When Life Gives You Lemons, You Sometimes Have to Make Orange Juice
The phrase "When life gives you lemons, you sometimes have to make orange juice" is a creative twist on the well-known saying, "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade." We know this saying to mean that when life gives us difficulties or disappointments, we should make the best of the situation.
For years, that was exactly what I did.
I lived with PCOS (now renamed PMOS), chronic pain, overwhelming fatigue, and the frustration of searching for answers. I heard the familiar advice so many women with hormonal conditions receive: "You just need to eat less and exercise more." Others told me I simply needed more sleep, despite feeling exhausted no matter how much I rested. I swallowed handfuls of medication, hoping each new prescription would finally be the one that fixed the problem.
For years, I made lemonade out of lemons.
You do what you can with the information you have. You adapt. You survive. You keep believing that eventually someone will find the missing piece of the puzzle.
Then life changes everything.
I was diagnosed with endometrial cancer.
Suddenly, making lemonade wasn't enough anymore. This was a moment that demanded something entirely different. I had to make orange juice.
It sounds impossible, doesn't it? After all, you can't make orange juice from lemons. But that is exactly what life sometimes asks of us. It asks us to find strength we never knew we had, to create hope where there seems to be none, and to discover a new version of ourselves when the old one no longer exists.
The diagnosis itself was one of the greatest shocks of my life.
Before I knew the stage of my cancer or what the treatment would involve, my mind immediately went to one place: I am going to die.
Those words echoed through every thought that followed.
What about my family?
Will I suffer?
What will happen to all the plans I made for my future?
Cancer changes your perspective in an instant. One phone call, one doctor's appointment, one pathology report—and suddenly life is divided into before and after.
Looking back, I realised I was grieving.
Most people associate grief with losing someone we love, but a cancer diagnosis can also bring profound grief. We grieve the loss of certainty, our sense of safety, our health, our plans, and sometimes even the person we once were.
Many people experience emotions similar to the stages of grief described by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross:
Shock or numbness: "This can't be happening."
Denial: Struggling to believe the diagnosis.
Anger: "Why me?"
Bargaining: Wondering if something could have been done differently.
Sadness: Mourning everything that has changed.
Acceptance: Slowly learning how to move forward, even though life will never look quite the same.
These emotions are not a checklist, nor do they happen in a particular order. Some days you feel hopeful. Other days you find yourself back in fear or sadness. Healing is rarely a straight line.
In the days leading up to my total hysterectomy, I experienced every one of those emotions. Even now, I continue to work through them. Acceptance is not a destination you reach overnight; it is something you practice, sometimes every single day.
I am incredibly grateful that my surgery removed all of the cancer. That gratitude is immense.
But surviving cancer doesn't mean the journey is over.
Cancer survivors often speak about something called survivorship grief. Even after treatment has ended, many continue to experience fear that the cancer may return, anxiety before follow-up appointments, frustration when people expect them to simply "move on," and the unsettling feeling that they are no longer the same person they were before their diagnosis.
I understand that now.
Alongside surviving cancer, I am also learning to live with surgical menopause following my hysterectomy. My hormones changed overnight. My emotions can feel unpredictable. My body feels different. My energy is different. Even the way I experience the world has changed.
This adjustment is not only difficult for me; it can also be difficult for those closest to me. Family and friends often want to help, but they may not fully understand what is happening physically and emotionally. Relationships can be tested as everyone learns to navigate this new reality together.
As a Specialist Wellness Counsellor, I have always believed in the importance of supervision. Counsellors need support too. We encourage our clients to seek help, process difficult emotions, and allow themselves to heal.
Cancer reminded me that I am not only a counsellor.
I am also a human being.
For the first time in a long time, I found myself needing support not as the professional sitting across from someone, but as the client. As the woman trying to understand her new body, her new emotions, and her new future.
Perhaps that is the greatest lesson cancer has taught me.
Sometimes resilience isn't about pretending everything is okay.
Sometimes courage is allowing yourself to grieve.
Sometimes healing means accepting help.
And sometimes, when life gives you lemons, you don't make lemonade at all.
You make orange juice.
You create something no one thought was possible—not because life became easier, but because you discovered a strength, resilience, and hope that only adversity could reveal.
That is what I am still learning every day.
If you have recently been diagnosed with cancer or are facing another life-changing diagnosis, know that whatever you are feeling is valid. There is no right or wrong way to grieve, and there is no timeline for healing. Some days you may feel hopeful; on others, you may feel overwhelmed. Both can exist at the same time.
As someone who has walked this road both as a counsellor and now as a patient, I have learned that strength is not found in carrying every burden alone. Strength is found in allowing yourself to lean on others when you need to. Whether that support comes from your partner, family, friends, a support group, your faith community, or a mental health professional, you deserve to be supported through every stage of your journey.
As counsellors, we often remind our clients that asking for help is not a sign of weakness—it is an act of courage. Cancer has taught me that this truth applies just as much to us as it does to those we support. Sometimes we need someone to sit beside us, to listen without trying to fix us, and to remind us that we are not alone.
If there is one thing I hope you take away from my story, it is this: life-changing circumstances may alter the course of your life, but they do not define your worth or your future. Healing is not about becoming the person you were before. It is about discovering the person you are becoming.
So, when life gives you lemons, and lemonade is no longer enough, remember that it is possible to make orange juice. You may not yet know how, and the journey may be far from easy, but with hope, support, and courage, you can create something beautiful from circumstances you never would have chosen.
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