I discovered out I had stomach cancer when I was 24, and my life altered right after. In just a few weeks, everything I had worked so hard to build—my employment, my freedom, and my sense of control—seemed to fall apart. I lost my apartment because I couldn’t afford the rent, and my body started to get weaker from the treatments before they even started. I went back in with my mom since I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I believed that being home would make things easier, but I was wrong. Instead, I found something I never would have thought of.
My mom didn’t hug me when I got home. There were no pleasant words or gestures of support. She provided me a list of things to do instead. Cleaning clothing. She told me to use a mop to clean. Food. I could barely stand up most days. The treatment made me so tired that I could hardly get to the bathroom without stopping. She still wanted me to behave like nothing had occurred. Prepare dinner. Clean the baseboards. Take care of your business. They didn’t care that I was in pain or weary. She made it very apparent that I had to “contribute” if I lived with her. My body was virtually battling itself, but that didn’t matter.
The emotional distance between us grew as time went on. It never felt like a secure place; it always felt like a place to work. I could only cry in my room, and even then, I had to be careful not to let anyone see me. But what hurt more than the huge list of things I wanted was that no one seemed to get it. I didn’t feel like a daughter who was struggling for her life. They made me feel like I was bothering them. Someone to feed. A bunch of hands she could use.
Then things got out of hand, and I didn’t even know it. Without asking, my mom took over my food aid benefits. I knew something was up when I saw her come home with bags of food and soda. I couldn’t even eat it because my stomach was so sensitive. I couldn’t find any of the few things I could eat, like soft rice, broth, or basic vegetables. She didn’t care what I ate as long as it was in the house or nothing at all. I was too tired to fight back and too weak to argue. But I knew it wasn’t right.
That was the last straw for me when I found out she had sold my car. She didn’t tell me. Didn’t ask. They just gave the keys to someone else in exchange for a few hundred dollars. She shrugged and said I “didn’t need it anymore” when I asked her about it. That car was everything to me. It was my final bit of freedom, my way to get to chemo appointments without having to ask for rides, and my way to get away when I needed to breathe. It was gone in a flash. It wasn’t good for me. For her.
I felt something inside me break at that point. I felt trapped in a house that didn’t seem like home with someone who seemed more interested in controlling me than helping me get better. Mara showed me how to get out.
Mara was a good buddy. I hadn’t seen her much since the diagnosis, but she always called to check on me and volunteered to transport me when she could. When she drove me home after treatment once, she observed how pale I looked. I was shaking so terribly that I could not keep my eyes open. I tried to lie when she asked how things were going at home. But the way she stared at me made me stop. And once I started, I couldn’t stop. I told her everything, like the work, the food, the car, and how cold it was. Her face changed from worried to scared.
She said in a calm voice, “You can’t go back in there.”
I couldn’t answer because I was so shocked. But she genuinely meant it. She helped me pack a duffel bag that night and took me to her house. There was no pressure or anything else going on, just warmth. I slept through the night for the first time in weeks. The next day, she sat next to me while we talked about what had happened. I was scared. I was scared of how my mom would respond, and I was also scared of how credible I would be. The caseworker, on the other hand, was serious about everything. People have utilized the benefits in a bad way. They sold the car without asking. They stated my mom broke the law and ripped others off for money.
After then, everything moved quickly. She had to give back the money she obtained from food assistance, and she couldn’t get to anything that was in my name anymore. The car is now in the court system, but it doesn’t matter to me as much anymore. The most important thing is that I’m free. The most important thing is that I’m okay. There are people around me who really care about me.
Cancer has taken a lot from me, including my health, my energy, and my hope for the future. But after I lost everything, I got something I didn’t expect. I learned that love doesn’t always come from the places you expect it to. I learnt that family isn’t just blood; it’s the people that are there for you, listen to you, and do what you need them to do when you need them to do it.
Mara did more than just help me feel better. She helped me get my self-respect back. She reminded me that even when things are at their worst, kindness can still win out. And even though my mom may never think she did anything wrong, I don’t need her to. Now that I’m healed, I feel at peace, and that’s what healing looks like.
