Life doesn’t stick to the script – a fact I learned in grade school when my father was first diagnosed with cancer. My world was forever changed that day, and change seemed to be the only constant. My mother’s cancer would follow many years later. Then the biggest shock of all – my own diagnosis. None of those were in the plan. And each time, I thought I could be strong enough, independent enough, capable enough to carry it on my own.
Even as a young child, I tried to at least appear to have it all together. People would complement my strength. And I wore that complement like a badge of honor. Yet, trying to appear strong became an additional weight I was carrying around, eventually crushing me.
Grief was also not in my life plan. Yet it came rushing towards me like a strong hurricane force wind. While in my first year of college, my father lost the battle with cancer. And grief hit hard. Even years later, it leaks out unexpectedly, triggered by anything from a random movie scene to a song on the radio. And, sometimes, it causes physical symptoms – an upset stomach, pain, lack of sleep. It leaves you feeling abandoned and crying alone.
I’ve always struggled to ask for help. I wanted to be the one who held it together, the one other people could lean on. But cancer taught me something I wish I had learned sooner: we are not meant to walk this journey of life alone.
Writer Brené Brown says, “Vulnerability is the birthplace of connection and the path to the feeling of worthiness.” For any of us, asking for help feels like exposure. Admitting you can’t handle it all feels like failure. But I’ve learned that it’s not. In fact, it’s human. And it’s the only way real connection happens.
This can be scary, as it requires vulnerability to let people in. Rather than being strong, it’s being courageous. Asking for help takes real courage. Trusting someone else not only with your hopes but with your fears and pains puts you in a very vulnerable position.
It’s hard to be this brave, but I discovered during my breast cancer journey that it’s necessary and it’s worth it. By opening up and sharing my story, I found connections with others who had previously walked this path, and they were able to encourage me as only someone who uniquely understands your specific journey. I connected with larger communities online as well as groups at my church who could relate to my experience.
Beyond merely receiving advice or support, I learned more about myself by engaging with others. But it was that first step of reaching out – admitting with vulnerability that I couldn’t do this alone – that led to these valuable connections. Just finding others who could say, “Me, too,” as we walked this road together, led to a true sense of community and friendship.
Another reminder from Brené Brown: “Connection is why we’re here; it is what gives purpose and meaning to our lives.” I found this to be true in ways I never would have realized had my path not taken such an unexpected turn.
“Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: ‘What! You too? I thought I was the only one,” writes author C.S. Lewis. That first bridge from isolation to belonging illustrates the purest form of friendship. By making those connections, we start to experience the comfort and strength we can only find in community.
Community doesn’t just mean close friends or family. It can be a meal dropped off on your front porch. Or a stranger in a support group who says “I get it.” It might be a ride to an appointment or a prayer whispered by someone across the country. Sometimes it’s transactional, sometimes it’s solidarity—but either way, it matters at the deepest level.
When my father died, I learned that grief isn’t survivable on your own. When my mother was sick, I learned that fear doesn’t lessen unless someone else is willing to sit with you in it. When I was diagnosed, I learned that letting others in is not weakness—it’s necessary for survival.
And the truth is, you can’t build community in the middle of a crisis. You draw on the one you’ve invested in all along. For me, that community included my health care sharing ministry. Imperfect, yes, but faithful. People who prayed, who checked in, who reminded me that I wasn’t alone.
If you’re someone who struggles to ask for help (like me), hear this: strength is not silence. Self-sufficiency won’t save you. Community will.
Because in the end, we don’t survive on independence. We survive on each other.
The month of October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. So, raise your voice this October. Share this article or your own story to help spread awareness and offer hope to those affected by breast cancer. Do not walk this journey alone – be in community.
