In many ways, cancer can feel like having a criminal record and it’s something that’s always on your CV.
It’s a sense of being marked, changed and branded.
It follows you around everywhere socially, professionally, and emotionally.
Try getting a job if you have cancer. No one wants to know.
Even if you are lucky enough to be offered a job interview, you’ll have a lot of explaining to do where gaps in your CV appear. Employers don’t like cancer.
You bring it to social events, where the “how are you feeling now?” question lands like a reminder that you’re not who you were.
And if people stop asking, you know it’s still there, lurking in the background like an invisible stamp.
There’s a sense that cancer changes your status in the eyes of others. People mean well, but there’s often a shift – a perception that you’re fragile, unreliable, or less able.
You might have survived something colossal, but instead of being seen as the super-resilient person you are, you’re often treated with caution.
Like an ex-offender trying to rebuild their life, you have to work harder to prove yourself again to convince others (and sometimes yourself) that you’re still capable, still worthy, still strong.
And let’s not forget the internal policing.
Cancer doesn’t just affect your body. It rewires your thoughts, your whole mindset and your identity. What it does is create a hyper-awareness of your own limits and mortality.
You second-guess your choices. You hesitate. You become your own probation officer, constantly monitoring your health, your energy, your future.
Like those with a criminal past, you’re expected to “move on,” as if it were a chapter that can be closed with a few good intentions and a brave face.
But you can’t.
This sense of being marked by cancer shows up in places you’d never expect like friendships and family dynamics. Like a criminal conviction, cancer can change the way people interact with you. Some friends drift away, others treat you differently. You can feel like an outsider in your own life excluded from the easy flow of ‘normal’ conversation.
That’s just the start. Then there’s discrimination from insurers, difficulty getting loans, mortgages, or affordable travel cover. You feel like the system is stacked against you – because it is. It’s like you come with a warning label – someone who ‘has history’.
Both a criminal record and a cancer diagnosis can carry a heavy emotional toll: shame, anger, regret, fear of being seen as weak or damaged, and a very real sense that your life has been derailed – because it has.
A criminal record follows you around long after the offence. Cancer can feel much the same – even when you’re in remission, it’s always there in your medical records, your mind, your conversations. You’re a person who ‘has cancer’ or who has ‘had cancer’ and it sticks to you.
And yet, here’s the paradox: this ‘record’ doesn’t mean you’re weak. If anything, it’s a symbol of everything you’ve endured and survived. Like someone who’s walked through fire and now bears the scars, you’ve seen life at its most raw and still kept walking.
Neither cancer nor a criminal record has to define you. People rebuild. They grow, adapt and even use the experience to help others.
So yes, cancer can feel like a criminal record but not because of guilt or shame. It’s because of the way society treats those who’ve been through something profoundly disruptive. We don’t know how to talk about it.
We don’t always know how to treat people after it. And the result is that many survivors feel like outsiders – changed, misunderstood, and quietly carrying a past that won’t let go.
But there’s power in reclaiming the narrative.
This isn’t a sentence. It’s experience. It’s insight. It’s depth. It’s a hard-earned qualification in resilience, courage, and perspective. Your history with cancer is not your identity – it’s part of your story. And though it might feel like a permanent mark, it can also be a badge of honour. Ok, not one that you really want, but it is.
Not everyone survives what you have. Not everyone rises after being knocked flat. You didn’t choose this chapter but you get to choose how to carry it.
You’re not a cautionary tale. You’re proof of what endurance looks like. And that, record or not, is something worth owning.
Cancer may have stamped my file, but it will never stamp out my spirit. They can keep their labels – I’ll keep my courage.
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