The Unexpected Gift of Hardship

There’s a peculiar irony in the act of surviving cancer. One might assume that the end of treatment signals a triumphant return to normalcy, a victory lap, if you will. Yet, as I emerged from the fog of chemotherapy, radiation, surgeries, and a pathology declaration of a Complete Response (CR) and No Evidence of Disease (NED), I still found myself grappling with unsettling truths:

• The very act of surviving had irrevocably reshaped my life, my relationships, my understanding of gratitude.
• Late- and Long-term side effects are inevitable and relentless—In my experiences, the extremely rare and detrimental ones with an occurrence rate under 5% love me.
• The Universe has a wild way of getting Her point across—My loyal-to-a-fault ways, certain individuals, and low vibes are not in alignment for me, so, She pruned back.
• People truly do not understand the Survivorship phase—To me is the most difficult phase and as a young “healthy-presenting” person, I get judged.
• The PTSD is relentless—The swirling, ever-present fear of recurrence has not only invaded, but has taken residency and fully occupied and enlarged my amygdala.

When I was first diagnosed, I envisioned a battleground where I would fight valiantly, surrounded by loving family and supportive friends. I imagined a network of unwavering support, full of people who would rally around me, lifting me during my darkest days. Instead, what I encountered was a stark reality: COVID lockdown, people with E.Q.’s in the negative, being immunocompromised, egocentric family members refusing my oncologist’s suggestions to get COVID vaccines, and grief tourism all ultimately equated to my isolation and loneliness. Many of those I thought would stand by me faltered. The ones I believed would never leave my side, vanished when I needed them most. Instead of banding together in support of me, my husband, and our three small children, they chose to prop each other up by co-signing one another’s distorted opinions about my healthcare, my children and their education, and my how horrible it all is for my husband. The weight of this betrayal was heavy, and for a time, it consumed me.

I learned a harsh lesson about the nature of relationships. Cancer has a way of revealing the true colors of those around you. It strips away all façades, exposing vulnerabilities, insecurities, and foundational cracks that can lie hidden, beneath the surface, until exposed by a trigger, of sorts. I found myself surrounded by individuals lacking emotional intelligence, compassion, empathy, and at times, a conscience. I was encircled by coked-out teenage-baby Colin Robinsons. These energy vampires thrived on my downfalls and gluttonously fed on what little vigor I had left. They prospered on my struggles and offered little to nothing in return. But they also reinforced a lesson I had learned as a child, perhaps unintentionally, but nevertheless, giving me the gift of knowing that not everyone possesses the capacity to be there for others, especially when the weight of suffering becomes too much to bear.

As I sat with my feelings of anger and sadness, I realized that I had a choice. I could allow these experiences to harden my heart, or I could transform them into a catalyst for change. I chose the latter. I sought wisdom from The Universe, held onto my faith that She always has my back. My illnesses and struggles therein, were not merely about enduring hardships. The Universe chose to take over, probably due to my relentless loyalty and love. She knew I needed to “trim the fat” to ascend to where I belong. She pruned away the dead weight in my life to make space for new growth—fresh, light, beautiful, and pure. I began to understand that the loss of certain relationships, while extremely painful, created opportunities for new connections—bonds built on mutual understanding and support.

Through this process, I discovered The Herd. This incredible group of individuals became my sanctuary. Each person shares the commonality of being assaulted by cancer and having their hopes, dreams, expectations, plans, everything…ripped away and out from underneath their footing. These exceptional humans, each with their own stories of struggle and survival, became my sanctuary. They understood my daily difficulties that a cancer “muggle” could never grasp. In their presence, I felt seen and heard. I felt a sense of belonging I had longed for during my darkest days. It was in this communal space that I began to cultivate a new understanding of love and support. Amongst The Herd I didn’t wear the scarlet “C,” and I wasn’t viewed as the cancer-y walking talking-point, no longer the open-judgement show-pony. They already knew about this emotionally-averse group-think, this forced-upon-me “Cancer Girl” archetype, and the friend-ghosting, because it tends to happen to all of us. I couldn’t believe it; I wasn’t alone. The Universe, it seemed, had led me to these kindred spirits not by accident, but by design.

