Molly, United States

If you’re a fan of the show Friends you’re familiar with Christmas Eve Eve. That’s when I finished chemo. I realize that there is no good time to finish chemo, but this felt to me like a particularly bad time to finish chemo. 

The people around me were happy for me. Excited, even. I was not. 

Sure, I was happy to be done, but surgery and radiation were next. That scared me. 

I don’t tolerable certain appointments very well. I pass out when I give blood. I passed out getting my mammogram. I passed out talking to the plastic surgeon. I got so sick when I got my wisdom teeth taken out. 

I had no idea how I’d handle this, and thanks to Covid I could only have one person come into the hospital with me, and nobody could stay with me. My parents had traveled more than 600 miles to be there for me. They rented an Airbnb so that I wouldn’t have to stress about my four pets getting caught in my drains. My boyfriend had been with me every day. 

This is a horrible decision to have to make. I tried to make them choose, but obviously they weren’t having that. 

Radiation is five days a week. That’s absurd!  I also worked 45 hours a week throughout all of treatment. 

So, I didn’t see much to be excited about.  It felt like the world was going on without me. Holiday parties, the New Year, engagements. Everyone seems so full of life and joy, and I felt stuck. Unsure about my future. 

Cancer taught me who I can lean on, and who I should distance myself myself from. That’s a beautiful thing. Cancer taught me to finally set those boundaries that I had been putting off for years. Cancer taught me to choose me. Cancer taught me perspective. 

Looking back, finishing chemo on Christmas Eve Eve wasn’t the celebration I thought it would be—it was a crossroads. I wasn’t done, and I wasn’t sure I ever would be. But as I navigated surgery, radiation, and everything else cancer threw my way, I realized something important: it wasn’t about rushing to the finish line. It was about finding strength in the small victories and choosing to show up for myself, even when I didn’t feel ready.

Cancer changed my life in ways I never could have imagined. It gave me clarity about who and what truly mattered. It forced me to set boundaries I’d been too afraid to draw. It taught me to embrace my own resilience, even when I felt stuck or unsure.

Now, when I think back to that Christmas Eve Eve, I see it as more than the end of chemo—it was the beginning of a new way of living. One where I learned to choose myself, to find meaning in the chaos, and to keep moving forward, even when the world felt like it was spinning without me.

To anyone walking a similar path: it’s okay if you’re not excited, or if you’re scared. You’re allowed to feel stuck. But I hope you’ll discover, as I did, that even in the hardest moments, there’s strength you didn’t know you had—and that choosing yourself is always the best choice.