The strike of midnight. The confetti falls. The world buzzes with the excitement of fresh starts and ambitious resolutions, somehow transcending all their cares. It might feel like watching fireworks from far away in the dark of a hospital room.
You look over at your child, an anxious crease in your brow as your heart swells with fear and affection all at once. When your child is in treatment, the new year doesn’t change anything. The medical appointments continue, the anxiety persists, and the exhaustion clings to your back.
If the “new year, new you” pressure weighs on you while your reality stays the same, you’re not alone.
You don’t need our permission for this, but it’s worth saying: you don’t need to optimize, transform, or reinvent yourself in 2026. You’re already doing the hardest thing imaginable. New Year’s resolutions weren’t designed for people living in survival mode.
So don’t feel like you need to jump on any self-improvement trains, lock down new habits, or carry extra burdens. But maybe, even if you don’t want resolutions, you want intentions.
If you do want to set some kind of intention for the year ahead, consider starting smaller and softer than you think you need to. Realistic intentions for cancer families might sound more like:
One thing at a time. Instead of overhauling your entire approach to treatment-life balance, pick one small area that would genuinely help. Maybe it's finally accepting that meal train offer. Maybe it's letting grandparents handle school pickup one day a week. Maybe it's responding to texts with a simple thumbs-up instead of detailed updates.
Protecting one moment of normalcy. This could be Friday movie night, even if it happens from a hospital bed. It could be reading together for ten minutes before sleep. Small rituals that remind your family you're still you, not just medical case managers.
Saying “no” without guilt. Whether it's declining social invitations, stepping back from volunteer commitments, or letting certain relationships naturally drift—this year could be about honoring your bandwidth instead of stretching it.
Asking for specific help. Moving from "let me know if you need anything" to actually texting someone, "Can you grab us toilet paper and bread?" requires practice. This might be your year to get better at it.
If you're not the parent but you love someone in this situation, your intention matters too. Consider:
Showing up consistently rather than dramatically. The weekly text checking in means more than the occasional grand gesture.
Asking about the whole child, not just their medical status. "What's your favorite thing right now?" goes further than "How’re the side-effects?”
Remembering the siblings by name and interest. They're living this too, often invisibly.
Offering specific, time-bound help: "I'm grocery shopping Tuesday. What can I grab for you?"
Some days, progress is getting everyone fed. Some days, it's making it to an appointment on time. Some days, it's managing your child's pain levels or helping a sibling process their fear. Some days, it might be as simple as taking a fifteen-minute shower.
The hard truth is that this year may not be easier than last. Treatment protocols don't bend to calendars. Cancer doesn't care about fresh starts.
Sometimes the only intention worth setting is to keep being present for the people you love, even when everything feels impossible. Finding ten seconds of laughter in a difficult day. Accepting that survival sometimes is the victory.
Cancer families often hear a lot about being strong, fighting hard, and staying positive. But strength doesn't mean pretending this isn't brutally difficult. It doesn't mean forcing optimism you don't feel. It doesn't mean meeting anyone else's expectations for how you should handle this year.
Strength is getting up again after another hard night. It's continuing to love your child fiercely through the fear. It's letting yourself feel whatever you feel without judgment.
The new year doesn't erase what you're facing, and it doesn't have to inspire some dramatic transformation.
Your intention can simply be to keep going, to accept help when it comes, and to hold onto whatever bits of joy you can find along the way.
At Cancer Kickers Soccer Club, we believe in meeting families exactly where they are, whether that's in the hospital on New Year's Day or at home trying to figure out what this year might hold.
Every teammate and their family deserve support without pressure, a community without expectations, and a connection that honors the reality of what they're facing.