The Other Side of “Why Me?” is “Why Not Me?”

The Other Side of “Why Me?” is “Why Not Me?”

I’ve never asked myself “Why me?” since being diagnosed with bowel cancer. Not once. That might sound strange, or even impossible, but it’s the truth.

I get why people do. It’s a gut reaction. A perfectly valid and human one. When your life falls apart without warning, your brain scrambles for meaning. It tries to make sense of chaos. And “Why me?” is often the first thing that comes out.

But for me, the other side of that question has always felt more honest. More grounded. More… real. “Why not me?”

Looking for Reason in a Random World

When you grow up hearing that bowel cancer is an “old person’s disease,” being diagnosed with stage 4 at 31 doesn’t just shock your system, it rewrites your whole concept of fairness. Suddenly, you’re the one trying to make sense of the unimaginable. But I never saw myself as an exception. I saw myself as an example.

Of course I didn’t think I would get cancer. But deep down, I’ve always known bad things don’t need permission. They don’t discriminate based on whether you’ve done the right things, lived a decent life, or treated people well. Life isn’t a loyalty program, it’s a lottery.

And in a world full of randomness, “Why not me?” felt like the only answer that didn’t demand more suffering by pretending I should’ve been spared.

“Why Me?” Isn’t Selfish, It’s Grieving

That said, I don’t look down on anyone who asks “Why me?” I think it’s one of the most natural reactions to grief, fear, and trauma. You’re not questioning your worth, you’re questioning the pain. You’re trying to process what just hit you.

When people say it, I hear heartbreak. I hear disbelief. I hear someone who just wants their life back, who’s still reeling from the shock of being pulled into a world they never signed up for.

So if that’s you, I want you to know: there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re not weaker or less resilient for asking. You’re human. And you’ve just been hit by something that should knock the wind out of you. We all process it differently. And some days, “Why me?” is just the best language we have for a heart cracking open.

“Why Not Me?” Isn’t Cynicism, It’s Acceptance

For me, “Why not me?” hasn’t come from bitterness or defeat. It’s come from accepting that no one is immune to this. We all like to think we’re safe, until we’re not. And when I look at the numbers, the rise in early-onset bowel cancer, and the number of friends I’ve made who’ve also been diagnosed young, it’s not hard to see that I was never as safe as I thought.

The closest I ever get to asking “Why me?” is when I think about what this has done to the people I love. That’s when it hurts in a different way, not for myself, but for my family. And maybe that is a form of “why me,” just flipped outward. Why did they have to carry this too? Why does my wife have to go through this beside me? Why did our life get flipped upside down for something we never saw coming?

I still don’t feel like I was unfairly singled out. Of course I wish this never happened. Of course I’d rather not be living with cancer. But I’ve never questioned why it happened to me, because I’ve never believed there was a reason I’d be spared. Bad things happen to good people all the time. Just because you get cancer doesn’t say anything about the kind of person you are and it sure as hell doesn’t mean you deserved it.

This shift in mindset didn’t make cancer easier. It didn’t take away the grief or the fear. But it gave me a strange kind of clarity, that no one is above hardship. That suffering doesn’t always have a target. And that I didn’t deserve this… but I also wasn’t somehow supposed to be spared from it.

“Why not me?” lets me move forward without needing a reason. It frees me from the need to make this diagnosis mean something. Some things don’t have to mean anything to be real. They just are.

When Other People Ask

Sometimes I get asked by others, friends, family, people I meet through advocacy, if I’ve ever thought “Why me?” They ask with gentle eyes, like they’re walking into fragile territory.

I tell them honestly, “No. I never did. For me it was always ‘Why not me?’”

And that usually surprises them. Maybe it’s because I seem calm or grounded about it. Maybe they expect more anger. Maybe they’re wrestling with their own “why” and hoping I’ve found a better one.

But it’s not about being wise or zen or enlightened. It’s just where my mind went. Not to rage. But to realism.

Because if someone had to be the one in thirty-something Australians diagnosed with bowel cancer… why not me? Why not any of us?

You Don’t Need a Reason

We’re not trained to live in uncertainty. We’re taught that hard work pays off, that being kind protects you, that health is a reward for doing things “right.”

But cancer doesn’t care. It’s not a punishment, but it’s definitely not a prize. It’s a random act of biology, brutal, indiscriminate, and unearned.

And while that might sound bleak, there’s something almost freeing in it. If it wasn’t your fault, you don’t need to carry guilt. And if it wasn’t chosen for you, you don’t have to go looking for why you were chosen.

Sure, there are things you can do to reduce your risk, eat better, drink less, move more, quit smoking. But I wasn’t doing anything particularly worse or better than the average person. I wasn’t reckless. I wasn’t unhealthy. And I know plenty of people who did everything “right” and still got cancer anyway.

That’s what I mean when I say it’s a random act of biology. Not that there’s no science behind risk, but that no one gets a guarantee. You can do everything in your power to protect yourself and still end up here. It’s not about blame. It’s not about fault. It’s about the fact that life doesn’t always play fair and cancer is one of its cruelest reminders of that.

You can just breathe. Grieve. Get angry. Get tired. Get through. And get on with your life, in whatever shape it now takes.

Final Thought

If you’re still sitting in the shock of it all, still asking “Why me?” that’s okay. You’re not broken for asking. But if you ever want to flip it on its head, try this:

“Why not me?” Not as a way to accept defeat. But as a way to release the pressure to find a reason. You don’t need to justify what happened to you. And you don’t need to carry its meaning like a backpack of bricks.

It happened. And somehow, you’re still here. Still standing. Still figuring it out.

That’s enough.