Mojo and the Mess

If you want to help someone going through chemo…

first, just know that the fact you’re even asking already matters more than you think.

A lot of people don’t ask.

Or they don’t know what to do, so they do nothing.

So if you’re here trying to figure it out—you’re already doing something right.

I get asked a lot what helps.

What to send.

What someone going through this actually needs.

And the truth is… it’s not always what people expect.

Because chemo isn’t just being “a little sick.”

It’s not something you bounce back from in a day or two.

It’s your body completely out of sync with itself.

There are days where nothing stays down. Not food, not water—nothing. Days where you’re dry heaving and your head is pounding because you’re dehydrated, and even trying to sip something feels like a gamble. Days where the nausea doesn’t come in waves—it just stays, all day, like it’s not going anywhere.

So when you’re thinking about helping someone, think about that version of a day.

Not the good day.

The worst one.

What actually helps in those moments isn’t fancy—it’s practical.

It’s having something around that might settle your stomach when everything sounds awful. Sometimes that looks like electrolyte drinks instead of just water, because hydration becomes a real issue fast. Sometimes it’s ginger chews, peppermint tea, or those little anti-nausea drops—anything that might take the edge off even a little. Sometimes it’s just crackers sitting next to you because it’s the only thing your body might tolerate.

It’s having something to get rid of that constant weird taste in your mouth—hard candy, mints, popsicles—because food stops being enjoyable and starts feeling like a chore.

It’s comfort, but not in a “treat yourself” kind of way.

More like a “get through this hour” kind of way.

Soft blankets. Loose clothes that don’t irritate your skin. Socks. A decent pillow. Things that make being stuck in bed a little less miserable, because there are a lot of hours spent there.

Sometimes it’s the smallest things—lip balm because your lips are constantly dry, unscented lotion because your skin feels off, face wipes or dry shampoo for the days when a shower just isn’t happening no matter how much you want it to.

And then there’s the part people don’t always think about—

Life doesn’t pause just because you’re sick.

You still need groceries.

You still need meals.

You still need things your body might not have the energy to go get.

So if you really want to help someone?

Send the Uber Eats gift card.

Send the Instacart gift card.

I’m serious.

That’s the kind of help that actually changes someone’s day.

It means they don’t have to stand in a kitchen when they feel like they might throw up.

It means they don’t have to walk through a grocery store feeling weak and dizzy.

It means one less thing they have to figure out when everything already feels like too much.

It’s not impersonal.

It’s relief.

And then there’s something that matters just as much as all of that.

How you show up.

If you want to help someone going through chemo, don’t make them feel like they have to be okay for you.

Don’t wait until you know what to say perfectly.

Just check in.

Send the text.

Let them know you’re there without expecting anything back.

Some days they won’t respond.

Not because they don’t care—but because they don’t have it in them.

And the best kind of support is the kind that understands that.

The people who stick around without needing you to perform being “strong”… those are the people you remember.

So if you’re trying to help someone going through chemo…

Don’t overthink it.

Think about their hardest day.

Think about what would make things just a little easier in that moment.

Something small they might be able to tolerate.

Something soft.

Something that takes one thing off their plate.

Or even just showing up in a way that says, “You don’t have to do this alone.”

That’s the kind of help that actually matters.

And if you’re reading this because you’re in it…

I know how hard this is.

The kind of tired that doesn’t go away.

The kind of sick that doesn’t let up.

The kind of days where you’re just trying to get through the next hour.

You’re not weak for struggling with this.

This is just really hard.

And you’re still here anyway.