The Work in Front of Me
Respectfully, I would ask that we stop interrupting women’s lives to tell them they should be leading different ones.
The Bible says that Jesus cast seven demons out of Mary Magdalene - meaning she most likely suffered from an illness not easily cured.
She contributed to Jesus’ ministry financially, so she had her own money, and there is no mention of her being married.
In other words, she did not live the typical life of a woman in that time.
I can relate.
And yet, she is the first person Jesus revealed himself to after he rose from the dead.
This in a time when women’s testimony was not permitted in a court of law because they were viewed as being lower than livestock.
Jesus instructed her to go and tell the others. She was the apostle sent to the apostles.
Ladies, you have so much more value than you’ll ever know because He placed it in you.
And that value doesn’t increase or decrease as your roles change, either at work or at home.
Imagine if Jesus yelled to Mary as she ran to share the news, “Girl, don’t forget to get maaarriieeeeddd.”
How ridiculous would that have been?
Because the message - then and now - is about Him. Killing sin and death.
That’s it. That’s the headline.
And Mary’s willingness to be present and responsive to what He called her to is a lesson for us all.
It reminds me of when I bought my condo.
I was young. Anxious, excited, happy, scared.
And someone said, “Don’t you think you should have waited until you got married to do this?”
Man, did that ruin my moment.
And it made me feel like what I was doing wasn’t real life because I hadn’t checked another box first.
Or instead.
Would I have liked to step into other roles? You bet.
But that might be a conversation better had with the men today, many of whom seem more interested in quantity over legacy.
It can’t just be me doing all the work and dragging a guy along for the ride.
A remarkable thing about women is that we won’t wait to multiply whatever you give us.
Bring me groceries, I’ll make you a meal.
Build me a dwelling, I’ll make you a home.
Give me a story worth sharing, I’ll spread that news far and wide.
This photo was taken at one of my favorite press conferences. We made the front page of USA Today. Good Morning America even gave us a shout out.
I felt a lot of satisfaction from this effort. And I think God, like any good dad, gets a kick out of watching His kids light up and fire on all cylinders.
There are some who say I shouldn’t occupy this space. That I’m in the minority.
But while society sidelines me, God never does.
He calls me loved, chosen, valuable, and trustworthy to carry His message. In return, I do the work that’s in front me, whatever that looks like.
It could be at a job. It could be taking care of family.
It could be reminding single friends younger than me that marriage and children, however wonderful and worthy, are not actually what God looks for in the end, and then setting an example of how to walk that out, practically.
Maybe someday my life will look different. Maybe it will include a husband or a different home.
In the last few years, I’ve had cancer and the world got swallowed up in COVID.
Again, I do the work that’s in front of me.
It’s been years since this photo was taken and I still show up for God.
I bring my sickness and my singleness and the hurt I carry from the world telling me I’ve done it all wrong.
Sometimes, that feels really heavy. And I believe the lies the world has told me that I don’t have a place in it.
But then there are times I take God at his word and, like Mary Magdalene, I’m there before anyone else, waiting to see what He will trust me with next.
Eva
This is a portrait of my great-grandmother Eva.
She came to this country from Poland through a church sponsorship program in Watervliet, NY. The church would help her get acclimated to America and, in exchange, she would work in the home of one of the church members. Her family only had passage money for one person at the time, so she would travel first and then her sister would follow.
But back then the mail didn’t move as fast as it does now and as she was crossing the Atlantic, a letter was headed to her home in Poland from the host family. They were moving and would not be there to take her in.
She arrived at her destination only to find the whole house empty, except for an apron that had been left behind on the kitchen floor. Overwhelmed, she sat outside on the front steps and cried.
She was 14 years old.
Luckily, a neighbor who was a member of the same church that was sponsoring her took her in. Her sister eventually decided to stay in Poland to get married, and while they exchanged a few letters, she would never see her family again.
A few years later, she met the man who would become her husband in that church. He just so happened to be from Poland. Never doubt how God will surprise you with a little piece of home just when you’re feeling so far from it.
I’m sad to say Eva passed away before I was born. I’ll never know how she managed to get herself from Ellis Island to Watervliet without knowing any English or the fear she must have felt as she walked through that empty house.
But one thing I do know is that I am only here today because she said “what if”. Her boldness had a ripple affect through generations.
