When I discovered out I had stomach cancer at 24, my life altered right away. Everything I had worked so hard to build—my employment, my freedom, and my sense of control—seemed to fall apart in just a few weeks. I lost my flat because I couldn’t pay the rent, and my body started to get weaker before the treatments even started. I got back in with my mom since I had no other else to go. I assumed things would be easier if I stayed home, but I was incorrect. What I found instead was something I never would have thought of.
My mom didn’t open her arms wide to me. No one said anything nice or did anything nice to help. She didn’t do that; instead, she gave me a list of things to accomplish. Cleaning clothing. She told me to clean with a mop. Food. Most days, I could hardly stand up. I was so tired from the chemotherapy that I could hardly make it to the bathroom without stopping. She wanted me to behave like nothing had occurred. Cook dinner. Wipe down the baseboards. Get your chores done. 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 almost battling itself, but that didn’t matter.
Over time, the emotional distance between us grew. It never felt safe; it always felt like a place to work. The only place I could really cry was in my room, and even then, I had to be careful not to let anyone see me. The extensive list of requests stung, but what hurt even more was the complete lack of comprehension. I wasn’t treated like a daughter who was struggling for her life. I felt like I was bothering them. A mouth to feed. A slew of hands she could use.
Things went too far, and I didn’t even know it. Without asking, my mom took over my food assistance benefits. I knew something was up when I saw her come home with bags of food and beverages that I couldn’t even eat because my stomach was so sensitive. I couldn’t find any of the few things I could eat, like soft rice, broth, or simple vegetables. She stated I could eat everything in the house or nothing at all, so she didn’t care. I was too weak to fight back and too fatigued to do so. But I knew it wasn’t right.
That was the last straw when I found out she had sold my car. She didn’t say anything to me. Did not ask. They gave the keys to someone else in exchange for a few hundred dollars. When I asked her about it, she shrugged and said, “You don’t need it anymore.” That car was everything to me: my last 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. In a flash, it was gone. It wasn’t in my best interest. For her.
I felt something inside me break at that time. 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. I didn’t know how to get out until Mara showed up.
Mara was a friend. I hadn’t seen her much since the diagnosis, but she always checked in and offered to drive me when she could. She saw how pale I looked once when she drove me home from treatment. I was shaking so much that I could barely keep my eyes open. I tried to lie when she asked how things were at home. But the way she stared at me made me stop. And once I got going, I couldn’t stop. I told her everything, like what I had to do, what I ate, how cold it was, and what kind of car I drove. Her face changed from anxious to scared.
“You can’t go back in there,” she said in a calm voice.
I was so shocked that I couldn’t say anything. But she truly did mean it. That night, she helped me pack a duffel bag and drove me to her house. There was no stress or anything else, just warmth. I slept all 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 mother would respond, and I was also scared of how credible I would be. But the caseworker seemed serious about everything. People had misused the perks. They sold the car without asking for permission. They said what my mom did was against the law and hurt people financially.
After then, everything moved quickly. She had to pay back the money she took from food assistance, and she couldn’t get to anything that was in my name anymore. The car is now in the legal system, but I don’t care as much about it anymore. What matters most is that I’m free. The most essential thing is that I’m safe. People that really care about me are all around me.
Cancer has taken away a lot from me, like my health, my energy, and my hope for the future. But I gained something I didn’t expect when I lost everything. I learned that love doesn’t always come from where you expect it will. I learnt that family isn’t just blood; it’s the people that show up, listen, and do what you need them to do when you want them to.
Mara did more for me than just make 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. And even though my mom might never think she did anything wrong, I don’t need her to. I am at peace now, and that’s what healing really looks like.