Amelia's Tumor
There’s an episode of Grey’s Anatomy (Season 14, Episode 2, to be exact) where Dr. Amelia Shepherd discovers she has a large tumor pressing on her frontal lobe during a routine scan. For those who may not know (or need a little refresher), the frontal lobe is the region of the brain responsible for executive functions such as planning, reasoning, problem-solving, decision-making, and emotional regulation. Amelia’s tumor had been growing for years, silently affecting her behavior and choices.
I’m not going to lie to y’all—Amelia was doing a lot. In fact, she was introduced as Dr. Shepherd’s "crazy little sister." She made impulsive decisions, struggled with addiction, and was emotionally unstable.
But once they found the tumor… everything began to make sense.
At first, she tried to joke about it, but fear quickly set in. She realized she had become someone she wasn’t—not because she wanted to, but because of something she 1) literally had no idea existed and 2) couldn’t control. While it didn’t excuse her actions entirely, it certainly explained them.
She underwent a risky surgery, one that only an experienced neurosurgeon—her mentor and the doctor who discovered the tumor—could perform. Thankfully, the surgery was a success. But now, Amelia had to figure out who she really was without the influence of the tumor. It was almost as if she was meeting herself for the first time.
This episode has been on my mind a lot lately as I’ve had conversations with friends about grief and loss. Losing someone you love is traumatic, and unfortunately, it’s something we all will experience in this life—if we haven’t already.
Grief changes you. You become unrecognizable to yourself and to the people around you. And the crazy thing is, you often don’t realize how much it has shaped you until you look back at who you used to be, or who you want to be.
Amelia had no idea what was happening in her brain. She just knew something was wrong—but she felt powerless to stop it. Her tumor didn't go away in those moments, but her brain was trying its best to operate in spite of it .And that’s exactly how grief works. Grief doesn’t just go away. We don’t wake up one morning magically healed from loss. Instead, we learn to live around it. We keep going, even when we feel like we can’t.
Metaphorically speaking, I’ve had my fair share of tumors pressing on my mind and my life—things that have taken away the carefree and lighthearted person I once was. I’ve had to be strong and vigilant because life has thrown me from side to side.
I’ve lost parts of myself.
In 2016, I lost both of my maternal grandparents within four months of each other. I was a freshman in college, still trying to adjust to that major life transition, when I suddenly had to navigate grief—on top of it all. I felt helpless being away at school while my mom was grieving.
I had never met my grandfather, but I knew my grandmother well—she even stayed with us for a while when my sister was born. Her death hit me hard, and it happened right at the beginning of finals season. I tried my best to be strong and push through, but it was difficult to focus because I couldn’t stop thinking about my mom.
That experience, combined with the challenges of college, changed me completely. I know this because, over the past year, I’ve heard my parents say: "Before you went to college, you were so calm and carefree. You were always so happy."
And that became my Amelia moment. I started to realize just how much life had pressed down on me, just how much had shifted inside me without me even noticing. One thing about tumors is that they spread if they’re not caught in time. Unresolved pain, grief, or trauma can seep into every aspect of our lives without us realizing it.
Some people meet us during our tumor stage—when we are not ourselves—and some of them choose to stay and love us through it. Others, through no fault of their own, simply aren’t equipped to help us heal.
This is why we need the right people in our lives. We need friends, mentors, therapists, faith communities—people who can recognize when something isn’t right. People who have the hypersensitivity of our situations and awareness to say: "No, this isn’t who you are. There’s something going on." People who will love us through the process and help us heal.
One of the most beautiful aspects of God’s nature is that He knows us intimately— even when we can’t recognize ourselves. Psalm 34:18 beautifully comforts us, saying, “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” In our moments of pain and confusion, God’s presence remains constant, offering healing and peace even when we feel lost.
This reminds me of Hagar’s story in the Bible. Hagar, a servant to Sarah and Abraham, found herself in the wilderness, fleeing from the harsh treatment of her mistress. It seemed like she had been forgotten, abandoned, and left to face the desert on her own. But in her moment of despair, God showed up for her in a powerful way. She named Him Jehovah El-Roi—the God who sees me (Genesis 16:13).
Just like Hagar, we often find ourselves in places where we feel unseen, where we wonder if God knows our pain, our struggles, or even our true selves. Yet, just like with Hagar, God’s love and care for us are constant—even when we are lost, even when we can’t see the way forward. He sees us.
I’ve always loved Psalm 139 because it’s so beautifully titled: “God’s Perfect Knowledge of Man.” He knows everything about us—the good, the bad, and the ugly—and He still loves us. He sees the situations that have changed us. And because He is so intentional, He places us in situations—or brings the right people into our lives—that will help us heal and move forward.
And here’s something worth noting: In Amelia’s story, after the tumor was removed, she had to spend time alone to figure out who she was and what her next steps would be. That’s how it is for us, too. Loss, grief, and trauma don’t get to define us. But in those quiet moments, we have to decide: Who do I want to be moving forward?
And the best part? Even in those moments, God is with us. Even when we feel lost, there is hope for restoration.
So, let me ask you:
What’s your tumor? What has been pressing on your heart, mind, or life—keeping you from being your happiest, most joyful self?
Have you recognized the tumors in your loved ones? How long have they been carrying something they don’t even realize is weighing them down?
Who in your life is helping you heal? And are you allowing them to?
Because here’s the thing: You are not meant to carry it alone.
And there is still so much life ahead of you—even after loss, even after trauma, even after pain.
Love always,
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