I don’t know what you’re waiting on, but I don’t wait anymore. Let this be the year you step out. Leave the familiar behind. Be the first in your family.
You’re not just saying “yes” for yourself, but for all those coming up behind you. Even the ones you may never meet.
Shoulder to Lean On
Shoulder to lean on.
Soft place to land.
Patient through my stumbling.
Familiar with my pain.
Bearing my burdens.
Cancer healer.
Tear collector.
Heart mender.
Fiercest advocate.
Defender.
Protector.
Warrior.
Shepherd.
Solid ground.
Ransom payer.
Debt canceller.
Reconciling the impossible.
Teacher.
Savior.
King.
Loyal in my wandering.
Investor in my future.
Architect of my dreams.
Masterminding my victories.
Tailor of miracles.
Harbor in the storm.
Author of my story.
Disrupting my status quo.
Bending time tables.
Interrupting best laid plans.
Silencing my doubts.
Reassuring promises.
My journey’s end.
This is Christmas.
Buy the Shoes
Taking a look (not that far back 😉) through the archives.
This was the best way I knew how to celebrate my birthday after a cancer diagnosis ushered me directly into a global pandemic.
I called Dave Bigler at Saratoga Portrait Studio and Alayne Curtiss at Make Me Fabulous took the day off, and let myself forget how rapidly my world and the world around me had come unhinged.
Sometimes we need that.
It’s not denial - it’s a healthy defiance. Celebrate big. Every chance you get.
And for the love God, just buy the shoes! ❤️👠
All I Had
I was not expecting the calm that eventually rolled in like a fog this October.
I felt muddy. Trapped. I struggled to pray, to rally, to put up a fight.
And I think that’s a mistake we all make sometimes - thinking we need to do more.
Thinking we can manifest a victory in our own strength. Thinking God is ignorant or indifferent to our plight.
Thinking it depends on us.
Instead, I called to mind something I felt God put on my heart the first time around. I meditated on it for a bit, and left everything else with Him.
If you’re wrestling with something you can’t see your way out of, might I suggest you stop for a moment?
You weren’t meant to shoulder it.
You can’t overcome it on your own.
And there is rest to be found in letting go.
Three weeks of waiting; a simple petition for help. It was all I had in me. And it was enough.
Because He is enough.
He was already on the way.
And I felt it the strongest when I gave up the fight.
Matthew 12:21 - The mere sound of his name will signal hope.
October
October didn’t go as expected, but not much of this journey has.
As a survivor, you’re always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Wondering if that dormant volcano will awaken and erupt once again.
So when the nurse walked back into the room after my scans, shut the door and sat down, I didn’t need her to say that something looked suspicious and they wanted to biopsy as soon as possible.
I’ve been down this road before.
And as much as you train your mind not to wander off; as much as you settle it on victory, the body keeps the score.
In those first moments, it doesn’t care about breathing or waiting to see. Trauma cements a path through the brain.
The mere sound of the word ‘suspicious’ signaled a threat to survival.
But I am more than the limbo I lived these last three weeks.
I am the sum of my resolve to show up for every test, march on through the wait, and advocate for myself and others with room to spare.
I wrestle with the unknown until hope rises. I fall apart and carry on. I celebrate the wins, big and small, wherever I can get them.
It’s not just what a survivor does. It’s who a survivor is.
To that sweet soul of a nurse who sat next to me and rubbed my back without uttering a word while I sobbed, and then rearranged her schedule to squeeze the biopsy in on her shift - thank you.
Your kindness in that moment was such a precious gift to me this Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
This fourth anniversary of mine.
That and finally hearing my two favorite words in the English language:
All clear.
Wars and Rumors of Wars
Tensions are high this week. Personally. Globally.
Pending scans and anniversaries. Wars and rumors of wars.
I have never been so grateful to be a child of God.
I think about what it would be like to be caught in the crossfire of something I wanted nothing to do with.
To live with a target on my back.
To stare down the end of my life at the hands of someone who found joy in the taking.
Where would the ultimate comfort come from?
Not my family or friends. Not my co-workers. Not my president or my pastor.
From the same place I found it when the test results did not come back all clear.
Jesus.
Being pursued by him has been the greatest joy. Following him, the most unexpected adventure.
He’s already in tomorrow. He’s already written the end. And he holds me securely in his hands. Through whatever happens here or halfway across the world.
