You know what's wild about surviving cancer? It's not just the disease you have to survive – it's the aftermath of realizing who people really are. Recently, I had one of those conversations that make your soul tired. You know the type – where someone tries to rewrite history while you're still living with the scars.
Let me be crystal clear: I'm not sharing this from a place of anger. I'm sharing this because it's real, it's raw, and somewhere out there, another cancer warrior is going through the same thing, feeling crazy for feeling abandoned. You're not crazy, sis. Your feelings are valid.
After finishing chemo and surgery, I found my tribe at Camp Breastie. For the first time, I was surrounded by people who got it – really got it. No explanation needed. No fake smiles. Just pure, unfiltered understanding. And wouldn't you know it? That's when the guilt trips started rolling in.
One of my "friends" – and yes, those quotation marks are doing heavy lifting – had the audacity to get upset because I was spending time with "these cancer people" instead of her. Let that sink in. She really said that. The same person who couldn't be bothered to show up during my darkest days was now mad that I found people who did.
But here's where it gets even better (and by better, I mean more ridiculous): she went behind my back to text my mother. MY MOTHER. As if my mama hadn't been there through every appointment, every sleepless night, every tear, every moment of fear. As if my mama doesn't know exactly who showed up and who didn't. As if my mama would somehow take her side and say, "You know what? You're right. My daughter should totally prioritize hanging out with someone who disappeared during her cancer journey."
The audacity is astronomical.
Here's what I told her, and what I'll tell anyone who tries to justify their absence: "When you have to deal with your mortality, when you have to look death in the face and wonder if you'll see your child grow up, then tell me how you feel. Until then, you don't get to dictate how I heal or who I heal with."
These conversations feel like breakups because that's exactly what they are. You're breaking up with the idea of who you thought these people were. You're breaking up with the fantasy of friendship and facing the reality of who actually shows up when life gets real.
And you know what? That's okay. I'm alive. I'm here. I survived not just cancer, but the disappointment of realizing some friendships were as fake as those "get well soon" texts they sent months too late. If I had died, these same people would've been posting throwback pictures, crying about their "dear friend," acting like they were there through it all. But I'm alive to tell the truth, and the truth is, some people can't handle real friendship when it gets real tough.
To anyone going through this: it's okay to let go. It's okay to find your tribe elsewhere. It's okay to prioritize people who prioritized you when you needed it most. You don't owe anyone an explanation for surviving in the way that works for you.
Because at the end of the day, I'm not just surviving cancer – I'm thriving despite it. And I'm doing it with people who showed up, not just when it was easy, but when it was hard, ugly, and real. That's the kind of friendship worth fighting for.
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