A Journey of Strength and Self-Love: The Real Battle Beyond Cancer. 1400

Battling cancer was, in some ways, easier than looking for a job. I never thought I’d say that, but today, after an experience I’ll never forget, it felt like the truth. Let me share my story with you, and you’ll understand why.

It’s been two years since I fought cancer for the second time. During my treatments, I wore my strength like a shield, and my family was by my side, helping me navigate each painful day. But there’s one thing that has never fully healed: my hair. After all the treatments, my hair never grew back the way it used to. The texture changed. The thickness was gone. And, no matter how many times I tried, I couldn’t get it to look the way it once did.

I’ve worn a head covering every day since then—partly because I’m embarrassed by how uneven and thin my hair has become, and partly because I’m still trying to hide the parts of me that were ravaged by illness. Only a few people have seen me without it: my husband, my immediate family, and a few doctors. Everyone else only knows me as the woman who wears a head cap everywhere she goes.

But here's the thing: I know what kind of person I am. I know that I’m strong. I know that I’m kind. I’m kind to the lady sitting next to me who talks incessantly, not because she’s annoying, but because she has no one else to talk to. I know that she is the reason I kept showing up for treatment even when I didn’t feel like it. She had no one else, and I couldn’t let her go through this alone. That’s the kind of person I am—someone who lifts others up, even when I’m barely holding myself together.

But the world of job hunting has been far less forgiving. Companies, it seems, don’t care about the kindness you show or the strength you possess. They care about how you look, how well you fit into their idea of "professional." And today, on January 31, 2023, I had an interview that made me realize just how harsh and shallow the world can be.

The interview was conducted over Zoom, and I thought it went well—until it didn’t. As I sat there, waiting for the meeting to end, I could hear them talking amongst themselves in the background. They didn’t end the Zoom call properly before they began their conversation, and what I heard next cut deeper than any chemo treatment I had endured. “She had a head cap on. Did she know she was in an interview?” one person said. Another added, “She would look more professional if she showed her hair. I can’t tell what color her hair is.”

Do they know how much my hair is uneven? Do they know I have bald spots? Do they know how embarrassing it is to even think about showing anyone the damage cancer has done to my appearance? No, they don’t. And they didn’t even try to understand. Instead, they judged me—without knowing anything about what I had been through. They didn’t ask, “How are you doing?” or “What’s your story?” They simply looked at the surface, and that was enough for them to dismiss me.

In that moment, I felt my heart sink. I had already faced the terrifying uncertainty of cancer. I had lost so much. I had fought harder than anyone should ever have to, just to survive. And now, the battle was still ongoing—but this time, it was for my self-worth, my dignity. It was a fight I hadn’t anticipated, and yet it felt just as brutal as the one against cancer itself.

The first time I went to the grocery store after completing two years of treatment, I weighed only 93 pounds. As I shopped, I overheard someone whisper, “Does she know she isn’t even going to eat that food she’s buying?” It stung like a thousand needles. How could someone be so cruel, so judgmental, when they had no idea what I had been through? That moment stuck with me, just like today’s interview will.

But today, I made a decision.

Today, I decided that I would no longer hide the evidence of my battle. Today, I decided to wear my history with pride. I had spent so long covering up my journey, but now I realized that hiding it was only holding me back. I would no longer let others’ shallow judgments dictate how I see myself.

My pride had been hurt by their words, but in that pain, I discovered a valuable lesson in self-love. The world may not always understand me. It may not see beyond my appearance, my hair, or the way I dress. But I know who I am. I am a fighter. I am kind. I am resilient. I am worthy. And the people who matter—the people who truly see me—will appreciate those qualities far more than any superficial judgment.

So, today is the last day I will hide behind a head cap. From now on, I will wear my history proudly, and if someone can’t see the beauty in that, then that’s on them, not me. I’ve fought too hard to let anyone else define my worth. I know my worth, and it doesn’t depend on whether I have hair, or whether it’s uneven, or whether I wear a head covering.

Cheers to the unkind folks out there. You may think your judgment hurts us, but in reality, you are helping us kind folks realize just how important we are to others—and how important our purpose remains. You are helping me see that I don’t need to hide what I’ve been through to be accepted. I will stand tall, just as I did when I fought cancer.

Today, I took a step toward loving myself fully—every scar, every imperfection, and every piece of my history. And I will continue to walk proudly, with my head held high, no matter who else chooses to judge me.

Because I know my worth. And that’s all that truly matters.