If you walked away, come back. If you’re on the fence, climb off. If you ever wondered if there was something more, there is.
The battles of this life will be many, but he has already won the war.
And his is the only side worth choosing.
Isaiah 43:1 - Fear not, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name, you are mine.
Sometimes I Miss Her
Sometimes I think about her. The girl I used to be.
The girl who never felt burned out.
Who was energized by a full calendar, not reduced by it.
Who never saw the inside of a doctor’s office or knew a single statistic by heart.
The girl who didn’t think twice about “wellness” or “balance” or “self-care”.
Because she felt free. And freedom was its own medicine.
I think about the girl who never had to brace herself for that “tough time of year”.
The girl who didn’t have to hibernate in October or shield her eyes from all things pink.
The girl who when she heard that someone had cancer, didn’t feel empathy burning a hole in her chest.
I think about the girl who never asked, “if something like this could happen, what else could?”
Because she didn’t have a “something like this”. Her somethings were reasonable, manageable.
The girl who assumed it would all work out for the best.
Who didn’t know any better.
Who never saw it coming.
Barreling along like a freight train. Destined for impact.
Sometimes I think about her. The girl I used to be.
And I miss her.
Photo: NYC, August 2019, two months before diagnosis
Breast Cancer Healer
I often see it in their eyes before I hear it in their voices.
“Oh, you had cancer? Oh, I’m sorry.”
Then they go on their way, not having any idea how difficult it is to reconcile my past experience with my current reality.
It’s a daily reckoning.
This print by Jessica Bond (Salt and Gold Collection) called ‘Breast Cancer Healer’ takes me back to the beginning and the vulnerability I still feel some days.
Weak.
Not able to defend myself.
Incapable of balancing the weight that is breast cancer on my own.
But in those early days I was also carried in ways too innumerable to contend this reminds me I always will be.
As much as I’m grateful for the time and distance slowly growing between me and my diagnosis day, I will never forget the season I sensed that something otherworldly had stepped in to fight on my behalf.
The force of God’s power to face head on what no else could.
The magnitude of His felt presence in the deepest caverns of my heart where there was nothing left.
That time He gently gathered me up and said, “I’ve got this.”
He went to battle on my behalf, even as He cradled me in His arms.
Isaiah 46:4
I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.
What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger…Sometimes
They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
Sometimes.
And sometimes it startles you from a sound sleep, heart pounding and breathless, wondering if what didn’t kill you will darken your door once again.
Lately, I feel as though everyone around me was given a full tank and I am running on empty.
Like I trained and tried out, but I didn’t qualify.
Sidelined.
The way otherness always makes us feel.
I watch as my peers post their milestones, breakthrough moments, and life events.
Meanwhile, I’m a walking encyclopedia of medical statistics and warning signs. A half-hearted running list of do’s and don’ts, questioning if it matters. Can anyone really know what makes a difference?
It’s a strange sort of half-life. Being the cautionary tale - the one people don’t want to end up like.
When it comes to cancer, will I ever have the last laugh?
I’m reminded there’s a difference between being buried and being planted.
One represents an ending. The other, eventually a beginning, but more so a safe-keeping.
God himself is tending to the ground above me, just like a gardener tends to his land.
Would a gardener plant a seed and not monitor its movements? Of course not.
He is deliberate in choosing the right location - just enough sun, not too much shade.
He waters it. He prunes it.
He guards it from frost. He clears away the dead leaves to make way for new life.
He provides it with everything it needs to flourish.
He does this day in and day out. He doesn’t expect the seed to perform without his help or blossom over night.
God is in no danger of forgetting to care for me daily any more than a gardener would plant a seed and leave it to shrivel in the sun.
I know this to be true even on days like today when the trauma triggers and I feel buried.
This is not my 'hallelujah, endure for a little while, and then it will all work out’ post because that’s not where I’m at today and I think it’s important to be honest with ourselves and each other.
This is my ‘I’ve been through a lot and some days are still hard’ post.
Does a seed ever experience guilt over not being farther along? How deep it’s planted? How often it rains or how long it takes to emerge from the damp, dark soil?
Not at all. It allows the gardener to do his work. It leaves the details to him. It gains its strength in the safe-keeping.
And when the time is right, it blooms.
A Glimpse of the Familiar
Not every scar carries a story I want to tell.
