The Power of Expectations
The Power of Expectations (by Erin)
Throughout this chemo journey, I have said over and over again,
“It’s really not that bad.”
And I’ve meant it.
But I think the reason I’ve been able to say that is because I prepared myself to feel **awful**.
I braced for misery.
I imagined the worst.
So when reality came in lighter than what I had envisioned, it felt like a gift.
A grace.
A blessing.
Maybe it’s a psychological trick I play on myself.
But truly — it works.
And yet this week, I experienced the other side of that same principle.
Last week I had surgery.
Today we received the pathology report.
For weeks, I had been quietly believing the cancer was gone.
I couldn’t feel it anymore.
It wasn’t showing up on imaging.
Multiple doctors had gently hinted that PCR (pathological complete response) was likely.
In my heart, I had already written the ending.
So when the report came back — good, but not PCR — my heart sank.
The overall report was truly positive:
• Tumor shrunk from 2.6 cm to 1 cm
• Grade reduced from 3 to 1
• No lymph node involvement
• Clear margins after lumpectomy
They got it all.
YAY. Thank you, Jesus.
And yet… my heart still ached.
Because it wasn’t the report I had set my expectations on.
I was looking for the word “PCR.”
I was looking for “cancer free.”
I was looking for the moment I could say, “It’s over.”
After a few hours of wrestling through my emotional response — and thinking through next steps — I began asking a deeper question:
**What can I learn about the power of expectations?**
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## When Expectations Work For Us… and Against Us
During chemo, my expectations were low.
So anything better felt like mercy.
This time, my expectations were high.
So even good news felt insufficient.
It made me realize something simple but profound:
**Disappointment often lives in the gap between expectations and reality.**
The bigger the expectation, the deeper the drop when reality doesn’t perfectly align.
But here’s what I’m learning — optimism itself is not the problem.
I lean toward the eternal optimist side of life. I always have.
And at this point, I don’t think that will change.
Optimism carried me through chemo.
It strengthened my mind.
It gave me resilience.
What hurt wasn’t optimism.
It was attachment to a specific outcome.
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## Why PCR Meant So Much
From the very dark day of diagnosis, there has been one question quietly living in the background:
**Will I ever know if I’m “cancer free”?**
Because of my treatment plan starting with chemo, there was a possibility that surgery would provide visible proof — a pathological complete response.
Many people never even get that chance, depending on treatment order.
I felt like one of the “lucky” ones in that regard.
I had quietly hoped today would be the day I could say the words:
“Cancer free.”
“Cured.”
And when it wasn’t, I found myself back at the feet of Jesus asking… why?
Why does this hurt?
Why does this matter so much?
And in the stillness, I sensed Him gently extending His hand and inviting me back into something familiar:
**Trust.**
The lack of “knowing” gives me the opportunity to trust.
And if I’m honest, my human nature resists that opportunity.
On any given day, I would choose knowing over trusting.
Control over surrender.
But trust is where growth lives.
Even if PCR had happened, there would still be follow-up scans.
There would still be waiting rooms.
There would still be the reality that none of us are guaranteed tomorrow.
PCR would not have eliminated trust.
It would have simply changed its form.
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## What Do We Do With Disappointment?
Disappointment is not a failure of faith.
It’s evidence that we hoped deeply.
It means we cared.
The question isn’t how to avoid disappointment.
The question is how to process it.
For me, it looked like this:
• Feeling the ache instead of dismissing it
• Asking why it hit so hard
• Bringing it honestly to God
Not polished.
Not spiritualized.
Just honest.
And I was met not with rebuke — but with kindness.
With patience.
With a gentle reminder that I am not in control, but I am held.
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## Holding Expectations with Open Hands
Maybe the lesson isn’t to lower expectations.
Maybe the lesson is to hold them loosely.
To hope boldly.
To pray specifically.
To believe big.
But to release the exact wording, timing, and outcome.
The report was good.
Very good.
The tumor shrank dramatically.
The grade improved significantly.
Nodes were clear.
Margins were clear.
It was removed.
That is not small.
That is victory.
And yet, I am still walking a trust journey.
Maybe that’s the real healing work.
Learning to live faithfully in the tension between what we hope for and what we know.
Learning that peace does not come from pathology terms, but from Presence — **EMMANUEL**.
Jesus, help me.
And maybe, just maybe, the power of expectations isn’t about controlling outcomes at all — but about revealing where our hearts still need to grow.
I’m still learning.
And I’m so thankful for a God who keeps His hand extended toward me — even when I’m standing there with my pouty “I’ll do it myself” face.