One of the biggest lessons cancer taught me was how hard it is to “think clean” even when you eat clean and keep a tidy house. The loudest, most exhausting disease in my life wasn’t only cancer—it was the constant voice of “What will people think?” that had been there long before any diagnosis. So many of our choices—from clothes and phones to homes, friends, and even hobbies—quietly revolve around acceptance and belonging. We bend ourselves into shapes that don’t quite fit who we truly are, chasing approval from people who may not even be in our lives years later.

Real value, as it turns out, often lives in what no one sees: a family meal shared without looking at the clock, watching your child grow, surviving a year of lockdown under one roof and still wanting to reach for the same person at night, a sibling who drops everything to be by your side, the simple gift of breathing freely. When my six‑year‑old nephew Aaryan says, “Kaki is kind,” it touches me more deeply now than any job title ever has. Cancer nudged me to stop waiting for external applause and start honoring my own invisible successes. When you do something with your full heart, it matters—even if no one notices, claps, or understands. There is a part of you, and something bigger than all of us, that sees it and quietly keeps count.​

When in reality, the things which are most invisible are the ones that are most valuable, like being able to eat together as family, being able to watch your kid grow, being able to survive a year of covid under one roof as couple and yet wanting to be cuddled up with that same person every single night and feeling loved and cared for by our partner, having a sibling who can literally leave everything behind and show up for you and be with you unconditionally!

Continue Reading: Walking Into Chemo