I’ll admit to avoiding some of mine. Their origins leave me feeling isolated - like no one understands.
Their presence is tied to deep-seated pain and things yet to be healed.
I wish I could erase them, and with them, all that led to their permanent mark.
After Jesus rose from the dead, one of his disciples named Thomas refused to believe it was really Him unless he saw the scars for himself (John 20: 24-27).
And Jesus, being who He is, provided the proof.
He invited Thomas to run his finger along the nail marks; to place his hand in the damage the spear undoubtedly left in his side.
Scars are such a hallmark of our broken human condition. I’m amazed that Jesus didn’t erase His.
What use did He have for such things?
He had just challenged the world’s oldest adversary and was named the undefeated champion.
The keys to death and hell were now stashed safely in his back pocket.
He was heaven-bound and no pain or past can live there.
Why not blot out any evidence of the horrors?
Because He knew we would still be here.
And that at times, hope would feel foreign, like a language we don’t speak or understand.
When I can’t relate to his power or purposes, I remember He was once human like me.
He experienced exhaustion, anger, disgust, and sorrow.
He understood what it meant to be abandoned by his friends and mocked by his enemies.
And more than I ever will, he knew agony.
He was whipped, beaten, and paraded through dusty streets.
Nails were pounded through both wrists and while dangling, a spear thrust into His side.
With the weight of all sin on His shoulders, His father turned away and the world went dark.
Throughout the hardest times of my life, even when I was physically alone, I have never been without God. But Jesus was that day. Led into the abyss that is utter rejection.
The invisible scars are often the hardest to bear.
If given the kind of power He had, by Sunday I would be obliterating the wounds of Friday.
But the Savior seeks to draw us close. And more often than not, it’s easier to get close to someone who understands what hurts, not just what’s whole and hopeful.
When I struggle to grasp His divinity - when it seems like no one understands the pain behind my scars - I remember His humanity.
He knows me well enough to know sometimes I require a glimpse of the familiar.
He loves me well enough to offer it if only to say, “I know.”
He had scars, too.
The First Day of Spring
On March 20, 2020, I walked out of my final cancer treatment, certificate of completion in hand. As if that was supposed to make me feel a certain way about what I had just been through. I did what was necessary to survive.
Two days later, the whole world shut down from the pandemic.
And that was the beginning of one of the hardest journeys I’ve ever been on. Learning who I was all over again. In many ways, meeting myself for the first time.
Taking one searing step after another, wanting to leave the past behind, but still feeling shackled to it. Afraid of what might be waiting for me just around the corner.
But God can use *anything* as a reminder that we are not defined by what tries to break us. He can and He will make All. Things. New.
Every year since, He has reminded me.
Every year since, March 20 has been the first day of Spring.
Isaiah 43:18-19
Do not remember the past events, pay no attention to things of old. Look, I am about to do something new; even now it is coming. Do you not see it? Indeed, I will make a way in the wilderness, rivers in the desert.
International Women’s Day
Someone else gets the raise.
Someone else gets the title.
Someone else gets a seat at the table.
I wasn’t overlooked. I stepped out of the way.
And it’s been a year since I said I didn’t want to be considered for the promotion.
I used to have a lot of trouble making these kind of bigger decisions. From a young age I believed that my worth was tied to how much and how well I produced. If I wasn’t hustling, I didn’t count.
As a result, I often said “yes” to things not meant for me because I thought it was what I “should” do. I was so worried about letting other people down that I never stopped to ask if I was letting myself down.
Now when faced with a decision, I ask myself two questions:
📌 Does this honor the life I’m trying to create? (life, not lifestyle)
📌 Will this cost me my peace?
When you answer these questions honestly, the situation quickly comes into focus, and you can stop second guessing yourself.
Money and an updated LinkedIn profile can be gratifying, but not more so than thriving health - physical and mental.
And it doesn’t matter how much it might make sense to someone else, or how much you are the obvious choice.
So here’s to buying back your freedom. Here’s to not being the boss.
Here’s to looking opportunity in the eye and saying, “Thanks, but no thanks. I have given enough.”
Valentine’s Day 2023
PSA: stop telling single women we’re not doing enough to find a spouse.
So many of us are in various stages of the search, taking a break from the search, or content but hopeful.
You don’t know what a woman has experienced that’s led her to where she is.
“Put yourself out there” is a directive that has long since worn out its welcome.
