“I just want some peace.” How many times have you heard someone say that? Or maybe you’ve said it yourself when you’re feeling overwhelmed by life’s stressors and demands. Lately I’ve been thinking about how I can find more peace in my life. Peace at work, in my relationships, in my mind, and in the world. It’s not easy to do in our modern society, which demands so much of our time, attention, and energy. Mobile phones and text messaging set expectations that we’ll be availab

Recently, I received a phone call from someone on the West Coast asking if I could help resolve a matter before the end of their day. Doing so would require me to contact someone else on the West Coast, gather information, and hopefully get things sorted out. It was late afternoon on the West Coast, but already seven o'clock in the evening for me. My workday was over. I was settling in for dinner and a quiet evening, with no more responsibilities demanding my attention. I exp

A patient recently told me that she received another clear scan. It was good news. Very good news. She shared it with family and friends and was surprised they didn't seem as excited as she was. She’s been in survivorship for about a year and a half now. There have been clear scans over that entire time. Her treatment is behind her, and she’s getting back to the familiar rhythms of her life. Perhaps, to the people who love her, another clear scan has begun to feel almost expe

I’ve spent most of the past four days in bed with a virus. I’ve been too fatigued to do much of anything. My appetite disappeared. My body has felt weak. And the mental clarity I usually take for granted hasn’t been there. Even writing has felt like too much. And this has only been four days. As I lay here, I find myself thinking about the people I work with and write for who live with exhaustion, weakness, brain fog, nausea, pain, loss of appetite, and countless other effect

"I just want everything to go back to the way it was before cancer." I hear this from almost every patient I sit with during their cancer experience and beyond. I understand this desire. Human beings are most comfortable in routine. Therefore, it's normal that you would want to seek what you knew before. Familiarity breeds comfort. And when we're comfortable, we know what to expect; when we know what to expect, we feel we can handle what comes our way because we're prepared.

“Everybody is a story,” Rachel Naomi Remen writes in Kitchen Table Wisdom. This quote often comes to mind as I sit with people whose lives have been changed by cancer. One of the most common things I hear in the therapy room is, “I don't want people to know I have cancer.” I've often wondered what sits underneath that decision. You may be willing to share your diagnosis with a few close family members and friends. That's understandable. We all want support when we find

I was having dinner with a dear friend recently when I told her about someone very close to me who is ill and in declining health. I wondered aloud to my friend about all the things I might do to help this person I love dearly get healthier. My friend is a geriatric physician. She listened for a while and then asked me a simple question. “Do you think it’s time to talk about hospice?” I stopped. Hospice. How had I not thought about hospice? I'm a psychologist in cancer care.

Some people are fixers. They’re the ones people call when something goes wrong. They listen, offer advice, make the phone call, solve the problem, smooth things over. They notice what needs to be done, often before anyone asks. And they worry. They worry about their children, their partners, their parents, their friends. They think about the conversation long after it has ended. They imagine what might happen next. They rehearse possible solutions. Sometimes the people they w

Cancer can sometimes feel like becoming a passenger in your own life. A reflection on control, choice, and what remains available to us when we’re no longer the only one behind the wheel.

A psycho-oncology reflection on finding your way after cancer changes the path ahead—and learning that sometimes the way forward appears only as you begin to walk it.

A psycho-oncology reflection on bravery, fear, and curiosity—and how living with cancer sometimes asks for something other than being brave.

On the Interior of Intimacy Under Illness “Since I got cancer, intimacy has disappeared from my relationship.” Patients have said versions of this to me many times. And there are understandable reasons why physical intimacy may change after cancer enters a relationship. Illness and treatment can bring fatigue, nausea, pain, neuropathy, and changes to the body. Time becomes organized around appointments and medications. Couples find themselves learning medical language they ne

A patient recently reminded me of the familiar saying, “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” Then he added something I had never considered. “What makes it lemonade is what you add to the lemon.” I had always understood the saying as an invitation to make the best of something difficult. But his words suggested a different way of looking at it. Consider what happens when we make lemonade. Adding sweetness doesn’t erase the lemon’s tartness, and water doesn’t ask the le

"I don’t know why I cried." A patient said this to me not long ago. She described an afternoon sitting outside with her family, watching the children play. Nothing remarkable had happened. It was one of those ordinary afternoons that unexpectedly become beautiful while we’re living them. Without warning, tears came to her eyes. A family member noticed and asked what was wrong. "I don’t know," she replied. "I just want more moments like this." Her family knew she had recently

We’ve all said some version of it before. “I love you, but you drive me crazy.” “I’m grateful, but I wish things were different.” “I’m excited, but I’m terrified.” Read those again. Where did the weight of your attention go? If you’re like most of us, your mind probably settled almost immediately on whatever came after the word but. I’ve long wondered why that is. It’s only three letters. Yet somehow, this tiny word has a significant influence on the way we experience our liv

On the Grief of Cancer You’ve just realized that something you can’t imagine living without is gone. Unexpectedly vanished, and you may never be able to replace it. Your heart lifts and drops at the same time. Racing and falling into a dark pit you didn’t know you had inside you. You start frantically searching. Reversing the last hours in your mind. Trying to remember when you last saw it, when it was still yours. Your world narrows until there is only it. What if I never fi

A Test of Patience Impatience is a feeling most of us know well. Stuck in traffic when you need to be somewhere. Waiting in a long line when you have other things to do. Watching the phone for an important call that hasn’t come yet. The wanting of something to happen faster than it is. Most of us learn to live with these moments. They soon pass. But when cancer enters your life, impatience rises to a level few have experienced before. There's an alien threat inside your body

A Reflection on Cancer as a Chronic Condition You know the feeling. Getting up every Monday for work. Weekly laundry that's never done for good. Driving in rush hour traffic. Mentally managing the daily stressors that arrive, whether you are ready for them or not. Most people learn to live with these returning demands. They make peace with them, even if they don’t like them. But there is a particular kind of weariness reserved for the demands that accompany a body that requir

A Reflection About Holding On When I ask patients how they've been doing since our last appointment, they often answer with a small, tired laugh, "It's been a roller coaster." I've come to believe that is exactly the right description because it's true in ways that most metaphors aren't. The roller coaster doesn't just describe the ups and downs of your life after cancer enters it. It illuminates it. Let's stay with the image for a moment. A roller coaster has two essential e

A Reflection on the Weight of Being Called Strong It's said with the best intentions. It's meant to provide encouragement. Sometimes it's said from not knowing what else to say in the presence of something so frightening. But somewhere inside you, when you hear the words "You are so strong," you close just a little. Because there are at least two ways you are so strong can be felt, and both place something heavy in your hands without knowing it. The first is encouragement — y