The Rebellion Against Suffering Women’s Silence: The Transformation of Despair into Language for a Pastorally Helpful Eschatology

Abstract

Exploring the reality of women with cancer involves acknowledging the pressures of conformity and loneliness that often lead to silence. It is a silence that hides women’s experiences, emotions, and reflections on suffering, death, and despair, undermining the process of self-revelation and community support that could develop on their journey with cancer. The article aims to analyze Audre Lorde’s reflections in The Cancer Journals in dialogue with Julian of Norwich’s Revelations of Divine Love and The Book of Margery Kempe, to articulate aspects of an eschatology from a woman’s perspective that are pastorally beneficial for discourse on suffering, death, and hope. The cornerstones of this eschatology can motivate the sufferer to stand at the crossroads of accepting suffering as a reality while actively resisting it, creating a space to determine whether one’s suffering has meaning in their life.

1. Introduction

Suffering women are often silent about their experiences. Part of this silence stems from patriarchal structures that continue to dismiss women’s pain, as evident in the underdiagnosis of endometriosis, which takes an average of 6 to 7 years to be diagnosed (University of York 2024). This silence can also serve as a way to cope with and prevent hurting their loved ones, as demonstrated by AXA’s advertisement on women’s heart disease in cinemas, which claims that eighty-one percent of women will prioritize others’ well-being over their own, even though 200 French women die each day from cardiovascular disease (AXA France 2023). While some see silence that prioritizes others as admirable, it should not be normalized at the expense of a woman’s life. Surveys and data from around the world show that women’s experiences with cancer are often also marked by silence. This is common at all stages: before and during screening (Thomas 2006, pp. 360–62), at diagnosis (Hammond et al. 2017, p. 193), when seeking institutional support after diagnosis or medical procedures (Hammond et al. 2017, p. 194), and finally when medical options are exhausted (Hauge and Reid 2019, pp. 122–23). The silence of women who are suffering surrounds us, raising the question: what is the cost of this silence?

This article will explore the consequences of this silence as it harms, consciously or unconsciously, the self-understanding and self-realization of women, particularly those suffering from medical conditions and interventions. First, to analyze this silence, I will primarily draw from Audre Lorde’s The Cancer Journals, where she examines the reality of women with cancer who face pressures of conformity and loneliness, which contribute to this silence. It is a silence that hides women’s experiences, emotions, and reflections on suffering, death, and despair, undermining the process of self-revelation and community support that could develop on their journey with cancer. Second, to highlight the richness of Lorde’s reflections within a theological and pastoral context, I will introduce a dialogue with two medieval mystical women: Julian of Norwich and Margery Kempe. By examining the reflections of three suffering women—Lorde, Julian, and Kempe—who transition from silence to written language, laying the groundwork for their personal self-revelation and the development of their identities, which serve as the cornerstones of an eschatology that fosters a particular hope. Third, to describe the cornerstones of an eschatology shaped by women’s voices, I will outline specific criteria necessary for a pastorally acceptable eschatology that respects a woman’s attribution of meaning—or lack thereof—to her suffering.

2. A Woman’s Cry Amidst Experiencing Breast Cancer

To briefly introduce Audre Lorde, in her often-repeated phrase, she is a “Black lesbian feminist poet” born in New York in 1934 (Lorde 2020, p. 21). In 1977, she had her first biopsy, which found no cancerous tumour, but a year later, in September 1978, her biopsy revealed a malignant tumour (Lorde 2020, p. 20). She passed away from cancer in 1992 at the age of 58 (Lorde 2020, p. i). In her cancer journals, first published in 1980, she reflects on the entries she made in the days before her diagnosis, after receiving the biopsy results, during her decision-making process for a mastectomy, and finally, on how she viewed herself after losing her right breast. Inspired by the women who surround her—wife, daughters, lovers, and friends—by the Kwanzaa feast (Lorde 2020, p. 15) (during which she wrote certain entries for the book), and as a rebellion her against Catholic schooling (Kerr 2017, p. 375), Lorde searches deeply within herself to discover what she can learn from her diagnosis and what she wishes to share with other women who are struggling and suffering. The reader gains insight into her reflections during the crisis and how she later reinterprets and reintegrates these moments into her life, guiding her toward the future.