We are active in our communities, running businesses, and traveling the world. It doesn’t even apply.
And stop throwing around online dating like it’s a one-size-fits-all, one-stop shopping, magic bullet.
It might not be right for everyone and there are so many factors to consider when investing energy into strangers on the internet, beyond casual social media interactions.
When you’re married, no one is asking you what it is or why it is. You’re free to navigate the twists and turns as you both change and grow.
We are no different - we deserve the freedom and respect to navigate the journey we are on, and above all else, to just be able to LIVE.
Without the pressure. Without the time tables. Without the assumptions.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some calls to make.
Rest as a Rule
Cancer forced me into rest with an immediacy and a totality I had never experienced before.
More than just giving myself a break, it was a breaking. An all-systems shutdown. And I believe it was for more than just that season.
I’ve learned to experience rest as a rule, rather than the exception.
It’s not laziness or apathy, and it’s not a disregard for purpose, but a knowing where control really lies - it’s not with me.
I don’t have all the answers and I’m not supposed to. I can’t do everything, and I shouldn’t try to. I was never created to carry the weight of the world, or the weight of others’ expectations, on my shoulders. I’m not here to keep up with anyone else.
What today’s culture says I should be obsessed with obtaining usually tastes like empty calories for my soul: good going down, but no lasting nourishment.
God sees every major turn of events long before the calendar turns a page. He is not sidelined or shipwrecked by the surprises of life, or by my fear of them, and since I’m carried by Him, neither am I.
I can rest because He never does.
He leads with a gentleness and a kindness not otherwise known, but so often we run ahead to manifest solutions He already has - if we would just still ourselves long enough to listen.
So before we rush into the year like all our dreams and aspirations have caught on fire, let’s not forget the simple rhythms of rest He’s trying to teach us.
He already provided the way. All we have to do is walk in it.
Jeremiah 6:16
Cancer Days
It’s been a rough couple cancer days.
These are days marked by overwhelming emotions surrounding my diagnosis that I thought I had moved past.
Sometimes they are triggered by a pending anniversary (like the day I was diagnosed), but most often they sneak up in unexpected ways.
Either way, I am rendered useless.
Holding space for these days can be hard, especially in a world constantly preaching that ignoring feelings = strength.
It’s vital to acknowledge these days and take steps to work through them, instead of pretending you’re fine when you’re not.
It might look like this:
❤️🩹 Taking breaks throughout the day
❤️🩹 Cancelling commitments
❤️🩹 Treating yourself (pictured @bluebirdhomedecor)
❤️🩹 Fasting social media
❤️🩹 Journaling (this post counts)
❤️🩹 Reading scripture (Ephesians 1, Psalm 139)
Many times, taking care of yourself will look like disappointing some people #ohwell.
Courage isn’t always showing up for battle. Sometimes, courage is recognizing that you can’t. But you’ll try again tomorrow.
A special thank you to @ohyouresotough @msmindymiller and @natashaaftercancer for being such lights in this community.
Million Little Miracles
This morning I talked my sister through baking the 20 pound turkey she got for free. I can’t wait to see how it turns out.
In a while I’ll start the drive to my Grammy’s house in Utica. She’ll be 90 in April. I love how I feel when I walk in her house almost as much as I love her stories.
Later we’ll FaceTime with my aunt and uncles. We’ll laugh when Grammy tries to hold the phone to her ear. And then Grammy and I will head out to eat a delicious dinner neither of us has to cook.
Tomorrow I’ll probably eat cake for breakfast 😉 🍰 and then head over to see Katie Aiello at Character Coffee. Take note if you’re in the Utica area - it’s the best.
Then I’ll head home to the sweetest, floofiest boy I could ever hope to have. He’ll be waiting at the door for me, just like he always does.
When I was little I thought my life would look a lot different. I thought more would have happened by now. That I would never get sick until I was old.
But something gets lost in the imagining of what could have or should have been. We miss the million little miracles all around us. Many we never could have imagined.
Today I’m grateful for my health, and grandmothers, and long drives, and free turkeys, and FaceTime with family, and coffee shops, and floofy fur friends, and cake for breakfast.
And the God who saw fit to send them all to me. ❤️ #MillionLittleMiracles
These Three Years
October 2019.
