Some Things
Don't Get Said...
Some Things
Don't Get Said...
There are things people go through that don’t fit into small talk.
Things that don’t get said out loud. Things that don’t get processed — they just get carried.
Not because we don’t want to talk about them…but because we don’t even know where to start.
Or we’ve tried — and it landed wrong. Or it made people uncomfortable. Or it changed how they looked at us.
So we learn to hold it. To package it. To give people the version that’s easier to hear.
And the rest?
It stays underneath. Quiet, but never gone.
For a long time, I did exactly that. I let people see parts of the story — edited parts.
Controlled.
Measured.
Easier to understand.
But the truth doesn’t stay quiet forever.
It shows up in decisions.
In reactions.
In the way you carry yourself when no one’s watching.
And eventually, you realize… you’re not really hiding it from anyone else.
You’re carrying it alone.
This is where that stops.
1 IN 50 Billion
The odds of losing both parents to rare, aggressive cancer.
That number shouldn’t exist. But it does.
And it includes me.
That kind of reality doesn’t just affect you — it rearranges you.
It changes how you think. How you trust. How you make decisions.
It forces you to look at everything and ask why.
Not “why did this happen?”
But—
Why do we become who we become after it?
Why do we stay in certain patterns?
Why do we avoid the truth?
Why do we pretend we’re okay when we’re not?
That’s where this comes from.
Not answers.
But better questions.
What This Really Is
This isn’t a highlight reel. It’s not a curated version of life.
It’s the parts people usually edit out—
the uncomfortable truths,
the mistakes,
the pressure,
the rebuilding.
It’s me, saying the truth, even when protecting the image would be easier.
Who I Am.
John Theriault
John Theriault
I’ve lived everywhere from Saint John, New Brunswick to Los Angeles —
and I’ve had to start over more times than I can count.
But the part that changed everything…
I lost both of my parents to rare and aggressive cancers.
Something so unlikely it shouldn’t even be possible.
And in that time, I didn’t just watch it happen.
I stepped in — questioning, pushing, advocating,
trying to make sense of something that doesn’t make sense.
That experience didn’t give me answers.
It gave me better questions.
