Changing Roles (Part 5): When You Remember Yourself
Updated: Mar 22
Most people, at some point in the cancer journey, begin to notice something subtle.
It’s not a change in the diagnosis.
Not a change in the treatment.
It’s a shift in how the illness is experienced.
Have you ever noticed where your mind places the illness when you think about it?
Does it feel like something inside you…
something that fills the space of your body and your thoughts?
Or does it feel like something walking alongside you…
present, but not identical to you?
We often use the phrase “living with cancer.”
It sounds natural. Familiar.
But there is something embedded in that language.
With can feel like within.
Like something that has moved inside and taken up residence.
Something that cannot be separated from who you are.
For many people, that is exactly how it feels.
All-consuming.
Ever-present.
Difficult to step away from, even for a moment.
But over time, something begins to shift.
You may have already noticed this.
The illness is still there.
It has not gone away.
It begins to feel less like something you are inside of
and more like something that is alongside you.
Walking with you.
Present in your life.
But not the place you are living from.
Cancer is here.
And so are you.
This is not a shift that happens all at once.
It is not something that can be forced.
There will be moments when the illness demands your full attention.
Appointments.
Scans.
Symptoms.
Waiting for results.
In those moments, it is not something you can set aside.
There may also be moments—sometimes brief—when it is present without needing to take over everything.
A conversation.
A walk.
A quiet hour.
A familiar routine.
Moments where something else is also allowed to exist.
You may not get to decide when it calls for your attention.
But there are moments when you can decide how much of you it gets to take.
This is not about ignoring the illness.
It is not about pretending it isn’t there.
It is about noticing that even when it is present,
it does not have to fill every inch of your life.
Over time, this becomes a kind of quiet negotiation.
Not about whether the illness exists.
But about how much space it is allowed to take in this moment.
Not about eliminating fear or worry.
But about how much space you give them when they show up.
You may still be a patient.
You may still need help.
Your body may still set the pace.
Those realities do not disappear.
They no longer have to become the place you live from.
The illness may be part of your life.
It does not have to become the center of it.
And in this small shift—from within to alongside—something important begins to return.
A sense of yourself that may have been pushed to the background…now a little easier to recognize again.
A little more space.
A little more room to breathe.
The illness walks with you.
But it does not become you.
This essay is part of the Changing Roles series, exploring the psychological adjustments that often accompany serious illness.
Reflections on the inner psychological experience of living with cancer.
Jae Ross, PsyD, is a clinical psychologist who works with individuals and families living with cancer, helping patients navigate the emotional challenges of diagnosis, treatment, and survivorship.
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