In the early days of my cancer diagnosis, advice poured in from every direction. My friends, family, acquaintances all had something to share.
“You should consider a double mastectomy. My friend did it, and it worked out well for her.”
“Take this herb; it helped my aunt recover.”
“Don’t trust public hospitals; private doctors are better.”
I knew all their advice came from a place of love and concern. People wanted to help, and many of them had seen someone close to them navigate breast cancer. But as well-meaning as their words were, the sheer volume of advice became overwhelming for me.
Everyone seemed so confident in their suggestions, and sometimes their advice conflicted with what my doctors were telling me. I started to feel confused and even a little stressed. Should I explore these alternative therapies? Was I making the wrong decision by opting for a lumpectomy instead of a mastectomy?
But amidst all the noise, one piece of advice stood out:
“It is possible to lead a normal life.”
Those simple words were like a lifeline! They came from a friend who had seen her mother navigate breast cancer with resilience and grace.
Filtering the Noise
While that one piece of advice gave me clarity, the rest of the advice still needed managing.
I brought some of the suggestions back to my doctors, asking them to help me understand the nuances. Why did some people choose mastectomy over lumpectomy? Why were CT scans ordered in some cases but not others?
What I discovered was that cancer treatment is incredibly complex. Even for the exact same diagnosis, doctors might take different approaches depending on their judgment, the hospital’s constraints, or even the patient’s preferences.
Finding Clarity
Once I had clarity, I made a decision and stuck with it. I chose to trust my doctors, stick with the plan we agreed on, and let go of the rest. I did not have the mental or emotional bandwidth to entertain every possibility. It also allowed me the space to move forward without unnecessary stress.
This experience also made me think about how I give advice to others. Sometimes, even the most well-meaning advice can add pressure if it is not shared carefully.
Now, when I offer advice, I try to be mindful of the person receiving it. I ask myself:
Am I trying to help, or am I projecting my own fears or biases?
The best advice may not be about solving someone else’s problem, but to support them as they navigate it in their own way.
Reflections: How do you filter advice when you are feeling overwhelmed? How might you offer advice to others in a way that feels supportive rather than overwhelming?