I Feel Like a Fraud…

Before Everything Went Off-Script And Other Cute Updates From The Cancer Chronicles

I feel like a fraud.

There. That’s the whole post.
Just kidding. Kind of.

I still can’t believe I’m typing these words.

Because how exactly am I supposed to talk about herbs for stress and sleep when I currently have heavy medication being pumped into my veins by trained professionals who wear gloves like I’m radioactive?

Like yes, please tell us more about nervines. Tell us about mugwort while you’re on a medication list that sounds like a chemistry exam.

I haven’t posted the rest of the 30-day herbal challenge because mid herbal challenge, I received a big fat diagnosis. I’m over a month behind on answering comments. The print edition of the tea tracker journal is just… sitting there.

I used to talk about listening to your body. Now my body mostly says “LOL no” and I listen to it from the bed.

And that little voice in the back of my head? The one that usually just critiques how I make sauces?
Now it says things like:

“If you knew so much about wellness, why didn’t you see this coming?”
“How can you write about herbal care when you’re literally on chemo?”
“Should you even be writing about wellness when you are medically unwell?”

Cool. Thanks, brain.

Here’s the part I’m still working through:
Even though my body is full of things I didn’t choose, it doesn’t cancel everything I knew before.
Turmeric still helped with the hematoma after my biopsies.
I still drink green tea when my nerves feel like a frayed charging cable.
I still believe in herbs, in rituals, in small acts of care, even when I can’t stomach them.
Even when the only thing I manage to brew is hot water and lemon.

After letting this rest in my drafts for a few days I think I’d be a fraud for not saying anything and posting my queued posts like nothing’s happening.

I’m in a part of the story where the narrator is tired, bruised, and full of medically sanctioned chemicals.

I still believe in tea.
I still believe in care that doesn’t require a co-pay.
I still believe in rest, rituals, and rage.

So when I do come back to writing about herbs for stress and sleep, it’s not from some clean, tidy place. It’s from this one.
Messy. Real. Slightly radioactive.

And if that still counts, then I’m still here.

Before all this happened, I was doing great at pretending to be someone who had a content calendar.

I was editing the videos for the herbal challenge (it was basil week and a pesto recipe). I had just about finalized the print version of the Tea Tracker Journal for its yearly edition. I was just started the next doctoral summer course, which I had to drop. I was procrastinating on a publication date for my novel about tea, fortune telling and dangerous women. (It’s set for July 14th now.) I’m still waiting on a literary agent to get back to me about the full manuscript she requested on a cozy magical realism project. (If you’re interested in my publishing journey, why I parted ways with my previous agents and the ups and down of publishing, you can find more under Books)

Then cancer walked in like,
“Cute hobby. Sit down.”’

So now I’m behind. On everything.
The challenge. The journal. The emails. The fiction. The comments. (Sorry. Truly.)

And I don’t know what anyone even wants to read from me anymore.

Which brings us to this incredibly professional reader engagement strategy I’m calling:

Please Tell Me What to Do.

What are you actually here for?

A ☐ The herbal challenge. Even if it’s chaotic, out of order, and sometimes features me halfway through a steroid crash.
B ☐ The journal stuff. Prompts, printable rituals, something to scribble in that isn’t a calendar full of medical appointments.
C ☐ Personal updates. Voice notes. Mildly feral observations from a person navigating cancer treatment with 40 tabs open.
D ☐ Book stuff. You want the fiction. The weird magic. The backstory. The unhinged tea society with family secrets.
E ☐ All of it. Chaos menu. Keep going.
F ☐ I forgot why I subscribed but I’m weirdly invested now.

Or let me know in the comments.

This isn’t a rebrand. It’s still me here, trying to make the next right thing.
And asking, politely, what that should even be.

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What’s Coming (If I Don’t Get Distracted by Lab Results Again)

A semi-consistent schedule of slightly unhinged realism about navigating health, healing, and herbalism when your life suddenly turns into an overplayed tv series you’ve seen multiple times yet still feels fake.

Upcoming posts may include:

• “Herbs I Can’t Take Right Now and Why I’m Still Mad About It”
  (feat. Ashwaganda, estrogen pathways, and rage-tea made from pure resentment)

• “Things That Helped That Shouldn’t Have: The Petty List”
  Includes: kitchen turmeric, an $8 ice pack, rage-cleaning one drawer, and grippy socks.

