Holding the Rope: How to Savor Joy and Honor Grief in Your Cancer Journey

By Cynthia Dano

There is a polite lie our culture loves to tell us about how life works, especially after a diagnosis. It’s the idea that life is like a checkerboard. We are either on a white square (everything is clear,  our mindset is flawless, we’re"beating it") or we’re on a black square (the scan results are heavy, our hair is falling out, the side effects are brutal, or we’re stuck in the dark waiting for answers).

We internalize that we must wait for the cancer storm to fully exit the stage before the "real" good life can take its bow.

But anyone who has heard the words "You have cancer" knows that’s not how reality functions. Life doesn’t become a neat checkerboard. It becomes a rope.

And that rope is made of two distinct strands woven tightly together.

The Anatomy of the Grief & Joy Cancer Rope

One strand is made of heavy, dark fiber. It’s the thread of grief, scanxiety, physical vulnerability, pain, existential fear and the loss of the "before" self. The other strand is bright and remarkably resilient. It’s the thread of joy, humor, deep connection with people who truly get it, and the sublime magic of a deliciously ripe peach, a perfect cup of coffee, or a sunny afternoon.

Rarely do we get a day that is made of just one strand. Whether we are actively in treatment, navigating a late-stage diagnosis, or living as a survivor, we are always holding the whole rope.

It feels as if there is some unspoken rule that if we are holding the heavy strand, we aren’t allowed to reach for the bright one. We think, "I can’t truly enjoy this dinner party; I have a major milestone check-up next week." Or conversely, we feel guilty when joy sneaks up on us in the treatment room as if feeling happy means we aren't taking our diagnosis seriously enough.

But guess what? Your biology begs to differ.

The Science of "Both/And" Brain

If you’ve ever found yourself cracking a dark joke with a nurse while hooked up to an IV, or sobbing happy tears because a friend brought you the perfect, comforting meal, your nervous system is actually working beautifully.

Neurologically speaking, our brains are remarkably adept at running dual processors. The amygdala can be flashing a red alert of health anxiety, while the nucleus accumbens is simultaneously registering the hit of dopamine from a comforting text message.

In fact, science shows that trying to suppress one emotion to "focus" on another actually causes massive internal friction. A famous Harvard study asked participants to suppress their negative emotions while watching an upsetting film. The result? Their heart rates spiked, their blood pressure went through the roof, and they actually felt more miserable than the group allowed to just cry it out.

And what about humor in the oncology wing? It’s literally a clinical survival mechanism. When we laugh, our brains release a cocktail of endorphins and oxytocin. Endorphins are the body’s natural painkillers—physically and emotionally. Oxytocin is the bonding hormone. So when you find something funny in the middle of a health crisis, your brain isn't being disrespectful to your diagnosis; it's self-medicating. It’s lowering your cortisol levels so your body doesn't have to work quite so hard to handle the stress

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Tragic Optimism and the Richness of Time

Psychologists actually have a term for the ability to hold both strands of the cancer rope: Tragic Optimism. (Which sounds like a goth band from the 1990s, but it’s a brilliant concept coined by psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl).

Tragic Optimism is the capacity to find meaning, hope, and appreciation for life achieved through and in spite of suffering, loss and medical uncertainty. It is the definitive stance of the "Both/And" heart. It says, "This diagnosis is incredibly heavy, AND I am still glad I am here to witness this sunset today."

When we give ourselves permission to live in the "Both/And," the exhausting pressure drops. We can be in absolute misery and not perform toxic positivity or pretend, "everything happens for a reason." AND we can laugh or crack a joke even when we are in absolute misery. We can just be an actual human being—fully awake to the sorrow of cancer, and entirely available for the beauty of life.

Savoring is the Alchemy of Rihness

When we are navigating a cancer diagnosis or life as a survivor, our brains naturally develop a laser-like focus on survival. We become hyper-vigilant, constantly scanning for danger—checking for symptoms, worrying about labs, and waiting for the next shoe to drop.

While that hyper-vigilance keeps us safe, it also shrinks our world. If we aren't careful, we can spend all our precious currency—our time—stuck in survival mode, completely missing the life we are fighting so hard to preserve.

This is why intentionally noticing, savoring, and anchoring moments of joy isn’t just a nice distraction. It is an act of radical defiance. It is what transforms a clinical existence back into a rich, meaningful life.

Our brains have a built-in "negativity bias" that makes painful experiences stick like Velcro, while positive experiences slip off like Teflon. When you are dealing with cancer, the "saber-toothed tiger" is always in the room. Your brain automatically glues itself to the fear.

To experience richness, we have to manually override this system. When a micro-moment of beauty happens—a warm breeze, a genuine laugh, or a quiet pocket of peace—we must pause and say, "Stop. Look at this. This is good.”

By intentionally noticing these moments, you are choosing where to spend your attention. You are declaring that cancer does not get to occupy every square inch of your mind.

Neuroscience shows it takes about 15 to 20 seconds of sustained focus on a positive experience to actually wire it into your neural pathways. Just feeling a fleeting moment of joy isn't enough; we have to savor it. Think of it like taking a sip of an incredible wine. You don’t just gulp it down; you let it sit, you notice the warmth, and you appreciate the flavor.

Richness in life doesn’t come from a future date when you are completely "cancer-free" and everything is perfect. Richness comes from the depth of your presence right now. Time is our most sacred currency, and savoring is how we stretch it. A single afternoon spent fully present, noticing the texture of life, can feel richer and more expansive than an entire year lived on autopilot.

You are allowed to milk every ounce of sweetness out of the present moment. You are allowed to find a beautiful view on a trail, sit down, and let that peace soak all the way into your bones.

A Simple Savoring Practice: The 3-Step Take-In

Whenever happiness pops up:

Step 1: Recognize. Notice the spark of joy, comfort, or connection.

Step 2: Intensify. Take a deep breath and let the feeling grow bigger in your chest. Make it as big as you can.

Step 3: Absorb. Imagine this feeling sinking into your cells like warm sunlight, anchoring into your physical body so it stays with you even after the moment passes.

Ultimately, savoring doesn't mean we are ignoring the reality of cancer. It means choosing to live richly, colorfully, and deeply, right in the middle of it all.

How to Hold the Rope Today

The next time you feel an emotional collision—like feeling immense gratitude for your family while simultaneously wanting to scream into a pillow about your next lab results—take a breath and look at your hands.

You are strong enough to hold both strands.

Your grief does not make your joy fake, and your joy does not make your cancer a lie. They are simply the twin threads of a life fully, bravely lived. So go ahead—cry when it hurts, laugh when it’s funny, and let the rope hold you up.

Cynthia Dano is a two-time survivor of ovarian cancer. She is a certified wellness and Radical Remission cancer coach dedicated to helping women with cancer create the conditions for healing and hope. For more information, visit cynthiadano.com

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