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Surviving cancer wasn’t the end of my story; it was the start of redefining life, finding purpose and offering hope to those walking behind me.
Tamron Little was diagnosed with peritoneal mesothelioma in 2007 as a 21-year-old new mother. Catch up on Tamron's blogs here!
I remind people all the time that cancer survivorship is another ballgame. It is not a straight road, but more like a winding path—full of unexpected turns, beautiful sunrises, and the occasional stumble on a rock you did not see coming. No one really prepares you for what happens after the diagnosis. At times, your hand is being held as you go through treatment options, explaining side effects, and schedule scan after scan. But rarely does anyone talk about what it feels like to live in space after the battle—to find your footing in a world that kept moving while yours stood still. Well, in my experience.
I was diagnosed with peritoneal mesothelioma, a rare and aggressive cancer, at the age of 21 years old, just five months after giving birth to my son. In the beginning, life became a series of ebbs and flows, with appointments, test results, whispered prayers, and sheer survival. I often explain it as my life was a tornado, and I was the eye of the storm. If you can imagine the dynamics of a tornado, the eye is always the calmest point. Everything else around it is going in circles. But even with that, I leaned into my faith harder than ever. I call it “crazy faith.” Faith to where the odds are stacked up against you, my prognosis was 18 months (about 1 and a half years), but I still showed up for my son and husband, even when I had nothing left in the tank. I knew I would be healed and able to see my son growing up.
But when the doctor said the words, “There is no evidence of cancer,” during my 18-month CT scan, I felt something shift deep inside me. Relief washed over me. Joy flooded my soul. But then came a quiet, sobering question: Now what?
The world calls it remission, but I call it redefinition. Because the truth is, the path forward was not about returning to normal—it was about becoming someone new. A “new” normal, not realizing that my life would never be the same; it would never return to how it was pre-cancer. The woman who emerged from that fire was different from the one who entered it.
But even in the joy of healing, the challenges of survivorship are plain. It is not a finish line—it is a journey in itself. A lifelong journey that brings its own struggles: scanxiety before follow-ups, unexpected fatigue, the emotional weight of “what ifs,” and the grief over things cancer quietly stole. I have sat in the tension of healing and hurting at the same time. I have had thoughts of survivors' guilt, I’ve looked in the mirror at scars and reminding myself they are proof I am still here.
Believe it or not, there are joys of cancer survivorship, ones that for me are rooted deeper into the soil as time passes. Since my initial diagnosis and prognosis of 18 months, it has been 18 years and counting. I do not take anything for granted. I celebrate the ordinary. Sunday dinners, family game nights, deep belly laughs that leave my cheeks hurting, long hugs with my kids, even if they like it or not. It is the joy of waking up each morning knowing I have a purpose in this life. No matter if things are going the way I planned them, I still find pockets of joy every day. I cherish the chance to use my voice again, to stand behind a microphone or in front of a sister and say, “You’re not alone.”
That’s why I created Thrive Sister Thrive. That is why I wrote A Survivor’s Guide to Thriving. That is why I speak, advocate, and tell my story. Because the path forward is not about healing my own wounds—it is about offering hope to the woman coming behind me. It is about helping her navigate her own way out of the valley and into the light.
Cancer tried to interrupt my life, but it did not cancel my purpose. It redirected me. It refined me. It reminded me that thriving is not about perfection — it is about being present, whole, and deeply alive in the right now.
Your path forward may not be perfect, but it is powerful. Keep walking on it. Keep embracing the joy and taking on the challenges that cancer survivorship is bringing. You are not just surviving. You are thriving — one step, one breath, one victory at a time.
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