They say nothing can prepare you to hear the words, “you’ve got cancer.” It might have been the last thing I expected, but preparations were being made on my behalf.
Late that summer, I found myself dropped from commitments I had been looking forward to, suddenly and without cause.
Calendar cleared.
My direct report at work started two days after I was diagnosed. But planning for his arrival began almost exactly one year before.
Workload covered.
I traveled more in the several months before than I had in a long time. There were unexpected invites and last minute plans with good friends.
Joy stored up.
And the way I found it - when every doctor asked me to show them what I saw that led me to make the call, I couldn’t. Because it was gone.
Sent as a messenger nudging me to take action, it disappeared as mysteriously as it arrived.
There are still days, especially in October, I lose myself in the “what if’s” and “why me’s”. There have been countless tears, prayers, triggers, and seemingly missed opportunities.
Times I curse being so different from other women and I wonder what God could possibly be doing.
But God didn’t rush in halfway through the day I was diagnosed, like someone late to an emergency, scurrying around to put out fires.
Throughout countless days that bled into weeks I assumed counted for nothing, He was behind the scenes, aligning the miraculous. All I saw was the mundane.
The God who speaks galaxies into existence and balances the Earth on its axis and prevents it from pummeling into the sun, narrowed in on this girl’s life and with painstaking precision, paved the jagged terrain I would tread.
Who am I?
That you would go before me and lead me all the way to the end is my anchor in this wave-battered world.
I am Yours. I am Loved.
Before these three years and through all that is to come.
Isaiah 45: 2-3
I will go before you
and will level the mountains;
I will break down gates of bronze
and cut through bars of iron.
I will give you hidden treasures,
riches stored in secret places,
so that you may know that I am the Lord,
the God of Israel, who summons you by name.
Psalm 139:5
You hem me in behind and before…
Instead of Pink
“Good heavens, woman! This is war, not a garden party!”
Dr. Meade snaps at poor Aunt Pittypat in this iconic Gone With the Wind scene that finds her seriously stressing over Scarlett being unchaperoned while bombs explode all around them. They were in the middle of the Civil War.
Read the room Aunt Pittypat.
Breast cancer blew up my life in October 2019, and when the dust finally settled I came to a harsh realization about Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
While I was at war, everyone around me floated through October like it was a garden party.
Don’t get me wrong, I had been there, too.
Prior to D-Day (diagnosis day), my Octobers were full of all things pink. I attended the brunches and bought the lipsticks. I wrote checks, but never questioned where the money was going or if it really helped anyone.
Supporting a colorful cause was fun. Living with breast cancer was anything but.
After my diagnosis, I could no longer view cancer through the lens of statistics or a cause. It had become my very messy and terrifying reality.
And I found myself challenged to help fellow survivors in ways that are meaningful to them.
I’m committed to putting the focus back where it belongs: cancer patients.
In many instances, only a small percentage of your purchase or donation is actually benefitting patients. And even then, it’s most likely not in a tangible way.
In light of this, I’m choosing to make my donations to the New York Oncology Hematology Community Cancer Foundation, and I hope you will consider doing the same.
Since 2000, the Foundation has been providing financial assistance to cancer patients in the form of necessities that meet their daily needs, such as:
Groceries
Gas
Rides to treatment
Medicine not covered by insurance
That’s just to name a few. The best part? 100 percent of tax-deductible donations go directly to patients right here in the local community.
Many awareness campaigns glamorize what is undoubtedly one of the most devastating events a woman can experience.
As a survivor who was diagnosed in the middle of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, I can tell you that seeing people wearing pink in October doesn’t make me feel more supported. And that little pink ribbon is just that - a little pink ribbon.
Let’s actively get meaningful assistance in the hands of those who need it.
Instead of buying things we don’t need. Instead of brunching for a cause.
Instead of pink.
What (Not) To Say To A Cancer Survivor
When you find out someone you know has cancer, there may be pressure to say the right thing. But sometimes, in an effort to be helpful, your words can have the opposite effect.
I’ve gathered together some of the responses I’ve heard that are better left unsaid, and also a few that felt like a warm hug in the midst of my pain.
#1. Everything happens for a reason.
This seems to be the go-to catch phrase when something happens that we didn’t want to happen. We live in a world obsessed with finding and assigning meaning. To everything.
Cancer didn’t have a role or a responsibility to accomplish something in my life. I won’t give it that kind of power.
