Take Comfort in Knowing You are Not Alone

This month is an emotional one for me. November is the month that changed my life forever, and I did not expect it to hit me so hard when the first of the month arrived. I was diagnosed the day after Thanksgiving, but November as a whole has so much significance. I recently looked back to see what I was doing on this day last year, and I was studying for a test at Sacramento City College, completely unaware that, in less than 30 days, my life would be altered forever.

I think anyone who has been diagnosed with brain cancer remembers that day—the moment everything changed. Honestly, it stands out even more clearly in my memory than my wedding day. Do not tell my husband, but it is true. Our wedding was the happiest day of my life, and this diagnosis was, without a doubt, the worst. It was a day so dark and painful, it’s forever etched into my mind.

The period following my diagnosis was incredibly difficult. It was filled with intense emotions that seemed endless. Even today, things have not necessarily gotten "better," but they have changed. The pain is different—still there, but it is shifted in a way that is allowed me to cope a little more. Does that make sense?

In life, we all face choices. We can surrender, fight, cry, scream, rage, or even run. All of these reactions are valid, and honestly, I’d recommend experiencing each of them. But then, eventually, we move forward. And that is a choice, too.

I moved forward—or at least, in a way I did. Over time, I have learned to compartmentalize my disease. For me, this approach helps. Compartmentalizing means I set aside the overwhelming aspects of my diagnosis when I need to, allowing me to focus on the things in life that still bring me joy or peace, however small. It does not mean I am ignoring reality; it’s more like I am managing it in portions I can handle. By breaking down my experience and putting parts of it "on the shelf" when necessary, I give myself moments to breathe and recharge. This does not make the disease go away, of course, but it helps me cope, especially in the short term. Compartmentalizing allows me to find some balance, and it creates a mental space where I can continue moving forward without being consumed by fear or sadness every second of the day.

Writing this blog has been another unexpected way I have learned to cope. When I was first diagnosed, I never imagined I would be putting my thoughts and feelings out there for others to read, let alone find comfort in it. I did not think of myself as someone who would openly share such a personal journey, but here I am, and it has been surprisingly therapeutic. Writing allows me to release thoughts that would otherwise keep me up at night. It helps me sort through the chaos in my mind and find words for what often feels impossible to express. Knowing that my story might resonate with others who are struggling—whether with cancer or anything else—gives it even more purpose. This blog has become a space where I can be honest, raw, and, sometimes, even hopeful, which has been more of a gift than I ever anticipated.

In closing, whether it is the month of your diagnosis, a month when you begin chemo or radiation, or the time for one of those dreaded MRIs, take comfort in knowing you are not alone