September isn’t just the start of fall or the month I start pretending I like pumpkin spice. For me, and for so many others it’s Pediatric Cancer Awareness Month. And even though I live every day with the weight and gratitude of surviving brain cancer, this month still hits different.
This year feels especially meaningful. I recently graduated college, something I honestly wasn’t sure I’d get to say back when I was 15 and sitting in a hospital bed, unsure what the next scan would show. Hitting this milestone is surreal, and it’s made me reflect even more on where I started and why this month matters so much to me.
September brings me back to the MRI rooms. The hospital gowns. The days I’d stare at the ceiling during chemo wondering when life would feel normal again. It reminds me that right now, there are kids sitting in those same rooms, having those same thoughts.
Being a survivor is a strange space to live in. You’re grateful, every single day… but you also carry this quiet weight. You remember what it felt like to be the one fighting. And now, even though life moves forward, there’s always a part of you that’s still connected to those moments. That’s why this month isn’t just about “awareness” for me. It’s about acknowledging the fight that continues, especially for kids who don’t get the “break” I did. Pediatric cancer isn’t rare when it happens to you. It’s not rare when it takes away your hair, your energy, your high school years, or your sense of normalcy. It’s not rare when it forces you to rebuild everything you thought life was going to be.
Now that I’ve graduated and am applying for jobs, I’ve stepped into a new kind of reality, one where I’m expected to check a box that says “disability” on every application. And every time I do it, I pause. As normal as I feel, cancer is something that happened to me. It changed how my brain works. It changed how I see the world. And yeah, it still shows up. In the meds I take, the way I plan my day around hydration, or the brain fog that sneaks in sometimes.
But I check that box with pride. Not because cancer defines me, but because surviving it refined me. I’m stronger, more empathetic, more driven than I’ve ever been. That checkbox isn’t a label, it’s a reminder of how far I’ve come. And it’s also a reminder of why I started JZips.
No, JZips doesn’t cure cancer. But it does make going through it just a little easier. When I was in treatment, having to take off my shirt to change into a hospital gown for every port access felt invasive, frustrating, and dehumanizing. JZips came from that exact moment, created not to solve everything, but to give kids back some control, some comfort, and maybe even a smile on a hard day.
To see kids wearing these shirts now, to hear from families who say it made their hospital visits just a little less stressful. That’s what it’s all about. Something small that creates a big impact. A moment of normal in a world that feels anything but.
So yeah, September hits different. It’s emotional. It’s heavy. But it’s also full of hope. It’s a reminder of how far we’ve come and how far we still need to go.
To every kid in treatment, to every survivor trying to navigate their “after,” and to every parent or caregiver in the fight. I see you. Your story matters. And you’re never alone. And to anyone wondering what they can do this September, start small. Share a story. Wear gold. Donate. Support a family. Because even the smallest gesture can make a really hard day a little easier.