You didn’t say it out loud.
Not even to the people closest to you.
But some days, you wanted to quit.
Not life.
Just…everything else.
You were tired of being strong.
Tired of pretending it didn’t hurt—physically, emotionally, spiritually.
Tired of carrying the weight of fear in your chest and the nausea in your bones.
Tired of dragging yourself through one more appointment, one more treatment, one more “You’ve got this.”
You just wanted a single day—one quiet day—
where your body didn’t scream,
your thoughts didn’t spiral,
and your emotions didn’t feel like they might split you open.
You didn’t want pep talks.
You didn’t want advice.
You just wanted it to stop.
And I want to say this as gently and truthfully as I can: it’s okay that you felt that way.
It didn’t make you weak.
It made you human.
You didn’t give up—even on the days you thought about it.
You still showed up.
Maybe not with fire and fight, but with breath and presence.
And that was enough.
You kept going through side effects no one warned you about.
You kept going when the people around you got tired of asking how you were.
You kept going when you didn’t recognize your own face in the mirror.
You kept going when your hope felt paper-thin.
I know now that what you needed wasn’t more strength.
You needed permission to fall apart.
You needed softness in a world that kept telling you to “stay positive.”
You needed someone to sit with you in the dark.
I remember.
I see you.
I love you for staying—even when you didn’t feel brave.
You were never alone in that chair, in that bed, in that fog.
You were tired. But you were never broken.
You were done—but not defeated.
And even on the days you felt like giving up… you didn’t.
And that’s the kind of strength the world rarely sees.
But I do.
I see it now.
And I’ll never stop honouring it.
Love,
Me
