Necessary Endings

May 13, 2026

Photo by Lance Grandahl on Unsplash

Some endings in life arrive loudly. Others happen slowly, quietly, almost unnoticed at first. A career changes direction. A season of life fades away. A relationship that once felt effortless suddenly feels exhausting.

We spend so much time trying to hold things together that we sometimes forget not everything is meant to continue forever. Some relationships, habits, and expectations eventually outlive their purpose.

Necessary endings are painful because they force us to acknowledge that growth often requires letting go. Not out of hatred or bitterness, but because carrying certain weights any farther begins to damage you. There comes a point where protecting your peace becomes more important than preserving appearances.

Cancer has a way of clarifying things. When your body is fighting to recover, you begin to notice what drains you mentally and emotionally too. During this process I’ve had to prune parts of my life that no longer brought balance, support, or understanding.

That has included certain relationships. Some people only know how to take. Some only know how to criticize. Some will weaponize your vulnerability because it makes them uncomfortable to confront their own behavior.

I know this post may cost me a few readers. Ironically, the person I’m speaking about is responsible for bringing many of them here in the first place. At the beginning, that support felt kind. Genuine. I appreciated it more than they probably realized.

Over time though, the gesture stopped feeling like support and started feeling transactional. It became something held over my head. A reminder of what they believed they had done for me. As if kindness created debt. As if I was expected to tolerate disrespect because of the audience they helped bring here.

That is not kindness, nor love. That is leverage.

Real support is given freely. It does not come with a scoreboard attached to it. It does not become a weapon pulled out during moments of anger. Nobody deserves unlimited access to your life simply because they once helped you. Gratitude and self respect can exist at the same time.

Being accused of “using cancer as a crutch” told me everything I needed to know about that relationship dynamic. Those words were not said in frustration alone. They were ugly. Cruel. The kind of words that reveal something deeper about the soul of the person willing to say them.

If I could trade away these last eighteen months, I would do it in a heartbeat. I would trade the hospital rooms, the scans, the fear, the exhaustion, the treatments, and the uncertainty without a second thought. More than anything, I would trade away the pain and worry this disease placed on my family. Watching the people you love carry fear in their eyes while trying to stay strong for you is something I would never wish on anyone. No one “uses” that as a crutch. No one chooses this road because it is convenient.

I have tried to be honest here on this blog. Honest about the fear. Honest about the setbacks. Honest about the victories too. Writing became a way to process the chaos and make sense of emotions that sometimes felt too heavy to carry alone. It was never intended to become ammunition for someone else to weaponize against me later.

Vulnerability should not be treated like weakness, nor should trust be twisted into leverage during moments of anger.

The truth is simple: surviving cancer changes you. Treatment changes you. Fatigue changes you. Priorities change you. If someone cannot offer compassion during the hardest chapter of your life, they have no business demanding unlimited access to your energy.

Moving forward with treatment, work, recovery, and life means protecting my mental health just as much as my physical health. They may see the situation differently, and honestly, that’s okay.

Everyone tells themselves a story that helps them sleep at night. I no longer have the desire to stand still and serve as someone’s emotional punching bag.

Life is too short, too fragile, and too valuable for that.

Sometimes the healthiest words you can say are the simplest ones: you can fuck right off.

Sorry for the harsh language, but those are the ones that capture my feelings in this moment.