There are things people don’t talk about when you get diagnosed.
They talk about treatment plans and side effects and support systems and “staying positive.”
But no one prepares you for how much cancer shakes your faith.
In God.
In the universe.
In meaning.
In the idea that someone, somewhere, is listening.
And honestly? I wasn’t prepared either.
People think cancer makes you more spiritual. It didn’t — it made me conflicted.
Everyone assumes that getting sick turns you into someone who suddenly understands the mysteries of life.
That you get softer, wiser, closer to God.
But nobody tells you that sometimes it does the opposite.
Sometimes it leaves you sitting in a dark room asking questions you’re scared to say out loud:
Why me?
Why now?
Why this?
Where are You?
Are You even there?
I feel guilty even thinking those questions, but they show up anyway.
I want to believe in something bigger… but I’m mad at the very thing I’m supposed to trust.
I grew up hearing about purpose and plans and God never giving you more than you can handle.
But cancer feels like more than anyone should handle.
It feels cruel.
It feels lonely.
It feels like a punishment even though I know it’s not.
It feels like being dropped into deep water and told to swim with broken bones.
And sometimes I sit there thinking:
If there is a plan — why does it look like this?
People say “God gives His toughest battles to His strongest soldiers.”
I don’t feel strong.
I feel tired.
I feel scared.
I feel human.
I’m not a soldier. I’m a girl trying to get through the day without crying in the shower.
I’m a wife trying to memorize moments because I don’t know how many I get.
I’m a person fighting a disease that doesn’t care how much faith I have.
And when people toss that phrase at me, it makes me feel like I’m failing twice — once physically, and once spiritually.
Some days I feel God. Some days I feel nothing at all.
There are moments when I’m curled up on the couch, sick and hurting, and Mojo climbs on my chest and stares at me like he’s guarding my soul.
And I think: Maybe this is God. Maybe God shows up through the things that love us when we can’t love anything back.
Then there are days when my body hurts so much I can’t breathe, and I sit there wondering if praying even matters.
If anyone is listening.
If the silence is an answer in itself.
My faith comes and goes like waves — sometimes steady, sometimes violent, sometimes not there at all.
What nobody tells you is that questioning your faith doesn’t mean you’ve lost it.
It means you’re human.
It means you’re hurting.
It means you’re reaching for something, even if you don’t know what.
Faith isn’t a straight line.
It isn’t pretty.
It isn’t peaceful.
Sometimes faith looks like screaming in your car because you feel abandoned.
Sometimes it looks like whispering a prayer even when you’re angry at the One you’re praying to.
Sometimes it’s just surviving another day.
I don’t have all the answers — I barely have any.
But here’s what I’m learning:
You can believe in God and still feel betrayed.
You can pray and still feel scared.
You can question everything and still cling to the hope that something, somewhere, is holding you together.
You can be faithful and furious at the same time.
And none of that makes you a bad believer.
It makes you a real one.
If you’re struggling with your faith too, you’re not alone.
This journey breaks things inside you — including the parts you thought were unshakeable.
But maybe faith isn’t about never questioning.
Maybe it’s about still reaching for the light, even when everything feels dark.
Maybe it’s about showing up in the moments when it would be easier to shut down.
Maybe it’s about believing in something — even a tiny something — when belief feels impossible.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.
💗 Subscriber Note:
Thank you for reading, for sharing, and for sitting in these hard conversations with me. Struggling with faith during something as brutal as cancer is isolating, but your support reminds me I’m not walking it alone.
If you’ve asked how to help, here’s my Amazon list with the things that make these long days a little easier:
Leave a comment