Why Cancer Made Me a Better Person

When people hear that I think cancer was the best thing that ever happened to me, they usually look at me sideways. How could something so painful, terrifying, and brutal possibly be seen as a gift?

But the truth is, cancer stripped away everything that wasn’t real. It shattered the illusions I had about control, permanence, and perfection. It forced me to look death in the face—and in doing so, it made me fall madly in love with life, with my husband, and with the world around me.

As ESPN’s Stuart Scott famously said, “You beat cancer by how you live, why you live, and in the manner in which you live.” That quote didn’t make sense to me at first. In the beginning, I thought beating cancer meant scans and clean margins. But now I understand: it’s about showing up for your life with fierce, joyful defiance. It’s about living louder, loving deeper, and caring less about what doesn’t matter.

What Cancer Took—and Gave Back

Cancer took a lot from me. It took my hair, my energy, my job for a while. It took my sense of safety and normalcy. But in return, it gave me a clarity I had never known.

I started noticing little things I used to rush past: how the sun hits my window in the morning, how my dog stretches after a nap, how food tastes when you haven’t been nauseous in weeks. These weren’t just little pleasures—they were reminders that I was still here. That I had another day.

As Haruki Murakami wrote, “When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what the storm is all about.” That storm changed me. It softened me where I had been hard. It toughened me where I had been fragile. It rewired the way I love people, the way I speak to myself, the way I forgive.

Emotional Honesty and Real Strength

Before cancer, I hid a lot. I smiled when I didn’t feel okay. I pushed through things I should have walked away from. But treatment broke those habits.

I had no energy to fake anything. And in that vulnerability, I found connection. As another survivor said, “Let people in that are going to be there for you because it helps to talk, it helps to cry, it helps to laugh... realize that whatever happens, you’re going to be okay.”

Cancer taught me that emotions are not weakness; they are proof that you are still fighting. Still human. Still here. It made me brave enough to tell people I love them. Brave enough to ask for help. Brave enough to sit with sadness and not rush to fix it.

Faith, Not Perfection

I didn’t become a spiritual guru. I still had nights when I cursed the sky and asked, "Why me?" But I also had quiet moments where I felt a peace I can’t explain. I came to believe that faith isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about walking forward even when you don’t.

As someone once said, “Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase.” I lived that. Every day during treatment was a step I didn’t feel ready for. But I took it. And that was enough.

Living with Intention

Cancer made my life smaller in some ways—fewer plans, fewer people, fewer distractions. But it also made it so much bigger. Because now, every good moment feels holy. Every conversation feels like it matters. Every laugh, every hug, every second with someone I love is magnified.

I started putting my energy toward things that feel like purpose. I say no more. I say yes with my whole heart. I left jobs, relationships, habits that drained me. And in doing so, I made space for things that fill me.

As Sheryl Crow said, surviving cancer "redefined who and how I am... I started to put myself first... Now, finally, I’ve silenced the self-doubting voices."

I Celebrate What Cancer Taught Me

I won’t sugarcoat what cancer was. It was hell. It hurt. It scared me more than anything ever has.

But it also made me more of who I am. It gave me a second life—a life I live with eyes wide open.

And that’s worth celebrating.

So if you ask me now whether cancer was the worst thing that ever happened to me, I’ll tell you this:

No.

It was the beginning of the best version of me.