Friendship is Sacred
It was one of those conversations that almost didn’t happen. It was back in college, and I was in a color photography class, making small talk with an acquaintance. We had just sat down, waiting for the class to begin. We were probably talking about something fleeting, like our weekend plans or the weather, but ended up uncovering that we were both about to embark on something big: studying abroad next semester. There are many tasks to sort out for that kind of thing, and we decided to go together to the office for our international student ID cards. I could feel the simmer of connection building as we drove and chatted.
The hallway was long and fluorescent lit, and empty aside from the two of us, charging wide-eyed towards our respective adventures. Shoes squeaking on the flooring, I stopped abruptly, turned to her, and made a proclamation without thinking too hard about it: “Alright, you go to Scotland. I’ll go to Nepal. Then, when we get back next spring, we are going to be real friends.”
Megan laughed and cocked one eyebrow with a mix of curiosity and skepticism in her eyes at my bold prophecy. Though, in fact… the prophecy was accurate.
From my perspective, twenty-four years later, it's nothing short of a miracle — that moment the star stuff that makes me met the star stuff that makes her was a big bang: the creative force of a friendship so dear we now call it kinship.
Together, we have travelled the United States and across the world. We have written letters to one another, teasing out the complexity of falling in love with the people we would marry. We have witnessed the blooming of motherhood in our bodies and hearts. And, as is the risk for all things true and deep, we have also at times misunderstood or unintentionally hurt each other, been honest about it, and found new layers of knowing. We have looked deep into the paradoxes of living, side by side.
When fear feels wild and hot in my heart — will the cancer in my bones lead to pain that I cannot bear? will I die before my kids are fledged into the world? will this scan show progression? will this next line of treatment be more harmful than helpful? — some of my loved ones want to bright-side it. “You’re so brave,” or respond in a way that perplexingly puts me into the role of comforting them about my disease.
However, I can call Megan and tell her the shape of the fear that day, unedited. She walks carefully towards the abyss with me, hand in hand, looks straight into the chasm, and asks me questions about it, listening for the truth underneath the darkness. We know that one of the surest antidotes to fear is curiosity, after all.
About a year after we learned that the cancer had metastasized to my liver and skeleton, we were spending the day together reflecting on all of the supports that were helping both of us find and cultivate a state of thriving. Time in nature, movement practices, art, writing, and community. I had started finding more and more amazing things for people living with cancer, such as retreats, communities online, and therapeutic interventions, and I told Megan that I wished there was something that we could experience and grow from together that acknowledged and offered tools for our friendship’s path that now included cancer. After all, metastatic breast cancer (MBC) is not a meal train scenario — something to get through in the context of a calendar year or less. With luck, this will be a long road on which I will continue to need extra support. A road long enough that my dearest friend should also be receiving nurturing and support.
That conversation sparked others, and we poked, questioned, and researched the concepts that bubbled up until they evolved into a non-profit we founded together. We named it Temple of Kinship because we believe that friendship is sacred, and when friends are navigating something as worldshifting as MBC, it deserves a special place to be cared for.
I believe that the reason I don’t have to put on a brave face with Megan, or disguise the times the abyss feels overwhelming, is because she tends to her own personal kinship with her body, with nature, and spirit. And that tending to these aspects allows her a greater stability to look into the dark with me. That doesn’t mean that she doesn’t ever feel grief about all of this, or about other challenges in her life. She is beautifully whole and human, after all — just like me. I hope that as I continue to build resilience and courage, I am offering her the same active listening and care she gives me. But having the space and the tools and the willingness opens capacity in both of us.
One tending-to-your-own-inner-well practice that we made up together is to find a place that feels extra potent, where we feel fortified and held by the natural world, and do a little meditation there that creates a conscious connection to that physical place so we can draw on its power at a future time when we are far away. We stop and feel our breath grow deeper, allowing our imaginations to unfurl roots deep into the earth below. At the end of the taproot, we drop an anchor that clicks into place in the bedrock, soil, or ocean floor, and we leave that little imagination-made anchor there even when our bodies move away. That way, from the office, the chemo infusion chair, the couch — truly, anywhere — we can return to the ancient olive tree in Crete, the rosy sandstone beach on Lake Superior’s shore, or the turquoise sea. We can draw from the reserves of strength and beauty that we have integrated into our cells and be held.
Another thing this journey has proven true, for me and for Megan, is the paradox of it all.
The more that we build capacity for navigating the fraught spaces — pregnant with unanswered questions or punctuated with grief — the more capacity we also uncover to access delight, joy, and a more durable experience of equanimity in an everchanging world.
I want other people to find a space of thriving with MBC, to find moments of peace in their hearts, and to keep finding them. One of the very best ways I can think of is to make sure that the kin that we ride closest with are receiving support that will equip them to find some balance and wellbeing for themselves. Megan and I hypothesized that, if dear friends can experience a retreat that is filled with practices and tools to support thriving together, good things will happen as a result, just like they have for us. We’ve held two retreats on the shores of Lake Superior, and so far, it seems like our hypothesis was on the mark. As the Temple of Kinship community grows, we are also learning from all the people we’ve connected with: those who have brought insights from their own friendships and practices that are meaningful to them. I am excited for all the learning still ahead. 🌿
Alyssa Tsagong
Artist, Mom, Co-founder, and Serendipity Cultivator. Diagnosed at 38 and 41. IDC, Stage III, and then Stage IV, ER+, HER2 low. Current Lines of Treatment: I-PREDICT clinical trial Enhertu, Orserdu, Lenvima, Xgeva.
Alyssa recently retired from a career in public media and education to channel her creativity for her health, her family, and artistic mischief. In addition to holding sacred and creative space for MBC thrivers and their chosen friend through Temple of Kinship retreats, Alyssa is also a METAvivor Peer to Peer support group leader in southeast Wisconsin.
“Friendship is Sacred” will soon be published in Wildfire Journal’s 2025 “Paradox” issue, which is our 10th annual metastatic breast cancer issue theme. Pre-order the full print copy from our shop. Available in digital download form and in the subscribers’ library starting October 25th.