Navigating Cancer with Resilience
In my last article, I shared part of my journey with chronic illness. I was deeply moved by the response—so many of you reached out with your own stories, reflections, and encouragement. Your words were both comforting and healing, reminding me why these conversations matter.
That exchange also helped me prepare for the following few pieces in this resilience series, which explore some of life’s harder topics. This one is about living with another illness: cancer.
Nearly 40% of people will be diagnosed with cancer at some point in their lifetime. Several people I love have faced breast, prostate, colon, and pancreatic cancer in recent years, four of the most common of the ‘Big C.”
Since I have not traversed the wilderness of cancer myself, I reached out to some of these friends to find out what worked for them as they navigated their cancer with resilience. Read on, to learn what I learned.
How to have more good days than bad when facing serious health issues
It’s a sobering and scary statistic. Nearly 40% of people will be diagnosed with cancer at some point in their lifetime. The most common–breast cancer, prostate cancer, colon cancer, and pancreatic cancer–have all hit several people I love in recent years. As I started writing this, I started talking to those friends about their resilience practices. I thought I might compile their insights into one article. But cancer is intensely individual, and deeply personal. And so are the stories. The first journey I delved into with a friend was so moving, I felt his whole story needed to be told. Below, I’ve tried to express one friend’s report of those deep waters and what worked for him to keep moving through the waves. It wasn’t always that way. Here’s Mark’s story of rising stronger and living boldy.
Spiraling
Mark was diagnosed with prostate cancer a few years ago. It was caught early, but he was sicker than he realized, so his care team moved quickly. From his diagnosis in September to surgery in December, everything happened so fast that he didn’t have much time to process it, or even to be afraid.
When the cancer returned a year later, though, everything changed. He described it as a constant psychological battle with doubt and fear. “How long will this last? Will I ever get back to a normal life?” Those questions became part of his daily thoughts.
The physical toll was relentless—exhaustion, pain, and a profound fatigue that left him lying on the couch most days. The mental toll followed. He withdrew from friends and turned to drinking and smoking pot to dull the anxiety and symptoms. He felt it was impossible to talk to people who weren’t going through the same stuff. How do you admit to others the rawness of feeling physically inadequate, the fear he was facing?
Radiation treatment was Mark’s hardest chapter. It went deeper and further than other points in his unfortunate journey. Even though he had so many questions, he wasn’t prepared to talk about it with others, even those who had gone through it.
Mark also struggled with how much of his experience to share with those closest to him. At one point, he told his wife and sister that he wanted to go to treatment alone. “They didn’t like it,” he said. “But I didn’t want them to see my curmudgeon side—the irritability, the exhaustion.” He felt he needed solitude to manage his emotions.
Turning Points
When Mark arrived at the treatment center, he realized he was the only one there without someone waiting for him. “That’s when I decided,” he said, “I wanted my family there. I wanted to walk out and see a face I loved.”
There was another vital turning point. Every day for three and a half months, Mark met the same people in the radiation treatment room. They formed a quiet kinship sharing moments, sports talk, and text chatter. But more importantly, they shared raw conversations as men, about fear, change, and loss. He calls them his “Brothers in Arms.”
Each was fighting a different battle, but they were fighting together. Whether they were passing for 5 seconds or for 5 minutes, there was healing in talking with someone who was going through the same things.
The wives began to support one another, too. That network became an anchor for everyone involved, extending the circle of resilience beyond the patients themselves. They were there for his bell ringing, celebrating the finish of his treatment, and he has been there for theirs. That commonality helped drive community, and healing.
Recovery
Even when his body began to heal, Mark’s confidence lagged behind. Incontinence and recovery challenges left him hesitant to go out, embarrassed, and uncertain about his sense of manhood.
His “Brothers in Arms” serve as an emotional support system, something most men may never get, or even struggle to admit they need. Looking back, he feels that if he had talked to someone earlier, he may not have spiraled the way he did. That’s how important the human connection is.
The emotional terrain remains difficult. Mark still wrestles with guilt and questions about his marriage. At just over 60, with a younger wife, he worries that the sickness has robbed them both of the intimacy they once shared. “I know we vowed in sickness and in health,” he said, “but it doesn’t feel fair.” He wonders about her needs, and about how to rebuild intimacy after everything his body has endured. During the hardest periods, especially when he was using substances to escape, he felt they had retreated to separate corners. Reconnection now means finding a new kind of closeness, built on time and touch.
