Here's How I Pissed Off Lots of People on TikTok

I recently published a video about my cancer experience on TikTok that got more than 18,000 views - 79 hours worth - because it pissed some people off.

“Insensitive”

“Offensive”

“Damaging”

Those were some of the words people used in their comments. Why?

Because I dared to use the term “cancer card.”

Quite simply, playing the “cancer card” meant that I could say no to anything, and nobody could argue with me.

Networking event I’d been dreading? “Sorry, not feeling up to it.” Another meeting that should’ve been an email? “Need to conserve my energy.” Poorly organized conferences ? “Doctor’s orders to avoid crowds.” The cancer card worked every single time, and nobody—nobody—questioned it.

Here’s what we don’t talk about in the cancer narrative: having cancer comes with a few - just a few - conveniences.

I’m not saying cancer is a gift. That’s bullshit, and anyone who tells you otherwise is delusional. Cancer is terrible. Treatment is worse. But if you’re going through it anyway, you might as well extract every possible advantage, including the socially acceptable ability to opt out of the relentless obligations that clutter modern life.

Before cancer, I said yes to everything. Fundraising galas. Professional development seminars on leadership trends I didn’t care about. Lunch meetings that could’ve been phone calls. Committee assignments that were really just bureaucratic box-checking. Coffee with people I barely knew who wanted to “pick my brain.” I said yes because that’s what nonprofit CEOs do. That’s what accomplished professionals do. You show up. You network. You maintain relationships. You don’t burn bridges.

The problem is that all of this showing up leaves no time for anything that actually matters.

Cancer gave me permission to stop. Not because I suddenly discovered what was important—I already knew. I just never had a socially acceptable excuse to act on it until my body forced the issue.

The cancer card works because it short-circuits the guilt loop. When you decline an invitation under normal circumstances, there’s this dance: the explanation, the apology, the reassurance that you’ll definitely make the next one. People feel entitled to question your priorities. “It’s only two hours.” “It would mean so much.” “We really need you there.”

But when you play the cancer card? Silence. Immediate acceptance. Often followed by effusive apologies for even asking. Nobody wants to be the person who made the downtrodden cancer patient feel bad for not attending their thing.

Now, by no means am I’m recommending that you fake cancer to get out of obligations. God could punish you with say, ass cancer.

I’m saying if you already have cancer, make the most of your diagnosis.

During treatment, I skipped every event that didn’t directly serve my three priorities: staying alive, keeping FCA running, and maintaining my most important relationships.

Oh, and I wrote a bestselling book.

Everything else got the cancer card. Industry conferences. Social obligations. The expectation that I’d stay late at events or be perpetually available. Gone.

The revelation wasn't that I couldn't do these things. I absolutely could have. The revelation was that I didn't want to, and now I didn't have to pretend otherwise.

Truth of the matter is that most obligations are optional.

We just pretend they’re not because we’re afraid of being seen as uncommitted or selfish or antisocial. Having cancer made the cost of those obligations suddenly visible. My time and energy became finite resources I could measure and protect.

I’m in remission now, so my cancer card has expired. People’s patience has limits, and honestly, so does my own willingness to trade on sympathy.

But I’m not going back to saying yes to everything. Cancer didn’t teach me what matters—I already knew. It just taught me that I’m allowed to act like I know it.

By the way….turns out you can actually buy a cancer card to flash as you decline all sorts of pointless invitations and requests.