Grounded in Words, Fueled by Purpose: Living Fully with Chronic Cancer

Linda Cohen is a survivor of small lymphocytic lymphoma and was diagnosed in 2009. Catch up on all of Linda's blogs here!

Writing and reading help me stay grounded and make meaning of my life as I navigate chronic cancer. Over time, they’ve become more than habits — they are essential tools I use to process, reflect, and connect with the world around me. I keep a daily journal to remind myself to do something good and meaningful every day, which is deeply tied to my faith and spiritual outlook. That simple practice helps me stay accountable to living with intention, even during difficult times.

Writing this blog, in particular, gives me a space to be fully honest with myself. When my cancer takes a step forward, I try to take a step right alongside it — to respond thoughtfully and take action. Of course, there are days when it’s tempting to avoid the hard truths. But writing doesn’t let me off the hook. It invites me to face what I’m feeling and name it. That’s often where healing begins.

Storytelling, too, has taken on a new and beautiful role in my life. At the urging of my daughters, I started recording the stories I tell my grandchildren. That became “Stories with Savta” (Hebrew for grandmother), a podcast where I share children’s tales as a reading specialist and proud grandmother. It’s available on Spotify and Apple Podcasts, and it’s completely free — no monetization, just love. What began as a way for my grandkids to hear my voice and remember my stories has grown into something more. It’s joyful, playful, and unexpectedly meaningful. It connects generations and gives me a lasting sense of purpose. I hope it even helps other children fall in love with reading and storytelling.

But not everything I write or speak about is light. One of the subjects I feel most passionately about is the rise of antisemitism in today’s world. As a child of Holocaust survivors, I feel the weight of history repeating itself in unsettling ways. The similarities between my parents’ experiences in 1941 Yugoslavia and what I see now are impossible to ignore. Hatred has crept into our universities, our public discourse, and even our K–12 schools. This isn’t just a Jewish issue — it’s a threat to the values of tolerance and freedom that define our Western society.

To me, antisemitism feels like a kind of societal cancer — one that mutates, spreads, and resurfaces over time. And just like with my own chronic illness, I feel a responsibility to speak out. I share my parents’ story at our local Holocaust Museum, help organize educational programs, and do whatever I can to bring truth and understanding to my community. Sometimes I feel it’s exhausting work, but I feel I can’t stay silent. The silence of the world is deafening, and history has taught us where that silence can lead.

Still, I’m constantly reminded to pace myself — for the sake of my health, my energy, and my spirit. Living with chronic cancer requires balance. I’m learning, slowly, to listen to my limits. That’s when I take time to enjoy daily walks and time with my husband, family, and friends, listen to the birds when I have my morning coffee, and take the time to enjoy my grandchildren. But it’s hard to make time for all, especially when I feel so strongly that my voice — our voices — are needed more than ever.

Reading and writing are not just my escape. They are my foundation. They help me make sense of both the private and the public battles I face. They remind me that even with cancer, my story is still unfolding. Reading and writing are my lifelines. They help ground me and give meaning to a life that is still very much unfolding, even with cancer as my constant companion.

This piece reflects the author’s personal experience and perspective. For medical advice, please consult your health care provider.

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