Everybody Is a Story
Updated: Sep 18
“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 ourselves in a frightening situation with an illness that threatens our lives.
It’s reasonable that you might not want to share your diagnosis with acquaintances, coworkers, or even your bosses. The fear of being treated differently is a real human worry.
You might worry about not being invited to places because your friends assume you won't have the energy to come along. You might fear you won't be given the same responsibilities at work because your bosses worry you won't be able to fulfill them. That's a genuine concern. I understand those worries. I wonder if they only scratch the surface of not wanting to disclose your cancer diagnosis to very many people.
As I reflect on life and on Remen’s quote, I'm reminded that there were many chapters in a life before cancer entered it.
Perhaps decades of them: chapters about becoming skilled and valued at your work, building a business, raising a family, becoming the friend people could depend on. Chapters about things you love and value, mistakes you've made, the places you've traveled, how you’ve come to understand others and the person you've become.
Then cancer enters the story around page 187 or 352.
And perhaps one of the fears that comes with telling other people is that they'll start reading the entire story through this newest chapter.
I wonder if that's where “I don't want everyone to know I have cancer” comes from.
Could it mean more than simply wanting privacy? Could it also be about not wanting one chapter to consume your entire story?
Maybe it’s even more. Maybe it’s about retaining some authorship of the story that's still being written.
That is a powerful desire when cancer has seemingly taken so much away from you.
Everybody is a story.
When cancer enters your life, it adds another chapter to your story, while reminding you that you are not always the sole author of your life.
That doesn’t mean you have to surrender the pen. There is still more to be written. And there are parts of that story that you still get to write.
When cancer takes away so much from you — control, certainty, your relationship with time, your schedule, your priorities — it challenges your identity and agency. One thing that can still belong to you is deciding what you want to share about this chapter, who gets to read it, and when.
“I don’t want people to know I have cancer.”
Perhaps what I’m hearing is not only a wish for privacy.
Perhaps I’m hearing someone holding on to the pen.
Cancer entered the story without your permission. It’s even written pages you would never have chosen.
But who gets to read those pages, and when, can still belong to you.
Maybe sometimes saying, “I don’t want people to know I have cancer,” is another way of saying:
Some parts of the story are still mine to tell.
Reflections on the inner psychological experience of living alongside cancer.
Jae L. Ross, PsyD, is a clinical psychologist who works with individuals and families whose lives have been reshaped by cancer, helping them navigate the emotional challenges of diagnosis, treatment, and beyond.
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