Staying Grounded in Reality
I’ve been using this blog as a place to process what’s happening - to keep a record of what I’m going through, what helped, what didn’t, and what I’m feeling along the way. I want it to be an honest space, but I also try to keep it positive. Still, not everything is sunshine and silver linings, and today, I need to write about some of the harder parts.
When Support Is Silent
Some people in my life – people who know exactly what I’m going through – have responded with near silence. No calls. No texts. Not even a simple “thinking of you.” And it hurts. I’ve shown up for them in the past. I’ve cared, I’ve helped, I’ve listened. And now, in one of the scariest chapters of my life, their absence feels like a deep cut. I’m not trying to shame anyone – I just wish it wasn’t this way. It’s part of the emotional weight I carry, right alongside the physical one.
Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. And I’m hurt.
The truth is, serious illness can make people uncomfortable. They don’t always know what to say, or they’re afraid of saying the wrong thing. Sometimes, being near someone going through cancer is too much – it makes them confront things they’d rather not. It reminds them that this could happen to them. Illness can strip away familiarity. Suddenly, you’re not just you anymore – you’re “the person with cancer.” And that shift in identity, even in the eyes of others, can feel incredibly lonely.
But I also want to say this: others have stepped up. Beautifully. I’ve had friends and family members who’ve sent thoughtful messages, checked in by phone, even just said, “I’m thinking of you.” And those small acts? They mean the world to me. They help patch up some of the hurt. Every single message, every call, every gesture makes me feel a little less alone. I don’t take any of it for granted. It doesn’t erase the sting of the absences - but it helps. It truly helps.
False Hope, Real Fear
Another hard part of this journey is the constant flood of “cures.” I love vitamins, minerals, and supplements - I believe they help support a healthy body. But I don’t think I believe they cure cancer. And with my life on the line, I just can’t afford to gamble. I wish it were that simple - a tea, a pill, a natural miracle - and I genuinely want those things to be true. I’d love to avoid surgery, radiation, and long-term medication. But I can’t risk everything on hope alone.
And I’m not just talking about advice from well-meaning friends. I see it constantly online - in Facebook groups, Instagram posts, Twitter threads - all promising secret, natural cures. I want to believe. I really do. But I’m scared of falling for something that isn’t real, and then looking back with regret. So, I’ll continue with evidence-based treatment. If something natural supports me along the way, I’ll gladly include it - but not instead of what science and experience say will give me my best shot.
Yes, I Feel Sorry for Myself
And yes - I feel sorry for myself sometimes. I can’t believe this is happening. I don’t want to go through any of it. I wish I could wake up and have it all be a nightmare. I find myself thinking, I don’t deserve this. I’ve always tried to be kind. I’ve been helpful, generous, loving. Why would this happen to me?
But then I remember - most people feel that way. Nobody deserves cancer. Nobody deserves pain. It’s not that life is unfair to me, it’s that life is just… unfair. To everyone, in different ways.
So I let myself feel the sadness, the fear. I acknowledge the anger, the exhaustion, the loneliness. And then I keep going. I take another step. I keep choosing treatment, and hope, and love - because that’s the best way forward.
And for today, that’s enough
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