There are things I wish I could say to the people in my life — the things that get stuck in my throat because I do not want to seem ungrateful, or difficult, or like I am asking for too much. But since you are here, and since this is a space where honesty is allowed, let me try.
I wish people understood that "how are you?" is a complicated question now. Before cancer, it was small talk. Now it is a minefield. Do you want the real answer? Because the real answer might make you uncomfortable. The real answer might be: I am terrified. I am exhausted. I threw up three times this morning. I am grieving a life I do not have anymore. But most of the time, I just say "I am okay," because it is easier for both of us.
I wish people would stop telling me about their cousin's neighbor's friend who had "the same thing" and is doing great now. I know it comes from a place of hope, but every cancer is different. Every body is different. And hearing about someone else's miracle does not reassure me — it makes me wonder what happens if I do not get one.
I wish people knew that I am still me. I still have opinions about movies, still care about politics, still want to hear the funny thing that happened at your work. Cancer is a huge part of my life, but it is not all of me. Sometimes the most loving thing you can do is treat me like a normal person having a normal conversation. I miss normal more than I can explain.
I wish people understood that "staying positive" is not a treatment plan. Positivity does not cure cancer. And when you tell me to stay positive, what I hear is that my fear, my sadness, my anger — the things I am actually feeling — are not acceptable. I need permission to fall apart sometimes. I need someone to sit with me in the dark without rushing to turn on the lights.
I wish people would stop disappearing. I understand that my illness makes you uncomfortable. I understand that you do not know what to say. But the silence hurts more than the wrong words ever could. You do not have to be eloquent. You just have to show up. A text that says "thinking of you" takes ten seconds and can change my entire day.
I wish people knew that cancer is not just a physical disease. It is a mental health crisis, a financial crisis, a relationship crisis, and an identity crisis, all happening at the same time. When you ask about my treatment, that is kind. But when you ask about my heart, my mind, my spirit — that is when I feel truly seen.
I wish people did not treat me like I am already gone. The way some people look at me now, with that particular softness in their eyes, like they are already rehearsing what they will say at my funeral — I see it. And it makes me feel like a ghost in my own life. I am still here. I am still fighting. Please see the life that is in me, not just the illness.
I wish people knew that the hardest part is not always the treatment. Sometimes the hardest part is the waiting. The waiting for results, for appointments, for the next scan. The way your mind fills every silence with the worst possible outcome. The way you hold your breath for weeks at a time.
Most of all, I wish people understood that I do not need you to fix this. I do not need advice or research or miracle cures. I need you to listen. I need you to stay. I need you to let me be scared without trying to talk me out of it. I need you to love me through this — not the version of me that is brave and inspiring, but the real me, the one who is scared and tired and doing the best I can.
That is enough. You are enough. Just be here.