There are two main threads that run throughout her reflections, which are closely connected. On the one hand, she feels that women with cancer are silenced from sharing their experiences and in the way they make choices for their bodies. On the other hand, she struggles between feeling like she loses herself but also tries to stay true to herself, in an attempt to find a balance where she can grow into the person she wants to be. Confiding her concerns about her journey and her desire to share her experiences with others, Lorde’s daughter advised her: “‘[t]ell them about how you’re never really a whole person if you remain silent, because there’s always that one little piece inside of you that wants to be spoken out, and if you keep ignoring it, it gets madder…’” (Lorde 2020, p. 14). Her daughter clearly identifies what is at stake between the so-called two threads within Lorde’s reflections on cancer: the interconnectedness of women’s silence and the loss of self as a consequence.

Before exploring what is at stake in the interconnectedness of silence and loss of self, I propose focusing on each thread individually. First, it is the silence imposed on her by people she encounters during her diagnosis of cancer and the recovery period after the mastectomy. On more than one occasion, she faced other survivors of breast cancer or oncology nurses who, even though they meant well, imposed a way of life or of perceiving one’s cancer. One of the most common times Lorde felt this pressure of silence was when it came to wearing a breast prosthesis. Rebelling against this option, she argues: “[p]rosthesis offers the empty comfort of ‘Nobody will know the difference.’ But it is that very difference which I wish to affirm, because I have lived it, and survived it, and wish to share that strength with other women… for silence and invisibility go hand in hand with powerlessness” (Lorde 2020, p. 54). Part of this silence means losing power, resulting in a loss of autonomy over one’s own body and understanding of their own self.

As any hospital chaplain or doctor recognizes today, one of the greatest sufferings patients experience is a loss of autonomy over their bodies, lives, and medical decisions (Daneault 2007, p. 28). When an uncontrollable disease ravages the body, one often feels helpless, but participating in certain medical decisions, or how one processes the events, can help maintain a sense of autonomy. This is one of the lessons Lorde describes in retrospect: “I think now what was most important was not what I chose to do so much as that I was conscious of being able to choose, having chosen, was empowered from having made a decision, done a strike for myself, moved” (Lorde 2020, p. 26). Part of understanding this loss of power is recognizing the extent of societal pressure to conform to a specific image of the cancer survivor. In Lorde’s case, it is crucial for her to consciously make her own choice, even if it conflicts with what is considered acceptable and aligns with the typical image of the ‘cancer survivor’.

The result of this imposed silence, which comes from the idea of the ‘correct way’ to live—or, in other words, hiding the true cost of cancer—is a silence around a topic that many avoid: death. It must first be acknowledged that any discussion about death is challenging when a patient is in crisis, but it is also about finding a balanced middle ground where death is recognized without allowing it to dominate life through fear. This is clear through Lorde’s own words: “[t{he need to look death in the face and not shrink from it, yet not ever to embrace it too easily, was a developmental and healing task for me that was constantly being sidelined by the more practical and immediate demands of hurting too much, and how do I live with myself one-breasted?” (Lorde 2020, p. 39). Despite the struggles Lorde experiences confronting death head-on, she finds that the issues of avoiding death are much greater than the pains of facing it.

The issue of silencing women’s reflections on death involves restricting their potential actions that could have followed. For example, Lorde’s appropriation of the reality of death led her to restructure her priorities regarding how to care for her body and with whom she would strengthen relationships or let go (Lorde 2020, p. 39). In a journal entry from 5 October 1978, just a few days after the mastectomy, Lorde writes: “[a]nd I mourn the women who limit their loss to the physical loss alone, who do not move into the whole terrible meaning of mortality as both weapon and power. After all, what could we possibly be afraid of after having admitted to ourselves that we had dealt face to face with death and not embraced it? For once we accept the actual existence of our dying, who can ever have power over us again?” (Lorde 2020, p. 45). According to Lorde, a woman’s reflection on death is a way to consciously choose how to live her life, connected to a sense of power and autonomy, which allows women to move beyond a world that primarily values them for their appearance (Lorde 2020, pp. 49–50).

For a woman to remain in this world fixated on her appearance, Lorde highlights two negative effects (Lorde 2020, p. 50). First, women tend to dwell on the past rather than look ahead to their future. This means that women often refer to how they were before cancer and try to live in this past version of themselves that never faced death or any of the traumatic changes to their bodies. Second, by encouraging women to view the mastectomy as a simple cosmetic procedure, any mention of death is dismissed. As previously noted, this act of ignoring death means women will not reassess their life choices based on their experiences. In this sense, any silence of women regarding their suffering harms both their autonomy during the experience of the disease and leaves lasting marks on how they face themselves and society after a particular medical procedure.