Another thing that helped Mark heal was reconnecting with his professional identity. In the blur from diagnosis to treatment, he realized he needed to simplifyandget back to basics. He stepped away from more demanding leadership roles to focus on individual contributor work for a while. It gave him structure without pressure and a sense of control when so much else felt uncertain. That choice, he said, helped him rebuild confidence and stability.
Resilience: community, positivity, and connection
Mark’s story thrums with poignancy. His downward spiral, completely understandable, was then countered by core elements of resiliency: community, positivity, and connection. Mark credits much of his healing to the people and the environment at Moffitt Cancer Center. The culture of positivity there reminded him that recovery is more than physical, it’s about healing the mental and emotional sides as well.
One morning, Mark told me, he reached the lowest point of his journey. His body was out of control. He had to return home for some self-care and make the trip to treatment again. He was exhausted and so hopeless that he sadly found himself thinking about how a car accident would end the pain.
He arrived late to treatment and sat beside a woman named Patty, who was living with advanced thyroid cancer. Patty noticed immediately that something was off. After just a brief exchange, she simply reached out and hugged him.
As he recounted the story, he paused and said, “I can still feel that hug.” It brought him back. Centered him. Reminded him that even in the darkest moments, connection can keep us tethered to life.
Patty, unfortunately, didn’t make it, but her hug planted something eternal in Mark.
When I asked how he coped with losses like hers—the reality of cancer’s unpredictability—he told me, “At first, I avoided the people who looked the sickest. But then I realized they just wanted to be seen.” From that point on, he made a practice of meeting people’s eyes in the waiting room, offering a small smile or a few words of acknowledgment. “I see you,” he’d think. “I acknowledge you.” That simple act became a daily ritual of empathy, courage, and compassion.
Mark’s story is a reminder that resilience isn’t a single act of strength—it’s a series of them. Returning to connection after isolation. To honesty after avoidance. To purpose after loss. Whether through the hug of a stranger, the laughter of friends in a treatment room, or the decision to rebuild a different kind of life, healing comes in layers. We can’t always choose what happens to our bodies, but we can choose how to meet ourselves, and one another, through it.
I know Mark well, and we had talked several times during his journey. But after this interview, I realized how superficial our conversations were. That’s on me. I want to do better. I want to acknowledge the pain, even when it’s not verbalized. I want to share it. I want to say, “I see you.” With Mark’s help, I’ll get better at it.
Burnout doesn’t always come from too much work. Sometimes it comes from too few boundaries. Are you one of the 82% at risk of burnout? Take the Glow-Up Quiz to find out if your resilience is holding strong or starting to flicker #resilience #burnout #boundaries #boundariesatwork #opalcoaching
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Below, you will find something to do, read, and watch. I have included one thing to reflect on, a nudge to prompt a resilience practice, and a short thought to reset your resilience. I follow with other sources to continue building your resilience toolkit.
To Do
Reflect: Think about a time when you’ve pulled away from others because of pain, embarrassment, or fatigue. What helped you find your way back?
- Find one person or space where you can talk openly about what feels hard right now—without needing to fix it. Maybe that’s a friend who listens without judgment, a support group, or a professional who understands your experience.
- If you’re supporting someone through illness, remember that small gestures matter: showing up, asking questions, or sitting beside them in silence. Those moments often mean more than advice.
You are not defined by what your body can or can’t do.
To Read
“When Breath Becomes Air” by Paul Kalanithi. A neurosurgeon’s deeply moving memoir about facing his own cancer diagnosis and discovering what truly gives life meaning when time becomes finite.
To Watch
TED Talk: Kelly Corrigan — The Heroic Story of Everyday Resilience.
A moving reflection on how vulnerability and shared humanity keep us strong in the face of uncertainty.
Next
Illness changes how we see ourselves, and it can strip away the roles and routines that once gave us confidence. Mark’s journey shows how easily fear can turn inward, into isolation, guilt, or shame. And how connection can quietly reverse a spiral. The simple act of being seen, or choosing to see others, becomes a form of healing. As I wrote in my last article, I understand that too well, but like Mark, I’m turning to community and optimism. Next, we’ll take a look at Caring for the Caregiver.