Saying there is a reason for it feels like it’s justified. That it “had” to happen. There is no justifying cancer for the cancer survivor.
#2. My cousin had cancer. She died.
I came face-to-face with my own mortality at 38. I’ve never felt so scared. And I’ve never felt so alone. The last thing I need (but unfortunately hear more times than I can count) is someone telling me that someone died from cancer. This just feeds the fear. Not helpful.
#3. Learn from it, grow through it, become better.
Cancer is a disease straight from the pit of hell.
It is not an enlightenment program or a life coach. It’s not my teacher. It’s not a gift.
From every appointment, to every new specialist, every scan, every memorized statistic, every agonizing call with an insurance company, every sense of overwhelm in the aftermath - the same aching urgency holds true: just get me through it.
It’s not about becoming a better version of myself.
I don’t need the pressure to become stronger. Surviving is enough.
#4. Well, at least it’s not…..(insert something you think is worse).
At least it’s not Stage 4. At least you still have your hair. At least you’re not my cousin who died. At least….and the list goes on.
Please don’t ever compare traumas. And please don’t try to explain why I should be feeling differently. Allow me to share as I see it; as I lived it, without your speculation on how you think it should be.
There is no such thing as an “easy” cancer. And a diagnosis doesn’t need to be any worse for the survivor to be justified in how they’re feeling.
#5. You’re so brave. You’re so strong.
I can tell you what I didn’t feel after my diagnosis: brave or strong.
I did what I did because I was given no other choice.
I felt weak, scared, tired, angry, sad, confused, lost, and overwhelmed. Sometimes all in the same hour. I’ll let you in on a little secret: almost three years later, I still feel all these emotions at times. That’s what trauma does. There’s no need to prop someone up in this way. It’s ok to not be ok. Let me be not ok.
So, what IS helpful? Read on.
#1. I hate that you’re going through this. I hate that this happened to you.
Even “I’m sorry” can feel trite sometimes. Acknowledging you hate this experience for someone will make them feel seen. It makes me feel seen. Because believe me - I hate it, too.
#2. What can I do to support you?
We often want to support people in the way that we want to - which isn’t necessarily what they need.
This places stress on the person you’re trying to help to appear grateful and make YOU feel appreciated.
Please respect boundaries.
Ask a cancer survivor what is helpful and how they would like to be supported. If it’s too much for you, it’s ok to say that or get someone to help you.
#3. I don’t know what to say, but I’m here for you.
If you don’t know what to say, it’s ok to say that. I appreciate when people don’t try to “make sense of it all” or share their Hallmark version of wisdom. Just knowing they are there if I need them is comforting.
#4. Be still. Listen.
Show up.
Mail a card.
Be available.
Learn how to sit with someone in their grief without trying to fix it.
It’s not over when treatment ends.
Imagine a marathon runner.
Their body is being pushed to the limit. They’re mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted. When the race starts, they are surrounded by people cheering them on.
But then imagine they round a corner to cross the finish line and no one is there because everyone went home.
They are at their weakest, most vulnerable, and most out of breath. Isn’t this when they need the most support?
Cancer is a marathon, not a sprint. And it changes you forever. There’s just no way around that.
You don’t “go back to normal” when cancer treatment ends any more than a marathon runner strolls down the street to pick up their dry cleaning after they cross the finish line.
In my case, my appearance never changed, and it was easy for people around me to assume I was fine and that my life went back to normal.
It didn’t. It still hasn’t.
A cancer survivor still needs community even after (especially after) treatment is complete.
They are lost and hurting and they are rebuilding themselves from scratch - trying to figure out who they are and where they go from here. In my case, that was happening at the start of a global pandemic. And for many, it means a new phase of treatment and medications.
The end of treatment is not “the end,” it’s just another phase of the journey.
Cancer and its aftermath has a ripple effect on survivors of all ages, but especially young survivors.
Don’t stop asking how we are doing.
Don’t pretend that it never happened.
Continue to show up in whatever ways you are able.
Understand that because cancer affects nearly every aspect of life, it’s bound to come up in conversation at some point. Yes, even after you think the time for that has long passed.
Keep in mind, we’re not looking for the perfect answer or something that will calm all our fears - we recognize that doesn’t exist.
But, with the right kind of support and gestures, you can bring much needed comfort when it’s needed most.
No answers required.