This is another layer of the after, one I did not anticipate when treatment ended, but one that has quietly shaped how I experience survivorship now. One of the strangest parts of life after treatment is the silence. During diagnosis and treatment, everything is loud. Appointments, phone calls, instructions, schedules, people checking in. Your days are shaped by what comes next, and even when it is overwhelming, there is a strange sense of containment in being constantly guid

Yesterday I completed the last day of my radiation treatment. It was a quiet ending, without bells or ceremony, but filled with deep gratitude. The side effects were stronger in the final stretch, and finishing brought a relief I felt in every part of myself. Today is Thanksgiving, and the timing adds even more meaning to this moment. This post reflects on the end of this chapter, the lessons I carried, and the quiet strength found along the way.

A reflective look at the emotional overwhelm of a cancer journey, through the eyes of a marathon runner navigating fear, fatigue, and the quiet strength of showing up.