The Healing Power of Being Understood: Reflections from Rise Family Cancer Camp

This past weekend, I had the privilege of volunteering at the Rise Family Cancer Camp at Camp Latona on Gambier Island, supporting families navigating the unimaginable reality of cancer. Families spent the weekend connecting, playing, laughing, and simply being together in a space where they didn't have to explain their circumstances because everyone there already understood.

I was invited to facilitate a discussion group for parents and caregivers, creating space for conversations about parenting, relationships, identity, caregiving, and the many challenges that come with a cancer diagnosis.

As a counsellor, I've spent many hours sitting with people during some of life's hardest moments. What struck me most about this session wasn't anything I said or did, it was what happened when people began sharing with each other. The real power came from the connections that formed around the tables and the wisdom that emerged when people were given space to speak openly about their experiences.

There is something incredibly powerful about being in a room with people who truly understand.

Not people who sympathize.

People who know.

Some of the families were newly diagnosed, still trying to make sense of a life that had suddenly changed. Others had been navigating cancer for many years. They had weathered treatments, setbacks, uncertainty, and all of the ways cancer can ripple through a family.

It was beautiful to watch those different experiences come together.

The families who were further along in their journey didn't have all the answers, but they carried something equally valuable: perspective. They knew there would be hard days and unexpected challenges, but they also knew there would still be moments of joy, laughter, connection, and life in between.

For those newer to the journey, there was comfort in seeing people who had found a way to keep moving forward, even when the road had been anything but easy.

Throughout our discussions, people spoke about the challenges of talking to their children about cancer. They shared the emotional weight of trying to remain strong while carrying their own fears and uncertainties. They talked about how their identities had shifted, the roles they had taken on, and the parts of themselves that sometimes felt buried beneath appointments, treatments, caregiving, and worry.

One theme kept emerging throughout the afternoon. Every family was facing cancer. Yet every family was navigating it differently.

Some shared openly with their children. Others took a more gradual approach. Some leaned heavily on friends and family. Others preferred to keep things private. Some spoke about seeking more support, while others found strength in maintaining familiar routines.

What became clear was that there is no perfect roadmap for something like this. And perhaps that's exactly as it should be.

As parents, caregivers, partners, and families, we often look for the "right" way to handle difficult circumstances. We worry about saying the wrong thing, making the wrong decision, or somehow getting it wrong.

But sitting with these families reminded me that even when life feels completely shaken, people often know more than they think they do.

They know their children.

They know their relationships.

They know their family values.

They know what feels right for their family.

Cancer may change many things, but it doesn't erase that wisdom.

Sometimes what people need most is not advice. It's permission to trust themselves. What stood out, wasn't that anyone had the perfect answers. It was the nodding heads around the table. The moments when someone shared something difficult and another person quietly said, "Me too."

So often when people are struggling, they feel isolated in their experience. They wonder if they're the only one feeling overwhelmed, scared, exhausted, hopeful, resentful, or uncertain.

The reality is that many of our struggles become lighter when they're shared.

Not because the problem disappears.

But because connection reduces loneliness.

As the session came to a close, many people spoke about feeling understood, validated, and less alone. And that felt important. Because while there is no roadmap for what these families are navigating, there is something profoundly healing about being reminded that you don't have to carry it by yourself.

I left the camp feeling incredibly grateful. Grateful for the courage of the families who showed up. Grateful for the conversations that unfolded. And grateful for organizations like Rise that create opportunities for connection, community, and support during some of life's most challenging chapters.

Sometimes healing doesn't come from finding answers.

Sometimes it comes from sitting beside someone who understands the question.

Written by Ashleigh Gold, RCC, who supports youth, adults, couples, and families navigating anxiety, ADHD, trauma, relationship challenges, parenting challenges, and life transitions in North Vancouver and through online counselling across Western and Northern Canada at