By: Amanda Brunson, 37, Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia (ALL)

I’m a two-time leukemia survivor and a bone marrow transplant recipient. I was diagnosed at 21, and then again at 25. Cancer didn’t just enter my life once, it reshaped it more than once, at different stages, in different ways.

During treatment, survival was the focus. My world became centered around getting through each day. My parents were my greatest support system, they carried me in ways I didn’t always have the strength to carry myself. Their love and presence became part of the foundation I still stand on today.

But what people don’t always see is that cancer didn’t end when treatment ended.

When I entered survivorship, I stepped into a life that looked familiar on the outside, but felt completely different on the inside. My body had changed. My energy had changed. My perspective had changed. There wasn’t a clear roadmap for how to move forward, I just knew I had to.

And in that space, I began to understand that healing is not just physical, it’s emotional, mental, and deeply personal.

There were moments during my journey that challenged me in ways I didn’t expect. Moments where I felt exhausted, discouraged, and unsure of who I was becoming.

One moment that stands out to me happened during treatment. I was in a hospital room, connected to multiple IV pumps, physically weak and emotionally drained. I had lost a significant amount of weight, and I didn’t feel like myself. The room felt heavy, and so did everything I was carrying internally.

But at that moment, I made a decision.

I chose to worship.

Not because everything felt okay, but because it didn’t.

I began to praise God right there in that room. I didn’t have much strength, but I used what I had. I shifted from sitting in sorrow to intentionally choosing joy. I remember moving, lightly dancing, and worshiping even through exhaustion.

And something changed.

The atmosphere didn’t just feel different, I felt different.

What felt heavy began to lift. My mindset shifted. Peace replaced the weight I had been carrying. It wasn’t loud or dramatic, it was steady and real. It felt like strength meeting me exactly where I was.

God didn’t speak in an audible voice, but I felt Him in that moment.
In the shift from sadness to joy.
In the strength I didn’t have on my own.
In the reminder that I was not alone.

That moment became a turning point for me.

It showed me that even in the hardest places, there is still room for light. That even when circumstances don’t change right away, your posture can, and that shift can create space for healing.

As I moved forward, I began to see my journey differently.

I wasn’t just someone who had survived cancer—I was someone who was learning how to live again, with intention.

I began to rebuild, physically, emotionally, and mentally. I started listening to my body more. I started honoring what I had been through instead of rushing past it. I started giving myself permission to heal at my own pace.

And somewhere along the way, gratitude began to grow.

Not just for the big milestones, but for the small ones too.
For strength on the days I didn’t feel strong.
For moments of peace when I needed them most.
For the ability to keep moving forward, even when it wasn’t easy.

I also began to find my voice.

I realized that my experience had value not just for me, but for others walking a similar path. Especially for adolescents and young adults, who are navigating cancer while also trying to build their lives.

We’re not just patients, we’re people becoming.

And survivorship isn’t about going back to who you were before.
It’s about stepping into who you are now, with strength, awareness, and purpose.

Today, I carry both resilience and compassion because of what I’ve been through. I’ve learned how to advocate for myself. I’ve learned how to navigate uncertainty. And I’ve learned that healing is not a straight line, it’s a process that deserves patience and grace.

If there’s one thing I want someone reading this to take with them, it’s this:

There is still life, purpose, and joy available to you, even after everything you’ve been through.

You are allowed to heal.
You are allowed to grow.
And you are allowed to become something new.

For me, cancer didn’t just change my life, it helped me see it differently.

And in that, I found not just survival…
but strength, gratitude, and a deeper sense of purpose.