Unless you know firsthand what it's like to have your own blood cells turn on you and try to kill you, and know what it's like to feel these demonic-like things be pumped by your heart and made to flow through your blood stream; unless you know what it feels like to be a battleground for a war within your body you never authorized, or to be forever walking with the sword of Damocles dangling above your head, always looking behind your shoulder on the lookout for your murderous stalker even though they really live inside your own body, then please don't give us unsolicited advice on how to deal with our cancer. Especially when your “advice” comes in the misguided, harmful form of telling us to be positive at all times and avoid anger.
Your well-intended moralizing comes from a place of such overwhelming privilege. You don't understand, and you can't understand, unless it's happened to you.
Don't tell us how to feel. Don't ram your toxic positivity down our throats and deny us our grief, our anxiety, our all-consuming terror.
We understand what you say comes from a place of your own fear of mortality. That the idea of simply "being positive" can erase the fear (or maybe stop the cancer from growing). Perhaps you think “I would never be afraid of cancer like this person because I would be thinking positively.” Anything to remove yourself from the possibility that this could happen to you too. You swear to yourself you’d remain super positive, and not give cancer the chance to latch on to any negativity that could make it stronger.
Maybe you think the escape from this is to look for the “silver lining” of cancer. The good side to everything. A “how can we make this a learning experience?” of the most cringe-worthy, terrible calibre.
Maybe you’ve made the horrendous mistake of saying any of these things out loud to someone who has cancer.
OK, so right away I want to tell you—cancer doesn’t grow or shrink or get cured based on how positive you insist your thoughts or someone’s thoughts be. That's just not how it works.
Also, there is no “silver lining” to cancer. Some things don’t have silver linings. Some things are just horrible. Cancer is one of those things.
And you wouldn't know, because you.
Don't.
Have.
Cancer.
You will never understand if you don't listen to us, and instead choose to ram condescending rhetoric down our throats, which is just a more detrimental version of sticking your fingers in your ears and pretending not to hear.
You say you want to help, but in reality it feels like you’re just tossing out meaningless banalities and empty promises while not-so-silently reminding us how to deal with cancer “properly”. If you want to help, you'll listen to us when we get mad and frustrated. You'll be open to hearing why what you say can be so hurtful, instead of jumping on the defensive.
When some of you say “I’m here for you, let me know if you need anything!” while simultaneously reminding us how important it is to stay positive, it often appears that your shoulder to cry on is only to be offered if we deal with our emotions and cancer in a manner that is convenient for you. You'll stick with us through the good days, eager to offer your companionship on days we feel happier, and then suddenly take off as soon as we're having a bad day and dare to let our feelings out.
Fear, for many of us, manifests as frustration and anger. And manifested via fear or not, anger itself is a common emotion when dealing with cancer. It's not us being "negative" people, and it's unfortunate that pop culture psychology would lead you to think that way, but who could blame you for adopting that maxim as a quick and simple explanation for someone's reactions to a life-threatening disease? It's so easy to say "I don't want negativity in my life" and then shut us out, while you run off to your own safe little bubble, where you don’t have to worry about your friends’ cancer and “negative emotions”.
It often seems that when someone says they'll be there for us through all this cancer shit, what they really mean is they'll be there for us on the "up" days. The “good” days.
You know the ones.
The days where we might act like the Hollywood portrait of the perfect cancer patient. Taking it all in stride. Smiling all the time and never complaining.
An inspiration to others in our never-ending glowing positivity through even the most dim of diagnosis.
And if we cry, it’s a sweet, gentle “sobering” moment.
No screaming or yelling or general frustration at the prospect of our bodies trying to kill us, of course. Oh no, that’s negativity. Cut those cancer sufferers out of your life asap, am I right?! I mean, they’re just so angry and negative about their blood cells mutating into little death balls! Like, keep your emotions in check, geeez!
If Hollywood Cancer Patient is what you want, fine. Be honest up front and don't tell your friends with cancer that you'll be there for them. Because what you want is a fairy tale, not a friend with cancer.
Cancer is ugly and full of tears and confusion and frustration and mood swings and absolute, undignified terror. If you want to neatly chalk that up to “negativity I don’t need in my life right now”, you have lied to a sick friend when saying you’d be there for them.
If you say you care, then mean it.
Otherwise, keep your disingenuous and moralizing platitudes to yourself.
Moreover, don’t give any advice that wasn’t asked for, and that you yourself have never taken before personally. Have you had cancer before? No? Then your unsolicited advice is most likely coming from a place of ignorance and can do more harm than good.
I’ll close this with a great quote I just read on this whole “toxic positivity” movement:
“[T]hat relentless focus on positivity...“the tyranny of prescriptive joy”….Seeking out people who bring ‘positive vibes only’ will ensure shallow bonds…Instead, the relationship becomes a performance of happiness. Difficult conversations, moments of vulnerability — all off the table.
[Cancer patients] can’t shut their eyes and pretend the problem doesn’t exist; show them that you won’t, either.”
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