I’m a Survivor: The Day I Finally Believed It

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

There was a moment early in my cancer journey when, for the first time, I felt like I could finally exhale, take a deep breath, and sigh of relief, with my hope being renewed. For some, that moment comes after the first round of chemo, the final radiation session, or post-surgery recovery. Many find it in the ringing of the bell—which is a celebration I honestly do not even remember experiencing. It reminds me of the lyrics from the Destiny’s Child song:

“I’m a survivor, I’m not gon’ give up, I’m not gon’ stop, I’m gon’ work harder. I’m a survivor, I’m gonna make it, I will survive and keep on surviving!”

Listen, this anthem hits differently when you have gone through a challenging journey of having cancer. But my defining moment did not come during the thick of treatment — it came after. Just over a year after my surgery.

It was during my 18-month CT scan. I remember sitting in the waiting room, sipping on the awful-tasting contrast, dreading the scan ahead of me, a bit scared, but grateful as I looked at my toddler pushing his own stroller, playing with my husband and family. So many emotions wrapped up in one moment in time. It was my turn. She called my name, my heart racing with nervousness. I got up to hug my husband, who was also nervous because beads of sweat were pouring from his forehead. I chased my son to give him a hug and kisses as he squirmed to get down and run again, not even knowing what was going on. I then looked at the rest of my family, who was just as nervous as I was, saying, “Lord Jesus, everything is going to be okay, TT.” As I walked down the stark, cold white hallway to the imaging room, I was shivering and still scared. The scan itself did not take long, but what I really dreaded was the appointment afterwards. It was like I was a track athlete doing hurdles. Over the first one, the second one, and now here is the last one.

You would think that after so many scans and doctor appointments, I would be used to it—but there was always that lingering fear. The "what if" that tries to creep in even when your faith is strong, the thought of a recurrence still lingers. Up until this point, I have fought hard physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. My body has been through serious surgery, treatment, and so much recovery. But on that day, I was not sure what I was walking into. The 18-month (about 1 and a half years) mark was a pivotal moment and milestone because it was whether I found out if the cancer had come back or not.

To every person reading this — know that your story is not over. You are not just surviving the storm. You are being strengthened by it.

When my doctor walked into the room, looked at me with a confident smile, and said, “Your scans look good, Tamron! No cancer!” That moment changed everything. It was almost surreal. Like the words took a second to find their place in my spirit. Then the tears came rolling down, and not from fear but relief, a great one at that. And I said, “Thank you, Jesus!” Knowing that God had not only carried me in the darkest time of my life but had healed me. I am a cancer survivor.

That day, I walked out of the doctor’s office grinning from ear to ear, filled with so much gratitude, hope, and joy. I looked at my life, my faith, and my purpose with new eyes. I just didn't want to survive. I wanted to thrive. Because survival is not just a medical milestone. It is a spiritual one. It is when you realize that the valley did not break you.

I now carry that moment with me into every conversation I have with women going through cancer or navigating hard seasons. I remind them that your survival may not look like mine, and your defining moment might not come in a doctor’s office. But it will come. It might show up in the way you speak life over yourself again. Or when you choose joy in the face of uncertainty. Or when you decide that your life is still valuable, still beautiful, even after everything you have gone through.

To every person reading this — know that your story is not over. You are not just surviving the storm. You are being strengthened by it. And when your defining moment comes, you will feel it. You will know deep in your soul — you are not just a survivor. You are a thriver.