When this all began, people showed up. There were flowers, prayers, meals, messages. My phone buzzed with encouragement. Everyone wanted to be part of the story when it was new — when it felt urgent, inspiring, almost cinematic.
But cancer isn’t short. It doesn’t wrap up in a season finale with a miracle cure. It drags on. It lingers. It seeps into every corner of your life. And once the crisis stops being shiny and new, once the updates stop being “inspiring” and start being repetitive, people fade.
And suddenly, I’m left with a truth I wish I didn’t know: people get tired of you still being sick.
Pretending So They Don’t Turn Away
I’ve learned to tiptoe around my own reality, to soften the edges so people won’t flinch. I smile in photos when I want to cry. I say “I’m okay” when I’m not. I post filtered updates with scraps of hope at the end, because I know people don’t want the raw truth.
Even Pete sees me do this. He watches me laugh at a joke while my eyes say something else. He knows when I’m pretending — but I do it anyway, because I don’t want even him to feel the full weight of it.
And Mojo? He knows too. He curls into me on the bad nights, rests his little head against my chest when I can’t stop shaking. Dogs don’t fall for pretending. They sense the truth.
The Tiny Percent You See
The world only ever sees a fraction of this life. What I post, what I write — it’s maybe ten percent of the reality.
You don’t see Pete carrying me to bed when my legs give out.
You don’t see him standing in the kitchen at 2 a.m., exhausted, trying to figure out how to help when nothing does.
You don’t see Mojo pacing when I’m too still, pressing his paw against me like he’s reminding me to keep fighting.
If even the tidbits I share are “too much,” if people get annoyed by the small fraction I let slip through, imagine how heavy the rest really is.
The Annoyance of Still
What hurts isn’t just the silence — it’s the sense that my updates irritate people. That cancer has become old news. That the story they once rallied around is now something they scroll past with a sigh: “Still? She’s still sick?”
The likes dry up. The comments fade. The friends who once called every week now go months without a word. And meanwhile, the fight goes on — in my body, in our home, in the small ways Pete and I piece together a life that doesn’t look anything like what we imagined.
They Still Want My Love
And here’s the sting: those same people who turn away from my updates still expect my love and support. They tag me in their ventures, their celebrations, their fundraisers. They want me to clap for them, to show up for them, to give energy I don’t even have.
And I do, because I care. But the imbalance cuts deep. Because if they’re tired of hearing about cancer, how do they think I feel living inside of it every single day?
The Loneliness of Protecting Everyone Else
I carry my illness, but I also carry the weight of trying to protect everyone from it. I water down my pain so friends don’t turn away. I hide my tears so Pete doesn’t feel like he’s failing me. I smile for Mojo, because somehow even my dog deserves a version of me that isn’t always broken.
But sometimes I wish people knew how much pretending costs me. Sometimes I wish I didn’t feel like my honesty might scare people off.
The Ones Who Stay
And yet, there are some who stay. The ones who don’t get tired of “still.” The ones who read every update, who send quiet messages, who love me even when the story hasn’t changed. The ones who never make me feel like too much.
Pete stays. Mojo stays. And the few true friends who keep showing up, even now — they are proof that love doesn’t expire when the updates stop being pretty.
The Truth
Yes, I am still sick. Yes, I still post about it. Yes, I will keep sharing the truth even if it makes people uncomfortable. Because cancer doesn’t stop when people stop paying attention.
If my updates annoy you, imagine how exhausting it is to live them. Imagine how tired I am of this story.
And if you’re still here — if you haven’t turned away, if you still read, still check in, still hold me close in love or prayer — know this: you’re carrying me through more than you’ll ever realize.
💌 To the ones who haven’t grown tired — to Pete, to Mojo, to the handful of true friends who stay — thank you. Thank you for loving me in the “still.” Thank you for reminding me that while people’s attention spans may fade, real love does not. Please subscribe, share, and keep holding space for this story. I still need you here.
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