First—take a deep breath.
I know it feels like the air has been knocked out of your lungs, like you’ve been shoved into a story you never wanted to be in. That one word—cancer—can echo louder than anything else. You hear it when you wake up, when you try to fall asleep, in the way people look at you now, even in their silence.
You probably don’t know what to feel yet. And that’s okay. Shock, fear, anger, numbness—sometimes all of them in the span of five minutes—it’s normal. You don’t have to decide today whether you’re “brave” or “strong.” Right now, all you have to be is here.
What I Wish Someone Had Told Me
You don’t have to be strong right away. People will call you brave because they don’t know what else to say. But the truth is, bravery isn’t always roaring—it’s also showing up to the appointment even when you’re terrified, it’s crying in the shower, it’s still getting out of bed when your body feels like a stranger. You don’t need to learn everything at once. The medical words are overwhelming. Appointments feel like a new language you’re expected to be fluent in immediately. It’s okay to ask, Can you slow down? Can you say that again? Write things down, bring someone with you, record the visit if your doctor allows. You don’t have to absorb it all in one sitting. Your life just split into “before” and “after.” That’s its own grief. Mourn it if you need to. You don’t have to rush into positivity or gratitude—you can love your life and still grieve what was stolen from it. People will surprise you. Some you thought would be your anchors may drift away. Others will show up in ways you never expected. Both are painful and beautiful in their own way. Let yourself lean on the ones who do show up. You are not alone. Even though it feels like your world has gotten very small, there are so many of us who have sat in the chair, waited for the scan, felt that pit in our stomach. We get it. And we’re with you, even if it’s through a screen.
One Step at a Time
Right now, it’s enough to just get through today. Tomorrow will come whether you plan for it or not, so give yourself permission to live one step, one breath, one appointment at a time.
If you’re looking for guidance or just a place to start, I’ve gathered some things that have helped me along the way—check out the Resources Page. It might help take a little of the weight off your shoulders.
And if you have questions—or even if you just want to say how you’re feeling—drop them in the comments. This community will rally around you. You’ll be surprised how many people will show up to remind you that you don’t have to do this alone.
If no one has said it yet, let me be the first: I’m so sorry this is happening to you. But you are seen. You are held. And you are not walking this road by yourself.
🐾 Mojo’s POV
Hey. It’s me, Mojo. I don’t really understand all the big words the doctors use, but I know this: you are still you. You still smell like home, you still deserve cuddles, and you still make the world better just by being in it. So when it feels too heavy, come sit down. I’ll curl up next to you, and we’ll take this one nap at a time.
📩 P.S. Don’t miss future posts—subscribe to get them straight to your inbox. You’ll always know when new resources, letters, and Mojo moments are live.
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