I didn’t think my twenties would look like this.
There’s no manual for being a young adult with a terminal illness. No checklist for how to gracefully face the end of your life while everyone around you is just beginning theirs. While your friends are planning weddings, promotions, and babies — you’re planning how to say goodbye.
This blog is my space to talk about the things most people won’t. The things that make people quiet or awkward. The truths that live in the in-between of life and death. Because I’m still here. Still breathing, still living, still laughing — but also slowly dying.
Welcome to my Terminal Twenties.
When You’re Young, You’re Not Supposed to Die
Being young and dying feels like a contradiction no one wants to accept. People look at me and still see youth, energy, potential. They still say things like “you’ve got your whole life ahead of you” — and I nod, even though I know I don’t.
There’s something deeply isolating about watching the world carry on without you. Your social media feeds are filled with career wins, baby bumps, and vacations. Meanwhile, you’re learning how to read scan results, track symptoms, manage pain, and answer messages that start with “I don’t know what to say, but…”
Everyone assumes you’ll get better. But you know you won’t. So you smile, you comfort them, and you pretend for a few more moments that maybe it’s all just a bad dream.
I Carry It Quietly
Here’s what people don’t see: the endless fatigue, the quiet grieving, the moments in the shower when I sob so no one hears. The way I count down time in “how many more of these will I get?” The birthdays. The holidays. The texts from friends who say, “Let’s catch up soon” and don’t realize how heavy the word soon feels now.
And still — I carry it quietly. Not because I want to, but because people don’t know how to hold this kind of truth. So I soften it. I spoon-feed it. I wrap it in humor and gentle honesty. I make them feel okay, even when I’m falling apart.
Why I’m Writing
I’m not writing this blog to be brave or inspirational. I’m writing because I need somewhere for this grief to go. Because I want other people facing this — whether they’re young or not — to feel less alone. And maybe, just maybe, I want the people who aren’t dying to understand what it’s like when someone you love is.
This is not going to be a blog full of silver linings and positive thinking. It will be messy. It will be human. It will hold both joy and rage. Hope and heartbreak. Sarcasm and softness. Life and death.
Because that’s what my life is now — a beautiful, painful, weird tangle of all of it.
What Comes Next
I don’t know how many posts I’ll get to write. But I’m going to use whatever time I have left to say the things I mean. To tell the truth. To leave something behind that’s more than just silence.
If you’re here, thank you. If you’ve been avoiding these conversations because they scare you, I get it — they scare me too. But I’m done being quiet. I don’t have time for that anymore.
Welcome to Terminal Twenties. This is what dying young looks like — and yes, somehow, what living looks like too.
About Me
About the Author
Hi, I’m Izzy — a 20-something navigating terminal cancer, one honest post at a time. I live with grit, grief, and a grey Frenchie named Mojo. This blog is where I say the things people are afraid to, and hold space for all the messiness that comes with dying young.
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