And yet, if one were to dismiss this phenomenon as merely a choice by women, we must not forget how powerful sharing stories can be when confronting traumatic medical conditions. Throughout her book, Lorde repeatedly mentions feeling deeply alone on her cancer journey due to a shortage of role models (Lorde 2020, p. 21). Despite feeling well-supported by family and friends, there is a particular kind of company that another woman who has endured a similar trauma can offer. The unfortunate truth is that many women have or have had cancer. Later in life, she realized she was surrounded by women who had a mastectomy and yet never shared their experiences. The real issue all along was silence. Silence that robbed women of their autonomy and the chance to build a support system beyond the limited image of what a cancer survivor should be.

Let us now turn to the second thread, where Lorde expresses her concerns about losing her sense of self in the process, concluding that a form of existential reflection and rediscovery is necessary. In a very poignant entry from 10 October 1978, Lorde writes: “I’m so tired of all this. I want to be the person I used to be, the real me. I feel sometimes that it’s all a dream and surely I’m about to wake up now” (Lorde 2020, p. 17). And yet, paradoxically, in some of her later reflections, Lorde writes: “I think perhaps I was afraid to continue being myself” (Lorde 2020, p. 26). Throughout her work, there’s a clear struggle between cancer changing a part of herself that she wants to resist and a movement towards acceptance of the situation, in which she struggles to stay true to herself.

It is slowly revealed to the reader and herself that what sustains her amidst her loss of self, yet reorients her, is quite simple: being able to continue writing her poetry, to love, and to live. Whenever she faces a life-altering decision, she repeatedly returns to these particular desires. And while those things sustain and guide her, they also inspire her to move beyond those desires and reach out towards other women diagnosed with cancer. Through uncovering and reorienting her desires, Lorde encounters a medical system and society that dismisses women’s existential questions. Voicing her concerns, Lorde writes: “[b]ut even more, or the same, I want to illuminate the implications of breast cancer for me, and the threats to self-revelation that are so quickly aligned against any woman who seeks to explore those questions, those answers. Even in the face of our own deaths and dignity, we are not to be allowed to define our needs nor our feelings nor our lives” (Lorde 2020, p. 18).

It is becoming clearer how much silence about death and the loss of autonomy contribute to a woman’s loss of self. Without language, or more specifically, the space to express her experience of cancer, the woman becomes dependent on others for her way of living. It is quite common for academics or theologians to reflect on suffering, stating that it changes us and allows us to mature (John Paul II 1984, pp. 17–18; Benedict XVI 2007, p. 23), a position that is prominent in and intensified by many medieval mystics (Kempe 2015, pp. xxix–xxx). It is precisely this process of change or maturing that does not happen, according to Lorde, because a woman’s existential reflections on her experience of breast cancer are ignored; thus, they diminish the true impact the disease has on a woman’s identity. The result is that, “[a]ny short-circuiting of this quest for self-definition and power, however well-meaning and under whatever guise, must be seen as damaging, for it keeps the post-mastectomy woman in a position of perpetual and secret insufficiency, infantilized and dependent for her identity upon an external definition by appearance” (Lorde 2020, p. 51).

Having identified the challenges a woman may encounter on her cancer journey, what does Lorde advocate for? It is a call for all women suffering to turn their silence into language for themselves and others, as well as a specific way of listening to the voices of other women. Lorde writes: “[b]ut primarily for us all, it is necessary to teach by living and speaking those truths which we believe and know beyond understanding. Because in this way alone we can survive, by taking part in a process of life that is creative and continuing, that is growth” (Lorde 2020, p. 15). This need to turn women’s silence into language and action has been justified throughout the article, but there is still one more point Lorde wants to emphasize. She writes: “[a]nd where the words of women are crying to be heard, we must each of us recognize our responsibility to see those words out, to read them and share them and examine them in their pertinence to our lives” (Lorde 2020, p. 16). There is a unification factor that must be considered if more women speak out about their experiences of suffering. Lorde seemed to have a never-extinguished hope that women would rally together in suffering and have their voices heard together.

Ultimately, Lorde’s journals give her a way to not just be a passive victim of cancer but to empower herself and other women (Lorde 2020, p. 66). She highlighted the importance of experiencing an existential crisis when faced with death, such as that brought on by cancer. The fear and pain linked to a cancer diagnosis and the decision to have a mastectomy can fundamentally change someone’s sense of self, but not always in a worse way. To conclude with her final words from the journal, from an entry dated 30 March 1979: “I think I was fighting the devil of despair within myself for my own soul… I would never have chosen this path, but I am very glad to be who I am, here” (Lorde 2020, p. 69). For Lorde, the feeling of pain and loss doesn’t have to be the last word.

