Take Comfort in Knowing You Are Not Alone

The Month That Changed Everything

This month is an emotional one for me. November is the month that changed my life forever, and I did not expect it to hit me so hard when the first of the month arrived. I was diagnosed the day after Thanksgiving, but November as a whole has so much significance. I recently looked back to see what I was doing on this day last year, and I was studying for a test at Sacramento City College, completely unaware that, in less than 30 days, my life would be altered forever.

I think anyone who has been diagnosed with brain cancer remembers that day—the moment everything changed. Honestly, it stands out even more clearly in my memory than my wedding day. Do not tell my husband, but it is true. Our wedding was the happiest day of my life, and this diagnosis was, without a doubt, the worst. It was a day so dark and painful, it’s forever etched into my mind.

The period following my diagnosis was incredibly difficult. It was filled with intense emotions that seemed endless. Even today, things have not necessarily gotten "better," but they have changed. The pain is different—still there, but it has shifted in a way that has allowed me to cope a little more. Does that make sense? Healing is not about pretending we are fine. It is about honoring what we feel and recognizing that every phase—every emotion—is part of the path forward. And on that path, we are never truly alone.

Making the Choice to Move Forward

In life, we all face choices. We can surrender, fight, cry, scream, rage, or even run. All of these reactions are valid, and honestly, I’d recommend experiencing each of them. But then, eventually, we move forward. And that is a choice, too. Choosing to move forward does not mean forgetting, denying, or suppressing what we are feeling. It means accepting the emotions and choosing to live in spite of them. It means reaching out, telling our story, and letting others see who we are beneath the surface. When we do that, we create connection—and connection is where healing begins. And healing, if nothing else, reminds us that we are not alone.

I moved forward—or at least, in a way I did. Over time, I have learned to compartmentalize my disease. For me, this approach helps. Compartmentalizing means I set aside the overwhelming aspects of my diagnosis when I need to, allowing me to focus on the things in life that still bring me joy or peace, however small. It does not mean I am ignoring reality; it’s more like I am managing it in portions I can handle. By breaking down my experience and putting parts of it "on the shelf" when necessary, I give myself moments to breathe and recharge. This does not make the disease go away, of course, but it helps me cope, especially in the short term. Compartmentalizing allows me to find some balance, and it creates a mental space where I can continue moving forward without being consumed by fear or sadness every second of the day.

Finding Solace Through Writing

Writing this blog has been another unexpected way I have learned to cope. When I was first diagnosed, I never imagined I would be putting my thoughts and feelings out there for others to read, let alone find comfort in it. I did not think of myself as someone who would openly share such a personal journey, but here I am, and it has been surprisingly therapeutic. Writing allows me to release thoughts that would otherwise keep me up at night. It helps me sort through the chaos in my mind and find words for what often feels impossible to express. Knowing that my story might resonate with others who are struggling—whether with cancer or anything else—gives it even more purpose. This blog has become a space where I can be honest, raw, and, sometimes, even hopeful, which has been more of a gift than I ever anticipated.

I know I am not alone. You reading this—whether you are a patient, survivor, caregiver, friend, or stranger—you are proof of that. Every time someone shares their story, it creates a ripple. I have read blogs by others with glioblastoma, cancer, and other terminal illnesses, and while the details of our lives may be different, the emotions are often the same. There is an unspoken bond between us all—a shared resilience, a deep understanding that we are walking different versions of the same path. This is why writing helps. It is not just therapy for the self; it is a bridge between souls.

When I think about the people who have read my story, the messages I’ve received, the conversations I’ve had—it reminds me how powerful honesty can be. There’s no need to pretend to be fine when you are not. We live in a world that often values smiles over substance, but this blog is my place to be real. And if my realness helps someone feel less alone, then I have done something meaningful. That means more to me than I can ever explain.

There is Power in Community

None of us were meant to go through this alone. And yet, too often, people do. That is why support groups matter. That is why advocacy work and awareness campaigns matter. That is why simply being kind to someone matters. When you are facing something like glioblastoma—or any cancer—it can feel isolating. But there is always someone out there who understands. Always someone who will listen. Always someone who has walked the path before you and can light the way forward. It may not erase the pain, but it makes it more bearable. That is the gift of being part of a community.

If you are struggling, please do not stay silent. There is nothing weak about seeking help. In fact, it takes enormous strength. Talk to someone—a friend, a therapist, a family member, or someone else walking a similar road. The Glioblastoma Foundation offers support and resources. If writing helps, write. If talking helps, talk. If rest helps, rest. Do what you need to heal, and do it without shame.

Emotional Side Effects of Cancer
How Writing Can Help During Cancer Treatment
Glioblastoma Foundation

You Are Not Alone—Ever

In closing, whether it is the month of your diagnosis, a month when you begin chemo or radiation, or the time for one of those dreaded MRIs, take comfort in knowing you are not alone. You are not the only one carrying this weight. There are people out there right now who understand exactly what you are going through, who feel the same ache in their chest, who battle with the same doubts and fears. Sharing these stories does not cure what we are facing, but it does bring light to the darkness.

We heal together, not apart. We find hope in shared voices. And even when the journey feels impossibly hard, we keep moving forward—one step at a time, and often one word at a time. Thank you for walking this path with me.

Disclaimer: This content reflects personal experience and should not replace professional medical advice. For any health-related questions, please consult a licensed healthcare provider.