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Let’s be real when someone you care about gets diagnosed with cancer, it’s hard to know what the hell to do. You want to help, obviously, but nothing you say feels like enough. You don’t want to make things worse, so you end up overthinking every text, every visit, every sentence.
Here’s the thing: you don’t need to be perfect. But you do need to show up in the right way. Not with cheesy quotes or forced optimism, but with honesty, humility, and actual support.
Don’t try to fix it. Just listen.
People love to jump in with advice or try to “cheer someone up.” But most of the time, someone going through cancer just needs you to shut up and listen. No, really. Just be quiet and let them vent, cry, rage whatever they need.
You don’t need to have a brilliant response. Just a “That sounds rough. I’m here” is enough. Don’t underestimate the power of being there and not saying something dumb like “Stay positive!” or “At least it’s treatable!” (Please don’t say that.)
Skip the pep talks
We all mean well when we say things like “You got this” or “You’re a warrior!” But honestly? That gets old fast. And it can make people feel like they have to fake strength all the time, even when they’re scared or exhausted or just having a bad day.
Cancer’s not a motivational poster. Sometimes it’s just plain awful. And that’s okay to admit.
A better approach: “I hate that you’re going through this. I’m here for whatever you need, even if it’s just sitting around in silence.”
Stop making it about yourself
It’s wild how often people hear “I have cancer” and immediately launch into “My cousin had that!” or “I know exactly what you’re going through because my dog had chemo once…” No. Stop.
Your job is not to turn this into your story. Your job is to hold space for their story. If they ask for your experience, cool. Otherwise, keep the focus on them.
Be specific when you offer help
“Let me know if you need anything” is…nice, but it puts the burden back on them. They’re already overwhelmed. The last thing they want to do is figure out what you’re willing to do.
Say something clear and easy. Like, “I can bring dinner Thursday. Good?” or “I’m free this weekend want me to drive you to the appointment?” That’s the kind of help people actually remember and appreciate.
Respect the mood
Some days they’ll want to talk. Other days they’ll want to be left alone. Try not to take it personally. Cancer messes with your body and your brain; it’s exhausting in ways most people don’t understand.
Check in gently. Something like “Thinking of you no pressure to reply” goes a long way. It says, “I’m here” without demanding anything back.
Mind your words
Let’s talk language. Calling cancer a “battle” can backfire. It makes it sound like people who don’t “win” somehow didn’t fight hard enough, which is just wrong.
Say stuff like “I’m proud of how you’re handling all this” or “You’re dealing with so much if you ever want to vent, I’ve got you.” That feels a lot more human and a lot less like a bumper sticker.
Don’t fade after the first week
The flood of support usually comes early on. Lots of calls, texts, flowers, casseroles. Then, a couple weeks in…crickets. Everyone else moves on, but for the person with cancer, things are just getting harder.
If you really want to support them, stick around. Set a reminder to check in regularly. Remember treatment days. Send random little “thinking of you” notes. That long-haul support is what really matters.
You’re not the doctor
This should be obvious, but here we are. Don’t recommend treatments you found on a podcast. Don’t push weird supplements or forward articles with “miracle cures.” Unless you’re an oncologist and even then, read the room just don’t.
Same goes for spiritual advice. If your friend’s not religious, don’t tell them “God has a plan.” Even if they are, let them bring that up first.
Let them feel like themselves again
Yes, they have cancer. But they’re still a whole person. They still care about movies, memes, football, music, or whatever they were into before the diagnosis.
Sometimes, the best thing you can do is just hang out and talk about anything but cancer. Laugh. Share dumb stuff. Watch trash TV together. Remind them they’re still them.
Wrapping it up
You don’t need to say the perfect thing. You don’t need to show up with a grand gesture. Just be real. Be consistent. Be someone they don’t have to pretend around. That’s what support really looks like. And trust me your presence, your patience, your ability to sit with the hard stuff—that’s what they’ll remember most.
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