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.