What Cancer Taught Me About Leadership
How a cancer diagnosis redefined leadership as quiet influence and compassionate presence.
Leadership Often Whispers: What Cancer Taught Me About Advocacy and Influence
If you had told me ten years ago that someone would ask me to talk about leadership, I probably would have looked over my shoulder to see who you were actually talking to.
I didn't set out to be a leader. I certainly didn't set out to become a cervical cancer advocate.
Honestly, I just wanted to survive.
Looking back, though, I can see that life had been quietly preparing me long before cancer ever entered the picture.
Growing Up as the New Kid
I grew up in an Air Force family. Every two or three years, we packed up our lives and started over somewhere new. New school. New friends. New neighborhood. Rinse and repeat.
At the time, I thought I was just the "new kid" over and over again. I didn't realize I was learning how to walk into unfamiliar places, introduce myself, find common ground, and build community. I also grew up taking military healthcare for granted. If you needed a doctor, you went to one. It never crossed my mind that access to healthcare wasn't that simple for everyone.
Cancer connected those dots for me.
What Leadership Actually Is
Cancer didn't suddenly make me a leader. It changed my understanding of what leadership actually is.
I used to think leadership meant standing at the front of the room with all the answers.
Now I think it looks a lot more like sitting beside someone and saying, "You're not alone."
That lesson didn't come from a conference or a leadership book.
It came from other survivors.
Oddly enough, I don't remember every piece of advice people gave me after my diagnosis. What I do remember are the people who checked in simply because they cared. The survivor who answered the question I was almost afraid to ask. The friend who made me laugh when cancer was all I could think about. The people who simply stayed.
Those people probably never thought of themselves as leaders.
I do.
Leadership Often Whispers
That's one of the reasons I love advocacy so much. It has completely changed my definition of influence. We tend to think influence comes from titles, awards, magazine interviews, or having thousands of followers. Those things certainly have their place, but some of the most influential people I've ever met will never stand on a stage.
- They're the people answering messages from someone who was newly diagnosed.
- They're the ones dropping off dinner.
- They're the caregivers sitting through another chemotherapy appointment.
- They're the survivors quietly saying, "I've been there."
Turns out, leadership often whispers.
Listening Long Enough to Understand
One of the biggest surprises of my advocacy journey has been realizing how different everyone's experience with cancer can be. Growing up with military healthcare, I assumed everyone had access to specialists, screenings, and timely treatment. Then I started meeting women whose stories looked nothing like mine.
- Women who drove hours just to see a gynecologic oncologist.
- Women who delayed care because they couldn't miss work.
- Women who were embarrassed to talk about gynecologic cancers because of the stigma that still surrounds them.
Listening to those stories changed me.
It reminded me that leadership isn't about telling people what you know. It's about listening long enough to understand what they need.
That realization is a big part of why I advocate the way I do today.
How I Stay Motivated
People sometimes ask me how I stay motivated.
The truth?
Some days, I don't.
Advocacy isn't glamorous. Most days, it's emails, phone calls, social media posts, committee meetings, and trying to remember the password to whatever platform I'm supposed to be using. (Survivor brain is real, friends.)
But then someone sends a message:
- "I scheduled my screening."
- "I got my daughter vaccinated."
- "I found Cervivor."
- "I didn't feel so alone because of something you shared."
And suddenly, every late night feels worth it.
Holding the Door Open
If cancer taught me anything about leadership, it's this:
- You don't have to be the loudest voice in the room.
- You don't have to have all the answers.
- You don't need a title.
- You just have to be willing to hold the door open for the person coming behind you.
Maybe you're reading this thinking, "I'm not a leader."
I probably would have said the same thing once.
But if you've ever checked on a friend, shared your story, driven someone to an appointment, encouraged another survivor, or simply shown up when someone needed you, you've led.
You may not have called it that.
I probably wouldn't have either.
I wish I'd never learned these lessons through cancer. I'd gladly give every one of them back if it meant no one else had to hear the words, "You have cancer."
But since this is my story, I get to choose what I do with it.
- So I choose to keep showing up.
- I choose to keep telling my story.
- I choose to keep holding the door open.
Because if there's one thing my military upbringing taught me and cancer confirmed, it's that no one gets through life's hardest battles alone.