3. Medieval Mystics Breaking the Silence

It must first and foremost be acknowledged that Audre Lorde was never a great enthusiast of the Catholic faith or Church (Kerr 2017, p. 375). However, I believe that her cancer journals have something to bring to the discussion for Christian theologians and all those dedicated to some pastoral ministry in a medical context. Lorde’s description of the enforced silence of women’s voices regarding their own suffering and reflections on death, which ultimately results in their loss of self, clearly aligns with literature on persons with trauma trying to ‘make sense’ or ‘find meaning’ in or through their suffering (Bray 2023). The silence of women and the resulting loss of self are what I would describe as the process of attributing value or meaning to one’s suffering that is halted. Recognizing that this process of attributing value or meaning to suffering is hindered for various reasons means that the woman suffering in any medical context is therefore prevented from truly healing herself and helping those around her. To understand this process of assigning value or meaning to suffering, it is helpful to look back to a period in history, specifically the Medieval period, when suffering was seen as ‘good’ because it functions as a tool of self-transformation and revelation (Kempe 2015, pp. xxix–xxx). Put differently, due to its capacity for self-transformation, suffering has a meaning in the life of the Christian. To explore this further, we must dive into the English medieval world of Julian of Norwich and Margery Kempe.

Julian of Norwich was a medieval woman who, at the age of thirty in 1373, experienced a serious illness during which she had mystical visions of Jesus. Later in her life, most likely after the illness, she became a renowned anchoress in the bustling city of Norwich. What is interesting about Julian for this article is that she is one of the very first women to write a text in English, and her position as an anchoress, which “…was regarded as the living death of one who was as if dead to the world. Parts of the rite of enclosure were excerpted from the office for the burial of the dead, and the anchoress entered her cell singing the antiphon from the burial service, ‘Here shall be my rest forever’” (Julian of Norwich 2015, p. x). Having undergone extreme suffering, from her bodily pains associated with the illness and experiencing visions of the Passion of Christ, and her life depicted as being dead to the world, she offers us profound reflections from a woman on our themes of suffering and death.

Similar to Lorde, Julian describes feeling her voice silenced, which is evident when she asks the question “[b]ut just because I am a woman, must I therefore believe that I should not tell you about the goodness of God, when I saw at the same time that it is his will that this be known?” (Julian of Norwich 2015, p. 10). In poet Victoria Mackenzie’s fictional book, inspired by the historical documents on Julian of Norwich’s and Margery Kempe’s meeting, we find a story that explores in more personal detail what it meant for a woman to be expected to stay silent yet to write. Following an encounter with a man who doubted the existence of God, Mackenzie writes in Julian’s voice, “I had never met a soul so lacking in hope. I told him not to fear, that God was real and full of love for him. He asked me how I could be sure. I wanted to say it was because I had seen God and knew he was in all things, but he might have told someone of my claims…Perhaps I am only a coward, scribbling in secret, allowing the stone walls of my cell to protect me from life’s rough winds…” (Mackenzie 2024, p. 19). As seen with Lorde, a woman’s silence not only affects herself but is also a loss for those who could benefit from her words.

Despite the pressures and risks of being condemned as a heretic, Julian of Norwich writes about her visions and the struggle of how one should position oneself in suffering. On the one hand, we return to the typical medieval idea that suffering can be seen as a beneficial experience that helps us find meaning or grow in maturity by bringing us closer to God. Julian writes, “[a]nd as it seems to me, this suffering [caused by sin] is something that exists for a while, because it purges us and makes us know ourselves and ask for mercy; for the Passion of our Lord is a comfort to us against all this, and that is his blessed will for all who shall be saved. He comforts us readily and sweetly by his words and says, ‘But all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well’” (Julian of Norwich 2015, p. 20). While, in a medieval mystical fashion, she acknowledges the role of suffering in shaping us, she also repeatedly emphasizes throughout her books how God is always there to comfort us with His love.

On the other hand, recognizing that suffering can overwhelm and halt any reflections (Julian of Norwich 2015, p. 30), the best approach is not to give it too much importance. Julian also writes, “[a]nd he [Jesus] also wants us to take our waiting and our distress as lightly as we can take them and count them as nothing; for the more lightly we take them—the less value we set on them out of love—the less pain we shall experience from feeling them, and the more thanks we shall have for them” (Julian of Norwich 2015, p. 29). In other words, by distancing yourself from suffering as if it is unimportant, you take away the power suffering might have over your life. Essentially, for Julian, if we feel overwhelmed by suffering, it is because we have forgotten about love, which always requires patience.

