When people hear the word advocacy, they often picture something larger-than-life: stadiums full of people, national headlines, maybe even a superhero cape flapping in the wind. (For the record: I’d probably trip on the cape, and I’d never settle on a colour.)

But the truth is, advocacy doesn’t always look like a stage, a microphone, or a crowd. At its heart, advocacy is often smaller, quieter, and far more personal. It’s rooted in intention—the intention to create a better experience for the next survivor, caregiver, or patient than the one we may have had ourselves.

For me, this has meant speaking openly about cancer-related fatigue, sharing my own story as a survivor, and making sure others know they aren’t “lazy,” “weak,” or “broken” if they’re struggling. Sometimes that happens at a conference podium, sometimes at a clinic booth, and sometimes over soup at a support group lunch in Penetanguishene, ON at The Georgian Bay Cancer Support Centre. Wherever it happens, it counts.

Advocacy can be education—equipping someone with the words to describe what they’re going through so they finally feel heard. It can be storytelling—putting a human face on statistics so policy-makers and professionals remember who’s behind the numbers. It can be volunteering—manning a booth, handing out resources, or making introductions. And sometimes, it’s as simple as being the other person in the room who “gets it.”

The value of advocacy isn’t measured in how many people you save, or whether your name ends up in the paper. It’s measured in moments: the survivor who feels less alone, the caregiver who breathes easier knowing help exists, the person who leaves a conversation with hope they didn’t walk in with.

Over the years, I’ve been fortunate to speak at international conferences, host events, and march in Pride parades. But some of the most powerful moments haven’t come with lights or applause—they’ve come in conversations where I simply showed up, listened, and said, “I’ve been there too.”

Because in the end, advocacy doesn’t need a cape. It just needs you—showing up when it counts.

Cancer Fatigue Services Team at the Canadian Cancer Survivor Network (CCSN) Golf Tournament hosted at the Greensmere Golf & Country Club

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Written by: Peter Laneas
Advocacy & Outreach Communications Manager
Cancer Fatigue Services