After my last blog about all the dumb shit people say to someone with cancer, a lot of people messaged me saying:
“Okay but seriously… what should we say?”
And honestly?
Most people mean well.
I know that.
I know most people are not waking up in the morning thinking,
“How can I emotionally clothesline a sick person today?”
People panic around illness. Especially the kind that doesn’t have a clean ending or a motivational movie soundtrack. Silence makes people uncomfortable, so they start grabbing for whatever sounds hopeful enough to fill it.
That’s usually how you end up hearing things like:
“Everything happens for a reason.”
“At least you’re strong.”
“My aunt had that and she’s fine now.”
Meanwhile the person with cancer is standing there trying not to mentally leave their own body during the conversation.
The thing is, most of us are not expecting you to say something perfect.
We do not need a speech.
We do not need life advice.
We do not need positivity forced down our throats.
We do not need a podcast clip about manifestation.
And we definitely do not need to hear about somebody’s neighbor who cured theirs with mushrooms and positive thinking.
You know what actually helps?
Honesty.
Simple honesty.
“I’m sorry.”
“That really sucks.”
“I’m here.”
“How are you doing today?”
“Do you want to talk about it or would you rather talk about literally anything else?”
That’s enough.
Really.
One of the kindest things someone can do is let a sick person be honest without trying to immediately turn the conversation into a motivational poster.
If I say I’m tired, I do not need:
“You’ve got this!”
Sometimes I just need:
“I know.”
If I say I’m scared, please do not immediately start arguing with me about why I shouldn’t be scared.
Cancer is scary.
Losing pieces of your life is scary.
Watching your body stop feeling familiar is scary.
Sick people spend so much time trying to make everybody else comfortable with what’s happening to us.
Sometimes we get tired of performing bravery all the time.
And honestly? Some of the people who helped me the most barely said anything profound at all.
They just stayed.
They texted me normally.
They still included me in conversations.
They asked how appointments went and actually remembered the answers later.
They sat beside me without trying to fix me.
They sent memes instead of miracle cures.
They didn’t disappear just because things got awkward or heavy.
That stuff matters more than people realize.
Because when you’re seriously ill, people start acting weird.
Some people get overly inspirational.
Some disappear completely.
Some start talking to you like you’re already halfway dead.
Some only want updates so they can feel informed without actually showing up emotionally.
And some people surprise you in the best ways.
Sometimes support looks really small.
It’s someone bringing you a drink without asking.
It’s someone picking up your prescription.
It’s someone saying,
“Hey, no pressure to answer. Just thinking about you.”
It’s someone sitting in the room with you while you nap because you’re too exhausted to carry a conversation.
That’s love too.
I also think people are way too afraid of saying the wrong thing.
If you care about someone, they can usually feel that.
Even awkward kindness is still kindness.
What hurts more is when people vanish because they’re so afraid of imperfection that they decide saying nothing at all is safer.
I promise most sick people would rather hear:
“I don’t really know what to say, but I love you.”
than another recycled inspirational quote pulled from the depths of Facebook.
And another thing?
Please let sick people be funny.
Dark humor is sometimes the only thing keeping us from absolutely losing it.
There are moments in cancer that are genuinely absurd. Like crying over insurance paperwork while eating crackers at 3 p.m. in oversized pajamas after googling side effects you definitely should not have googled.
Sometimes laughing is survival.
Sometimes sarcasm is survival.
Sometimes making jokes about your own situation is the only way to feel like you still own part of it.
You do not have to look horrified every time we joke.
I promise we know cancer is serious.
We literally live with it.
At the end of the day, most sick people are not asking for perfection.
We just want to still feel human.
Not inspirational.
Not tragic.
Not somebody’s life lesson.
Not a walking reminder to “appreciate every moment.”
Just human.
And if someone you love is sick right now, you probably do not need better words.
You probably just need to keep showing up.
Thank you for reading. If you’d like more honest writing about cancer, chronic illness, dark humor, grief, and life with Mojo, subscribe to Mojo & The Mess.
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