I Wish They Could Get Cancer! Why Some People Wake Up—and Others Stay Asleep
by Cindy Finch
OK, hold on.
Hear me out.
The first time my husband told me he stopped loving me, we were in a therapist’s office.
He didn’t say it in anger. He wasn’t blaming me. He was just… telling the truth.
“That’s when I stopped loving you,” he said.
We were talking about the years we spent surviving my cancer—the kind that came when I was 31, pregnant, and told I might not make it. The kind that turned me into a topless object on a cold operating table while Darin stood helpless in the corner, watching the woman he loved be reduced to a medical procedure.
That’s what trauma does. It strips you down. It leaves you bare. And it leaves the people who love you just as wrecked.
He said it out loud, but what he meant was this: I didn’t know how to love the version of you that was only pain.
But he stayed.
Even after open heart surgery. And open lung surgery—just two weeks later. Even after Mayo Clinic sent me home because I was too sick for surgery. Even through heart, liver, and lung failure. Even with three small kids. Even when we were both diagnosed with chronic PTSD. He stayed. And we clawed our way back to each other. Not quickly. Not easily. But we did.
That’s what trauma can do. It can either fracture you—or forge you.
And that’s what I wanted for a couple I was seeing recently. Not cancer. But clarity. Perspective. Something that would shake their snow globe hard enough to make the pieces of their life fall in a new pattern.
They had everything—health, kids, stability—and were wasting it fighting over nothing.
And I thought—God help me, I wish they could get cancer.
What Is Post-Traumatic Growth?
Post-traumatic growth isn’t about becoming an inspirational quote. It’s about becoming real. It’s the gritty, sacred alchemy of growing stronger because of what tried to kill you.
Research shows people can grow in five key ways after trauma:
Reset their priorities
Deepen their relationships
Gain internal strength
See new possibilities
Experience spiritual transformation
This isn’t theoretical. It’s lived. Our marriage didn’t just survive trauma. It bloomed inside of it. Scarred. Strong. Sacred.
When the Script Breaks
We all have scripts we live by:
“If I do good, I’ll get good.”
“People should think like I do.”
Trauma tears those scripts to shreds. Suddenly, life isn’t fair. People disappoint. Bodies betray. God goes silent.
You’re left staring at the blank page, wondering what to write next.
That’s where growth begins. In the ruins of what made sense.
The Window You Don’t Want, But Need
There’s a moment after everything falls apart where you’re soft clay. Open. Teachable. I call it the Sensitive Period.
If you catch it, you can remake your life. If you miss it, things harden—and so do you.
Five Things That Help You Grow (No Cancer Required)
1. Learn What’s Possible
Look for proof that people make it out. Tape their names to your mirror. Let their stories be your compass.
2. Feel Without Getting Stuck
Let the grief come. Don’t bottle it up—but don’t drown in it either. Breathe. Sob. Sleep. Repeat.
3. Say It Out Loud
Whisper it to your dog. Yell it into a steering wheel. Confess it to a trusted friend. Just get it out of your head.
4. Rewrite the Script
You are not the tragedy. You are the one who lived through it. Let the next chapter reflect that.
5. Help Someone Else
If you’ve made it even partway out, turn around. Someone else is behind you in the dark. Be the flashlight.
You Don’t Need Cancer to Wake Up
I don’t actually want anyone to get cancer. But I do want them to live like they’ve faced something. Like they’ve stood in a hospital hallway, terrified—and decided to fight for their life anyway.
I want people to stop fighting over socks on the floor. To say what hurts. To choose each other again.
Because if you don’t wake up now, life will wake you up later. And it might not be gentle.
If you’re in the rubble, bleeding and angry—welcome. This is the start.
The fire came. Now build something holy from the ash.
With you,
Cindy
