Cancer Blogs
Honest stories, practical support, and faith-filled encouragement for navigating cancer diagnosis, treatment, fear, and the emotions no one prepares you for.
Nobody warned me that cancer might make me angry. Not just scared or sad, but angry at what changed, what was lost, and how unfair it all felt.
Cancer can make vulnerability feel very physical — hospital gowns, scars, needing help, losing privacy, and learning to live in a body that may suddenly feel unfamiliar. You are not weak for struggling with that.
Cancer can be deeply lonely, even when you are loved and supported. Sometimes the hardest part is realizing that no one else can completely know what it feels like to live inside your body, your fear, and your uncertainty.
Cancer can make you angry—at your body, the timing, the losses, the people who do not understand, and sometimes even at God. Anger is not proof that you are handling cancer badly. It is a human response to something hard and unfair.
Cancer can bring grief long before anyone talks about loss. You may grieve your body, your plans, your routines, your confidence, or the version of life you thought you were living. That grief is real.
Cancer can make life feel impossibly full—appointments, paperwork, decisions, medications, questions, and emotions all arriving at once. If you feel overwhelmed, it does not mean you are handling cancer badly. It means you are carrying a lot.
Cancer can make fear loud—especially in the waiting, the uncertainty, and the quiet hours when your mind runs ahead. Fear does not mean you are failing at faith or handling cancer badly. It means you are human.
Cancer can bring emotions no treatment plan prepares you for. Fear, grief, overwhelm, anger, loneliness, and vulnerability are not signs that you are handling cancer badly. They are part of being human.
There are phone calls you remember for what was said — and phone calls you remember because your life split into before and after the moment you hung up.
What happens after the bell stops ringing? In this honest reflection, Kim shares the realities of cancer survivorship seventeen years later — the fear, lymphedema, long-term side effects, cost, gratitude, and hope that continue long after treatment ends.
When I was preparing for chemo, my husband created a quiet corner of our living room with plants, a small waterfall, blankets, books, and a chair that would hold me through some of the hardest days of my life. Seventeen years later, I still need that oasis. This is a personal and practical guide to creating a soft place to land during cancer treatment, surgery recovery, chronic illness, caregiving, or any hard season when your body needs holding.