As briefly mentioned earlier, Julian of Norwich met a woman named Margery Kempe from her cell. Kempe is also known as a medieval mystic born in 1373 who died sometime after 1439. Her book, which was dictated and written by several people, is one of the earliest autobiographies by a woman in the English language. Similarly to Julian, she is a woman whom her community tries to silence, has visions of Jesus, and has experienced debilitating illnesses, offering us another woman’s perspective on suffering and death. But suffering is not only experienced through illness but also as the vocation of being a woman who openly refuses to stay silent. As described by theologian Anthony Bale, “Kempe’s Book aims to show us that the stakes were high for its protagonist: we are to understand that devotion, for Kempe, was a life and death situation. Indeed, Kempe would have heard of her famous contemporary, Joan of Arc (burned at the stake in 1431), who exhibited many similar characteristics to her” (Kempe 2015, p. xvii).

Kempe’s devotion to God, especially Jesus Christ, appeared much more personal and intense than Julian’s account. Specifically, any suffering was seen as a way to grow closer to God through the remission of sins. During an episode of a particularly difficult illness, Kempe’s scribe wrote, “[t]hen she would say to our Lord…’Oh, Lord, for your great pain, have mercy on my little pain; for the great pain that you suffered, do not give me as much as I am worthy of, because I cannot bear as much as I am worthy of. And if it is your will, Lord, that I must bear it, send me patience, or else I may not endure it’” (Kempe 2015, p. 125). Throughout her text, we see a continuous tension between attempting to accept the reality of suffering and acknowledging that she is at the end of her rope in being able to tolerate it.

It is precisely these reflections on the tension where a woman stands between rebellion against and acceptance of suffering that she finds a voice to help her move forward and inspire others. Being vocal and writing about her view of her sufferings are very constitutive of who she is, shaping how she chooses to position herself in society. It demonstrates the importance for a woman to, as Lorde describes, face head-on the sufferings and existential crises that come with death. Lorde, Julian, and Kempe, all silenced yet all persevered to have their voices heard, were able—by writing or dictating—to reflect on their experiences of suffering, ultimately contributing to the development of their identities as seen throughout their texts. This means that for all women who continue to be silenced or choose to stay silent in their suffering, they are missing out on something crucial: the development of self and identity. Whether a woman decides that her suffering has meaning or not, the process she goes through to make that decision will be the aspect that builds and transforms her identity through suffering.

Theologians tend to suggest that the important aspect is the result of the process of ascribing meaning. For instance, some argue that suffering becomes meaningful because, when offered up, it can contribute to the redemption of souls in Purgatory (Margelidon 2023, pp. 132–38). What I suggest here is that the outcome isn’t what truly matters to a person, but rather the process she experiences is what will transform and uphold her. Therefore, it means that offering suffering for others is not what matters most to a sufferer, but without necessarily realizing it, it was the existential thinking process she experienced that led her to this conclusion of offering up her suffering, which will give her hope. The problem we face with such an example, however, is that it often reflects a position towards suffering that has been taught by generations of Catholics, which causes the process of self-questioning to be lost. We then return to the problem of being silenced. Essentially, whether suffering is meaningful or not is only a secondary concern when it comes to what is beneficial for supporting a suffering individual; what is crucial is the articulation of their own stance towards suffering, which implies that a self-reflexive process has occurred.

4. Building upon the Voices of Women: Cornerstones for a Pastorally Helpful Eschatology

As has been argued so far, the cost of suffering women’s silence is a deep loss of identity and a lack of healing related to the hindered process of assigning value or meaning to one’s own negative experiences. So, what can be done? From my perspective, there are three different yet converging conclusions that depend on one another. First, the pastoral worker, minister, or even family member must start to realize they should not confine suffering women in a box that silences them, and consider what actions or words might cause the cycle to continue. This can be, as explored with Lorde, the result of simply assuming there is a normative image of experiencing some type of suffering or disease. Each suffering woman can have a completely different experience of the same disease or procedure. For those more theologically or religiously inclined, it means being careful not to attribute a specific kind of philosophical or belief system where the suffering woman can no longer choose how she positions herself in relation to her suffering and God.

