By Linda Athanasiadou
When I was diagnosed with cancer, one of the emotions I didn't expect—but felt deeply—was anger at my own body. I was furious. Furious that something inside me had turned against me. Furious that my body, which I had fed, cared for, and trusted, could betray me so completely. That anger was real, and for a long time, it was hard to talk about.
No one tells you how complicated your relationship with your body becomes during illness. As treatments began, I watched it change—lose hair, lose weight, lose energy. I saw scars form. I saw strength fade. I saw a face in the mirror that didn't feel like mine. It felt like my body had failed me, and I hated that.
I felt guilty for that anger, too. There's this unspoken expectation that you should “love your body” through treatment, honor its fight. And yes, I respected the work it was doing—but that didn't erase the frustration, the grief. It was hard to love something I barely recognized. I didn't want to fake positivity. I wanted to be honest.
And here's the truth: anger is valid. Especially when your life has been upended by something out of your control. My body became the battleground—and in a way, the enemy. A place where fear lived. But slowly, as the months passed, I began to see something else too.
Despite everything, my body kept going. Through nausea, surgeries, exhaustion, pain—it endured. And somewhere along the way, I began to shift from blame to awe. I started noticing the moments of resilience: when I could walk a little further, eat a little more, laugh again. I saw how my body, even bruised and broken, still wanted to heal. Still wanted to live.
Making peace didn't happen overnight. I started by softening the way I spoke to myself. By treating my body more like a friend who was doing their best under impossible circumstances. I allowed myself to rest without guilt. I began touching my scars with curiosity instead of shame. And slowly, trust came back—not as it was before, but something deeper, more honest.
Now, I see my body not as a traitor, but as a survivor. A witness to everything I've endured. And even on the days when I still feel disconnected or frustrated, I remind myself that healing includes forgiveness—of others, of circumstances, and yes, of myself.
If you're navigating this part of the journey, I invite you to read my article, “Parenting Through Cancer: Balancing Treatment and Family Life,” where I explore the full spectrum of feelings that come with illness, and how to speak with family.
You don't have to love your body every day. But learning to understand it, to meet it where it is—that's a powerful kind of peace. And it's one I'm still learning to choose, again and again.
