A Letter to the Newly Diagnosed

Dear Reader,
This isn’t a post filled with answers, it’s a story. My story. And I share it because I’ve carried the weight of silence for too long. If you’ve just been diagnosed, or if you’re standing at a crossroads trying to decide what healing looks like for you, I hope this helps you feel a little less alone.

There wasn’t just one moment that changed everything for me. It was all of it. The physical pain, the emotional exhaustion, the pressure to stay hopeful. I was trying so damn hard every day. Trying everything, managing everything. I spent over $70,000 on alternative treatments. And still, my cancer didn’t care. My body was healthier than ever on the inside, but the scans told a different story. It was ravaging me. And I knew. I knew because my body has always told me when something was wrong. It told me at 13 weeks pregnant with Ace. It told me before I was diagnosed. And it screamed again, louder than ever, when my liver was in the beginning stages of failure. So I listened. I got the scan. And even though they said chemo and radiation probably wouldn’t help much because of my cancer’s subtype, it worked! It gave me time. It gave me life. It gave me another chance to listen, combine, and let go of what wasn’t helping me survive.

At the start of all of this, I believed so strongly that if I stayed positive, I would heal. That I could be the miracle. I believed that if I avoided conventional treatment, I could prove something. I believed that sharing that belief was helping others. I didn’t know that I was also making it harder for myself, and maybe for them.

I’ve lost friends who walked similar paths. Some spent their last days trying everything under the sun. Others refused treatment altogether. Many passed away without their families by their sides. And I carry that. I supported their decisions, sometimes too quietly. I didn’t speak up, even when I wanted to say, “Try it. Just try one thing.” One friend passed just a week after refusing brain radiation. Her 8 year-old daughter didn’t have a father in her life. That haunts me. Another friend begged me to try a targeted therapy I rejected at first. She died before I could thank her for trying to help me. That therapy ended up keeping me stable for two years.

I know I can’t save anyone. I can’t even guarantee my own outcome. But what I can do, is speak now.
I don’t believe there is one right way. I believe in balance. In listening. In combining what works. I believe in the medical system and also in holistic support. I still believe in a higher power. But I no longer believe I’m the exception just because I had hope. Hope matters. But so does action. So does humility. So does choice. And here’s the thing: You can do anything. But you can’t do everything.

My biggest regret is not encouraging others to listen to their own bodies before locking into just one belief. I mistook stubbornness for strength. And I shared that stubbornness with others. I thought I was helping. I didn’t see the harm. Now, I just want to walk beside you. Not ahead. Not behind. Just beside you. I’m not here to give advice or sell a method. I’m here to say: it’s okay to change your mind. It’s okay to try something new. It’s okay to hope and still ask for help. Let go of what you can’t control. That’s where your power lies.

With all my heart,

Crystal