• “What to Pack for Chemo: Absolutely Unsolicited Advice Edition”
  Spoiler: bring snacks and headphones, not unresolved wifi expectations

• Things I Googled at 3 A.M.”
  (E.g., "Do you lose muscle mass napping for too long," "Travel nurses and Curcumin IV," "Green tea extract.")

• “Yes, I Still Believe in Tea. No, I Don’t Want to Talk About Detox.”
  Self-explanatory.

• “Is This Tired or Is This Medical?”
  A flowchart for when you’re not sure if you need a nap, magnesium, or a full blood panel. Get the blood panel, always.

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This is not a rebrand. It’s a continuation, just messier.
If you’re here for the chaos, and the completely unmarketable middle part of healing, pull up a chair.
Bring your tea. Or your meds. Or both.

I’m still here. And I’m still writing

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A parenthesis on Turmeric. It Helped. Even the Cheap Kind.

After the biopsies, I ended up with a hematoma.
Which is a very clinical way of saying: my chest turned into a bruised balloon that hurt when I breathed, rolled over, or made any sudden decisions.

I expected a little soreness. I did not expect to feel like someone had stitched a grapefruit under my skin.

There wasn’t much to do. Wait. Try not to Google too much.
But I did reach for turmeric.

Not a fancy capsule. Not some high-absorption biohacker blend.
I mean ground turmeric from the back of the cabinet, in a brown bag. The kind that may or may not be expired. Stirred into tepid water like an underachieving golden latte.

And guess what?

It helped.

Not dramatically. Not like a before-and-after ad. But enough.
The swelling eased up a little.
The pain backed off.
I didn’t win the fastest healing lottery, but I got a decent coupon.

Eventually, yes, I switched to a supplement with black pepper for better absorption. The kind that claims “2000% bioavailability” in fonts that scream wellness hustle. And yeah, it helped more.
But the plain turmeric?
Still worked.

You don’t need the perfect supplement to feel a shift.
You don’t need to time it with the moon or blend it with MCT oil and wishful thinking. Use what you have.

Sometimes, your body just wants something familiar that it knows how to use.

Turmeric has a long track record of supporting healthy inflammatory responses. That’s the sanitized version. My version: it made my bruised-up boob slightly less miserable. And that’s a win.

So if you’re dealing with swelling, bruising, soreness, or just feeling like your body is a badly run science experiment, turmeric will not fix it overnight, but it may absolutely sit in the trench with you and take the edge off.

Now remember turmeric is also a blood thinner, and is contraindicated to take before surgery. As you all know, check with your medical provider.

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Dosage and Safety Considerations

The information provided in this newsletter is for informational purposes only and is not intended as medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Herbal practices and uses discussed are not a substitute for professional healthcare.

While herbs are natural, they are also bioactive substances, and proper dosage, preparation, and use are important. Always follow reputable dosing guidelines for each herb and consult with a qualified healthcare provider before using any herbs, especially if you are pregnant, nursing, taking medications, have known allergies, or have existing medical conditions.

Anyone experiencing severe symptoms or managing chronic health issues should seek professional guidance before using herbs.

Individual responses to herbs may vary, and no outcomes are guaranteed. The author makes no claims regarding the effectiveness, safety, or suitability of any herb for any particular person.

Readers assume all responsibility for their personal health decisions based on the information presented. The author disclaims all liability for any loss, injury, or damage allegedly arising from the use or application of the information in this newsletter.

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Camille Charles is the voice behind The Minimalist Herbalist. Herbal researcher. Best-selling author. Professional over-doer of tinctures. Consumer advocate. Currently earning a doctorate in curriculum design, on a mission to make herbal education less confusing and more honest.

She believes learning about herbs should feel empowering, not overwhelming. You’ll find her distilling rose water in an Instant Pot, repurposing olive jars for cacao butter, and making overnight nettle infusions like it’s a sacred ritual. She talks way too much about womb health, nettle, and why your juicer is probably lying to you.

If there’s an herb for it, she’s tried it, and probably turned it into a teachable moment.

Grab a cup. Tea’s brewing.