At 25 years old, my world was rocked by the three words no one ever wants to hear: “You have cancer.” Those words hit me like a tidal wave, flooding me with thoughts and emotions that threatened to overwhelm me.

It all began in early 2023, with a persistent light cough that gradually worsened over the following months. Accompanying it was an unexpected onset of back pain, positioned uncomfortably between my shoulder blades. Despite numerous visits to my primary physician, who attributed the symptoms to routine issues like acid reflux and ordinary back pain, the nagging feeling that something was seriously wrong persisted within me.

I want to pause on that part of the story, because I think it matters for anyone reading this who feels like something is off in their own body. I went in six times in just two weeks. Six. Each time I was told it was probably nothing serious. And each time, some quiet voice inside me refused to accept that answer. My persistence finally led to an X-ray, which revealed unsettling shadows within my chest. A subsequent CT scan confirmed the worst which was a tumor was growing within me, and a diagnosis of Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.

If you take nothing else from my story, take this: you know your body better than anyone. Advocating for yourself is not being difficult. Sometimes it is the thing that saves your life.

In the days after my diagnosis, I felt something I did not expect. Not just fear, though there was plenty of that. I felt alone. Isolated in a way that is hard to describe to someone who has not been there. Even surrounded by people who loved me, there was this sense that I had crossed into a world none of them could fully follow me into.

Feeling in need of support, I turned to social media, sharing my diagnosis and asking for help when I needed it most. The response was overwhelming, a flood of love and encouragement pouring in from friends, family, and even acquaintances. That outpouring did something important for me. It reminded me that even in the loneliest moment of my life, I was not actually alone.

Bolstered by that support, I resolved to confront my diagnosis head on. As requests for updates poured in, I realized the potential of using social media as a platform for sharing my journey. In early February of 2024, I began posting video updates, initially intended only for those closest to me.

To my astonishment, these videos resonated far beyond my inner circle. They spread across social media and reached a viewership of millions. It became apparent that my story was touching the lives of others in ways I had never imagined. I started hearing from people all over the world. People newly diagnosed and terrified. People in the middle of treatment. People who had lost someone, and people who were caring for someone they loved. Over and over, the same thread ran through their messages: I feel so alone, and your story made me feel less alone.

That is when I understood what I was meant to do with this.

With newfound purpose, while still battling my own cancer, I made a solemn vow to use this unexpected platform for the greater good. I founded a nonprofit organization, Jace Beats Cancer, dedicated to supporting cancer patients on their journey toward remission. Recognizing the privilege of having access to quality healthcare, I resolved to redirect the support of my followers toward those who are less fortunate.

There were many nights where I would lay awake in the hospital while I got chemo and would think about everyone in the world going through what I was going through at the same moment. The person getting their diagnosis today. The person sitting in an infusion chair for the first time tomorrow. The caregiver trying to hold it together for someone they love. I made a promise to myself to always help however I can.

One of the hardest parts of this entire experience was not the chemotherapy or the physical toll. It was how much I did not know, and how hard it was to find trustworthy answers when I needed them. When you are first diagnosed, you are handed an impossible situation and expected to make enormous decisions while you are frightened and exhausted. You do not know what questions to ask. You do not know where to turn. You do not know who to trust.

That is exactly why the work of organizations like the Lymphoma Research Foundation matters so much to me. More than one million people in the United States are living with, or are in remission from, lymphoma. It is the most common blood cancer in adults, and more than 111,000 people are diagnosed in this country every single year. Behind every one of those numbers is a person who, at some point, felt the same fear and the same loneliness I felt in those early days.

When I think about why I share my story so openly, this is the reason. Not because my journey is special, but because it is shared. Because somewhere out there, right now, someone is hearing those same three words for the first time, and feeling that same tidal wave. If my story can make even one of them feel a little less alone, and point them toward the resources and the community that can actually help, then every hard day of this has been worth it.

With each passing day, I reaffirm my commitment to the fight against cancer. I promise to use my voice and my resources to help as many people as I can ring that symbolic remission bell, signaling triumph over adversity.

If you are walking this road, or you love someone who is, please know this. You are not alone. There is a whole community standing with you, and there are free resources ready for you the moment you need them. Together, we are stronger than cancer.