How I Found Support While Facing a Rare Cancer Diagnosis Alone

Tamron Little was diagnosed with peritoneal mesothelioma in 2007 as a 21-year-old new mother. Catch up on Tamron's blogs here!

Am I the only one who didn't know anyone who had cancer when I was first diagnosed with peritoneal mesothelioma? I didn’t know a single person with cancer, let alone someone my age with my type. It’s rare. Aggressive. The kind you read about on medical websites with words like “poor prognosis” and “uncommon in young adults.”

So, I did what many people do when they feel alone. I stayed quiet. I smiled through the appointments. I took care of my newborn while managing treatment. I showed up in the ways I could. But inside, I was navigating a world that didn’t feel built for me.

There weren’t mom groups for young women with mesothelioma. There weren’t message boards filled with stories that looked like mine. Most mesothelioma patients were older men with a history of occupational asbestos exposure. I was a 21-year-old new mom with no clear path forward, and I didn’t know how to ask for support because I didn’t know who to ask.

However, healing has a way of creating space, and sometimes, support finds you.

Years later, I was introduced to The Mesothelioma Support Group. For the first time, I was able to hear from other people who understood what I had been through. People with the same diagnosis, the same questions, the same fire to live beyond the odds. That space connected me to patient advocates who saw something in me and kept encouraging me to share my story, and not just to raise awareness, but to give hope.

I didn’t want to share from a medical standpoint. I wanted my writing to come from a real, transparent place. Not filled with complicated jargon, but with truth. Raw moments, honest thoughts, and the emotional side of surviving something that was supposed to take me out.

At first, it was just small posts. A blog entry here, a caption there. I didn’t expect much. But the messages started coming in.

“I’ve never met another young woman with this diagnosis.”

“Thank you for saying what I couldn’t.”

“I needed to see this today.”

And just like that, the loneliness began to lift.

I realized that advocacy wasn’t just about statistics or awareness days. It was about connection. It was ministry. It was mentorship. It was the voice I once needed. And as I continued sharing, I found my people: survivors, caregivers, faith-filled warriors, women at every stage of their healing journey. They were all linked by a shared desire to thrive through the unthinkable.

Today, I use my social media platforms, podcast, and written work to reach others who are walking through the aftermath of diagnosis. I write devotionals for women in the in-between space. The “I survived, but I’m still healing” space. I’ve partnered with The Mesothelioma Center to advocate for patients and educate others about this rare disease. I connect with newly diagnosed women who are scared, just like I was, and let them know they are not alone.

That’s what support looks like for me now. It’s not just casseroles and check-ins, though those are beautiful too. It’s a legacy. It’s creating spaces where stories like mine aren’t rare, they’re seen. It’s choosing to turn pain into purpose, not because I have all the answers, but because I know what it’s like to feel like you’re walking this path alone.

If you’re reading this and feeling isolated, please listen to me. There’s a community for you, even if you haven’t found it yet.

Sometimes, the support we need shows up in the most unexpected ways. A story, a post, a message that reminds us of we’re still here, still standing, and still connected.

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

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