The Masks We Wear

We often talk about the "fight" against cancer as a physical one—the nausea and fatigue, the looming shadow of scans, radiation, surgeries, and infusion treatments. But the most exhausting battles are often the ones waged on the spirit.

Recently, while at a low point, I received a phone call that didn’t offer a lifeline but a weight. A woman, driven by a "conviction," decided this was the moment to challenge my conversion to Judaism. She didn’t see my years of study or the peace I’ve found; instead, she saw my honesty about an uncertain future with health and my lack of fortitude.

So, she called and told me my suffering—cancer and other hardships—are a divine consequence, a punishment . She spoke of "outer darkness" while I already sat in the momentary gloom of my mind, just trying to keep my head above water.

The problem is that when we’re hurting, we’re vulnerable to the judgment of those who seem "whole." We look at the person shouting the loudest about their faith or their lifestyle and think, “Wow, maybe this is a punishment? Maybe I DO deserve this because a ‘perfect’ person said I’ve been doing life… ‘wrong’?”

But hours after hanging up the phone, another friend surprised me by coming to drop off a loaf of banana bread. “What’s wrong? You look, even more tired than normal.”

Without giving names, I explained about the morning’s conversation.

“No way!” she said, incensed. “Was it ‘Tiffany’?”

In answer to her question, I didn’t even need to nod because my reddening face must’ve confirmed her suspicions. And suddenly, her spontaneous visit didn’t seem quite so random after all.

“The people who are the quickest to point out the ‘sins’ causing your storms are often drowning in their own,” she said, toasting a slice of bread and passing it to me—in my own home.

Through the course of her words, I felt shocked to hear that our mutual acquaintance—“Tiffany,” the one who judged my soul—was dealing with a crumbling marriage, job loss due to her own need to proselytize at work, and a heavy reliance on medications she’s previously condemned other friends for needing.

My heart hung heavy with a profound, deep sadness because I realized her attack on me wasn't about my soul at all. I think it was about her own need for control.

We all do it in different ways. A lot of times I pretend I’m “brave" so I feel stronger. Some people pretend they have all the answers so they don't have to admit that the world is chaotic, and none of us know what the next second might hold. And then there are others like ‘Tiffany’ who judge the people around them—especially the people they don’t understand. I know she means well; I want to think she’s trying to “save” me because I was raised religious like her, and I remember having those same conversations with people. I’ve since called some of them to apologize. “I didn’t realize how judgmental I sounded,” I whispered to one man. “I wanted to help you, but who was I to assume I knew where G-d would send you in the afterlife? I’m so sorry.”

He laughed. “I always knew you meant well, but I really do appreciate the apology. No one wants to be told they’re going to Hell by anyone—especially someone who isn’t G-d.”

I broke out laughing and nodded.

The truth is, we are all just doing the best we can with what we have. On some days, "the best we can" looks like fighting through a cancer treatment-induced fog. On other days, it looks like hiding behind doctrine because the reality of our chaotic world is too painful to face.

If there is anything ‘Tiffany’s’ judgment and our mutual friend's banana bread taught me, it’s this: We are all carrying invisible burdens. Instead of using our beliefs to build walls or ladders to look down from, we should use them to build bridges. We don’t need to be perfect to be worthy of grace. We just need to be kind. Because at the end of the day, we’re all just trying to get through this life the best we can.

(Names changed to protect the people written about.)