There’s a version of the cancer story people really respond to.
It’s the one where you’re strong, resilient, inspiring. You faced something impossible and came out the other side with clarity and strength. You tell it with confidence. You land the message.
You become the “cancer hero.”
And if I’m being honest — I know that version well. I’ve lived inside it and sometimes still do.
Not because it isn’t true… but because it isn’t the whole truth.
There’s a quiet performance that can come with survivorship. A sense that certain versions of your story are easier for people to hear. That hope lands better than complexity. That resolution is more comfortable than ongoing struggle.
And over time, you start to notice something: the more you tell the version that gets the best reaction, the easier it becomes to default to it.
The more you perform it, the more it starts to define you.
Cancer stories are often framed in ways that centre strength, overcoming, and victory. And while those elements are real, they don’t leave much room for everything else — the uncertainty, the fatigue, the moments that don’t feel inspiring at all.
So what happens to those parts?
I’ve felt it myself.
There have been moments where I’ve hesitated to share something real — something unfinished or uncomfortable — because it didn’t fit the “cancer hero” version of my story. Moments where I’ve caught myself editing in real time. Softening edges. Choosing the version that lands.
And it raises a difficult question:
If people respond best to the polished version of your story… how safe does it feel to show them the unpolished one?
Over time, that gap can widen.
You show up as the strong one. The inspiring one. The one who has it figured out.
And slowly, quietly, the rest of you gets less airtime.
There’s a thought that comes back to me when I sit with this:
“Your mask gets so thick, you can forget what your face looks like.”
The truth is, survivorship isn’t two-dimensional.
It’s not just strength.
It’s not just struggle.
It’s both — often at the same time.
And no single identity — not even “hero” — is big enough to hold the full experience of what it means to live through cancer.
A Reflection for All of Us
If you’ve ever felt the pull to present your story in a certain way — to be more inspiring, more resolved, more “put together” than you actually feel — you’re not alone.
And you don’t owe anyone a performance.
You’re allowed to be proud of your strength and honest about your struggle.
You’re allowed to inspire and still be in process.
You’re allowed to be more than the version of your story that gets the biggest reaction.
Because the goal isn’t to be seen as a hero.
It’s to be seen as complete.
—- Written by: Peter Laneas
Advocacy & Engagement Lead
Cancer Fatigue Services
