or problem I've solved.

I'm building a version of myself that can sustain what comes next.

The boredom won't last forever. The treatment will end. My energy will return. And when it does, I'll have done the internal work that I was always too busy to do before.

That's not nothing. Even if it feels like nothing most days.

💜 Kayla