The Power of Community Support in My Cancer Journey

When I first decided to softly announce my cancer diagnosis, I wasn’t sure what kind of response I would get. In a world that often feels frayed by busyness, digital disconnection, and the carefully curated façades of social media, vulnerability felt risky. I wondered: Would people show up? Would they even notice? I always believed that "we didn't need an invitation to care about each other," yet there I was, quietly placing my pain into the hands of my community, wondering if they'd hold it gently or let it drop to the ground.

What unfolded next taught me about healing in ways I could have never anticipated. Healing doesn't happen in isolation—it never has. From the indigenous fires where Native American communities gathered to perform sacred ceremonies, to village elders sharing collective wisdom through storytelling, community has always been at the very heart of healing. Our ancestors understood that the journey toward wholeness required connection, shared rituals, and a compassionate tribe to carry burdens together.

Today, community can sometimes feel fractured, a casualty of our hyper-connected yet lonely modern lives. Social media often gives us an illusion of intimacy while amplifying our isolation, making genuine connection a rare commodity. And yet, despite this breakdown, when we dare to let people see our struggles, something beautiful emerges—a restoration of community, an invitation into the human experience of caring and belonging.

One of the most touching examples of this came recently from the incredible women at Poppy, the female-focused co-working space in Jackson Hole. Amid my uncertainty and fatigue, they sent me the sweetest card filled with heartfelt messages of encouragement and love. A small gesture perhaps, but one that buoyed my spirits and reminded me that community support can be both grand gestures and quiet whispers of kindness. Every message, every text, every quiet "hope you're okay" carries a profound weight, making healing less lonely, less frightening.

Your presence, your acknowledgment, your kindness—they all matter immensely. Each act of support is a sacred echo of those ancient communal fires, reminding me—and hopefully all of us—that we heal most profoundly when we heal together.

So thank you—for showing up, for holding space, and for proving, once again, that we never truly needed an invitation to care for one another. We simply needed the courage to reach out and the willingness to respond.

A blog post by Rachel Smak on grief, loss, and lessons from stage 3C rectal cancer

Rachel Smak

College and corporate drop out, I picked up a camera and pursued my curiosity for storytelling as a Minneapolis born-and-raised wedding photographer turned branding and small business educator. I love travel, potatoes, (in ANY form) and decorating my apartment as if I hosted my own HGTV show.  

https://www.rachelsmak.com
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7 Early Signs of Rectal Cancer