I’m Not Brave—I’m Just Living My Life
People often tell me I’m “brave” because I have cancer and I still go out in public. I get told it when I’m picking up groceries, meeting a friend for coffee, or even just walking down the street.
But here’s the truth: I’m not being brave. I’m just living my life.
Cancer doesn’t press pause on everything else. I still need food in the fridge. I still want fresh air. I still crave connection. What people see as bravery is, to me, simply doing what I can to hold onto normalcy. Because if I wait until I feel “better” or “stronger,” I might miss out on the life that’s still here for me to live.
I’m no braver than anyone else. I didn’t sign up for this journey. I didn’t choose it. And neither did the millions of others who face it every year. We just deal with what’s in front of us, one day, one hour, one breath at a time.
And something I’ve noticed—far too often—is how many people quietly pull me aside and say, “I had cancer too. But I didn’t tell many people. Just close family.”
They whisper it. Like it’s a secret. Like it’s something to hide.
That hurts.
Not because they didn’t tell people—they have every right to navigate their diagnosis in whatever way feels right to them—but because I hear the why.
They didn’t want to be treated differently.
They didn’t want the pitying looks or the awkward silence or to be defined by an illness. And so they kept quiet. And that tells me something important:
There’s still stigma around having—or having had—cancer.
Somewhere along the way, cancer became something people are scared to talk about. Something people feel they need to protect others from hearing. Something that changes how others see us. And that’s not okay.
The reality is, cancer touches so many lives. It’s not rare. It’s not shameful. It’s not a reflection of weakness or failure. It’s something that happens to people—mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, friends, coworkers—people who are living, loving, and doing their best just like anyone else.
We need to talk about it more. We need to normalize it. We need to make it safe for people to say, “I have cancer” or “I had cancer” without feeling like they’ll be viewed through a different lens.
Because people with cancer aren’t inspirational for going to the store or grabbing a coffee—they’re just people, continuing their lives however they can. And that shouldn’t be seen as exceptional. That should be seen as human.
So the next time someone opens up to you about their diagnosis, honour their honesty. Listen without pity. See them for who they are—not what they’re facing.
And if you’ve been through cancer yourself—whether you’ve shouted it from the rooftops or whispered it to only a few—you’re not alone. Your story matters. You shouldn’t have to carry it in silence.
Let’s change the conversation. Let’s strip away the stigma. Let’s create a world where no one feels like they have to hide what they’re going through.
Because strength isn’t in silence—it’s in honesty, in community, and in just getting through the day.
And that? That’s something we all share.
bravebraverycancercancer fightercancer survivor
