In last week’s counseling session, I caught my therapist up on everything that’s shifted since the MRI revealed new growth. As I laid out the treatment decisions now staring me down, she quietly said, “Let’s give your fears a voice.”
I froze.
The pause surprised me. Deep inside, a cluster of deep buried thoughts and beliefs bubbled up before I could even name them:
Christians aren’t supposed to fear.
Where there is fear, there isn’t faith.
Speaking your fears out loud only gives them more power.
For a moment or two I felt that familiar internal lockdown. Then I pushed through. It feels a little vulnerable and risky opening up about those fears I expressed, but here goes…
I fear that the holistic path I’ve chosen won’t be enough on its own and that the cancer will win in the end.
I fear that pursuing conventional treatments—chemo, radiation, surgery—will be so hard on my body that they’ll hasten the very thing I’m fighting against.
I fear I won’t be here for the next chapters of my kids’ lives—the marriages yet to come, the grandchildren still on the way, the deepening joys and everyday moments that make family so precious.
I fear missing out on seeing my grandchildren grow up and being part of their stories.
I fear I won’t grow old alongside Dan.
I fear the long-term side effects of conventional treatments could leave me with a diminished quality of life.
I fear the pain and sickness that come with chemo—the nausea, the suppressed immune system, the sheer exhaustion.
I fear losing most of 2026 to simply trying to survive.
Saying those words out loud to my counselor felt strangely… freeing. Like something heavy had loosened its grip just a little.
I’m only now, in this later season of life, learning how to actually feel my emotions instead of shoving them aside or letting them loop endlessly in my head. For so many years I didn’t know there was a third option—something healthier. The Bible talks about renewing our minds, and I must have read Romans 12:2 a hundred times without really understanding what that looked like in practice:
“And do not be conformed to this world [any longer with its superficial values and customs], but be transformed and progressively changed [as you mature spiritually] by the renewing of your mind [focusing on Godly values and ethical attitudes], so that you may prove [for yourselves] what the will of God is, that which is good and acceptable and perfect [in His plan and purpose for you].”
It’s been a slow, sometimes clumsy process to grasp what “action” that verse actually invites—replacing those old fear-filled tapes with truth that transforms.
After the session I came home and worked with Grok to create some mind-renewal cards—simple, scriptural truths I can hold onto when the waves hit hard. That conversation even led me deeper into the practice of lament. I used to read David’s psalms and think he was just complaining. But I see now how his honest cries always circle back: he lays out the fear, the pain, the confusion… and then he remembers who God is. He ends in trust, in praise, in resting on God’s character.
That realization brought such relief. I don’t have to pretend these thoughts aren’t there. Lamenting doesn’t mean I’m turning my back on God or disrespecting Him. It means I can be real about the storm inside while still turning toward Him. And somehow, naming the fear makes space for trust to grow again.
If you’re carrying fears of your own—maybe about health, family, the future, or something else entirely—can I gently encourage you? Try giving those fears a voice, even just to a trusted friend, a counselor, or quietly to God in prayer. Let yourself lament honestly; write it down, speak it out, bring the raw ache into the light. Then turn the page toward what you know is true about God’s character—His faithfulness, His nearness, His goodness even in the unknown. There’s freedom on the other side of naming it. You don’t have to carry it alone, and you don’t have to silence it to prove your faith. Sometimes the bravest thing is simply being real…and trusting Him with what comes next.
If any of this stirs something in you, I’d love to hear your story in the comments or privately if that's more comfortable. We’re walking these roads together.
With love and hope,
Nancy
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