My handful of closest friends had all been replaced by a new handful of people. A small number of the most incredible humans, with the biggest hearts, darkest humor, deepest understanding, and unspoken understanding of it all created friendships that feel like family. These tight relationships saved me. When I was in the hospital for the first portion of 2025 with a full small bowel intussusception and eight other conditions, my cancer-friends were there for me, like no one else. They were there at any time of day or night to FaceTime me and help calm me down, one of my besties even stayed on with me, during a panic attack turned coronary infarction. He talked me through breathing, because he knew I didn’t trust the resident that turned the vitals screen away from me after I read it and shouted, “242 over 212?! Am I going to die?” My friend knows how to keep a calm demeanor and engage with me in a way that no one else does; eye-contact, soft voice, counting box breathing exercises, and little jokes here and there. He stayed with me throughout that whole panic attack, from start to rapid response.

I am profoundly grateful for these unexpected twists of fate. That hospital stay was long and daunting and I’m still recuperating. I acquired five more HCC diagnoses. Cancer is another tick on my list of hardships and taught me resilience in a way that I never thought possible. In retrospect, every infusion, each radiation session, every surgery, every moment of weakness, every time I was faced with my own mortality, every time I drove myself to treatments and appointments, were lessons in strength and patience. I learned to advocate fiercely and that no one knows my body like I do. Now, I demand the love and reciprocity I deserve. No longer will I accept anything less than a loving environment—a safe space where my loved ones can thrive, where support is not just an ideal but a reality. A place where I am allowed to be exactly who I am without judgement over my every action or word.

Currently, I am working to reshape my world. I love my friendships so much that I hope to recreate a similarly supportive environment, one that I have always desired, for my family. I am no longer the caregiver who gives without receiving. I am the architect of my own life, determined to construct a sanctuary of love and compassion. I refuse to allow the ghosts of my past to haunt me. Instead, I choose to honor them by creating a legacy of strength and kindness. I understand that we are Divinely protected, and this realization propels me forward, fearlessly. I give thanks to Creator each morning. My prayers have deeper intent, substance, devotion, and purposefully lack any generic, or basic benedictions. My spirituality and personal relationship with Creator has uplifted me and although my body is still in suffer-mode, I have never been more in alignment than I am, currently. I know my soul’s purpose and have every intent to follow through with my soul’s mission.

This chapter has not been easy, nor is it complete. There are still days when I feel the sting of loss, the ache of betrayal, the yearning for what I thought was. Yet, I have learned to sit with these emotions, to acknowledge their presence without letting them consume me. I have learned that it is okay to steep in my emotions. I now give a fuck less if they call me too sensitive, as I’ve reframed that to remind myself that type of comment is only said to me, when the receiver isn’t emotionally invested. I used to cry when they would call me too sensitive, now I pity those that cannot access compassion and express their emotions. I have realized that my worth is not contingent upon others’ actions or their inability to show up. If they wanted to be there for my family and I, they would be. I used to say, “I’m Not the One!” But, now, “I -AM- The One” in my narrative, the protagonist of my own story, and I am worthy of love and support. In this new chapter, I embrace that and those who uplift me and let go of everything and everyone who drains my precious energy. I am grateful for the lessons I have learned, as they have illuminated the path toward a brighter future. Each scar tells a story, and each story is a testament to my strength. I am grateful for the moments of vulnerability that have led me to this point. where empathy flows freely and understanding reigns supreme.

As I continue to reshape my world, I am filled with hope. I envision a home where laughter echoes, where love is palpable, where empathy flows freely, understanding reigns supreme, and where every member feels highly valued. Our sanctuary will be an oasis of love and light that welcomes growth, healing, and connection. I have learned that gratitude can be born from the most unexpected places. Cancer has taught me to appreciate the beauty in the ugly and the power of connection. The experiences I endured were not in vain; they were, in fact, the very foundation upon which I will build my future. I emerge from this experience, not just as a Survivor, but as a transformed individual who is embracing the unexpected. I will create a life for our family that is overflowing with love, joy, healing, unwavering support, and enough space to unapologetically live our truths. I am grateful for every challenge, every moment of weakness, for they have led me to a place of profound understanding and unwavering forte. And for that, I will always be thankful.