What Cancer Taught Me About Strength
When people say, “You’re so strong,” I often think: strength isn’t loud. It’s not always heroic. Sometimes it’s just getting through the day. Sometimes it’s crying, then trying again.
Cancer taught me that strength doesn’t mean pretending to be okay. It means holding space for your fear, but choosing not to live in it. It means speaking up, asking questions, demanding to be seen.
During my darkest days—when treatments failed, when I was weak, when it felt impossible—I discovered a quiet power I didn’t know I had. Strength came from my daughter’s smile. My husband’s hand. A stranger’s kindness. A second opinion that led to a life-saving option.
My strength wasn’t born from bravery. It came from love. And love, as it turns out, is the fiercest fighter of all.
I used to think strength was something you were born with. Now I know it’s something you grow—bit by bit, tear by tear, day by day. And sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is simply keep showing up.
Whether you’re facing an illness, a loss, or a major life challenge—know this: your strength isn’t measured by how little you struggle. It’s measured by how much you choose to keep going anyway.