Second, simply not placing a suffering woman in a place of silence is not enough; therefore, we must also encourage women to share their own experiences of suffering and reflections on death. It should be normalized to discuss death and suffering in an existential way when a person is psychologically ready. As testified by three women in this article, the act of writing down their existential reflections on death and suffering was beneficial for themselves and, hopefully, for others, making it something to be encouraged for those who feel a need. For those who do not feel capable of voicing their own reflections, it can start by sharing or referring oneself to examples of other women, as shown in this article, who have raised their voices and can serve as role models in times of suffering and grief.

Third, I suggest that a form of Christian eschatology, rooted in women’s reflections on death and suffering, can provide a basis for others to consider their own suffering or to offer pastoral assistance. Of course, as previously mentioned, what follows is not proposed as a comprehensive system to be imposed on women, but rather offers the beginnings of a discussion where others may contribute positively or build upon it through disagreement.

From the analysis of the three female authors, we can determine that the eschatology must take into consideration two main points. First, the eschatology must acknowledge the tension between accepting suffering and resisting it. Accepting the reality of suffering can involve seeking the Lord’s comfort, as Julian and Kempe do, or it can mean Lorde choosing to reevaluate her relationships to forge more meaningful connections. Rebelling against suffering means both not allowing suffering to control our lives and recognizing our limits, as seen with Kempe’s cry to God. Second, the eschatology must consider that it is the process, rather than the result, of attributing meaning to suffering that is important. These are the criteria for any pastorally helpful eschatology.

There are many different routes one could take to continue this reflection. One might try finding a well-developed and systematized eschatology that either already meets the criteria or can be adapted to be pastorally useful. For example, one could begin with politically oriented eschatologies from theologians like Jürgen Moltmann (Moltmann 2021), Johann Baptist Metz (Metz and Ashley 1994), and Edward Schillebeeckx (Schillebeeckx 2014), which are grounded in concrete hope and action against suffering. One could also adopt a more apophatic approach, such as Karen Kilby’s conclusions on eschatology, which favour a theologian’s silence in the face of someone else’s suffering (Kilby 2017, pp. 279–91). Alternatively, a more philosophical approach could be to rely on Eleonore Stump’s understanding of how suffering shapes and influences a person’s true self (Stump 2022).

While these options could warrant a separate article, I instead suggest briefly developing an additional categorization that aligns with the criteria outlined above, which will be much more beneficial in a pastoral context. At the heart of an eschatology that addresses suffering is the recurring question of meaning. For Christians, the distant Kingdom of God, Heaven, and Final Judgment help create a framework where suffering either has or does not have meaning, depending on the theologian. Rather than relying on a comprehensive eschatological framework and without delving too deeply into theological and systematic specifics, I suggest a brief additional reflection for those involved in Christian pastoral ministry in the medical field who encounter suffering individuals with eschatological questions or struggles about meaning. Based on my theological and pastoral experience, when a Christian contemplates whether suffering has meaning in their life, there is often a conflation of three distinct types of meaning: personal, universal, and redemptive meanings of suffering.

Although inspired by Kilby’s distinction between first-person, second-person, and third-person perspectives, which describe different eschatological hopes (Kilby 2017, pp. 288–89), the three proposed categories differ. Personal meaning is derived from a first-person perspective, while universal meaning comes from a third-person perspective. Personal meaning is where a person assigns value or not to their suffering based on an evolving understanding of their surroundings throughout time. For example, consider a fictional case of a woman who is sexually assaulted at her workplace. After this traumatic experience, she started an organization that provides resources for victims of sexual assault and implements prevention measures at work. Hearing testimonials from other women who have been helped by her organization can allow her to feel that her suffering has meaning because it has been transformed into help for others. This woman has therefore given personal meaning to her suffering, and it is not up to others helped by her organization to assign meaning to her suffering by focusing on the outcomes.

A universal meaning is accessible to all but relies on the personal understanding of one’s own sufferings. It is universal by virtue of being characterized as a human desire, yet to be attained, and to be continued to hope for. An example of a universal meaning can be found in many theological texts, such as Pope John Paul II’s apostolic letter Salvifici Doloris. The core message of the letter is to explain to the faithful how suffering contributes in a mysterious way, like Christ’s, to our spiritual maturity and redemption. Inspired by an Old Testament view of the educational value of suffering and sharing in Christ’s suffering, a perspective emerges where suffering is seen as an experience of evil, rather than something inherently bad or evil. Although it can be an experience of evil, suffering is beneficial because it gains meaning through the positive benefits it provides to a person’s soul and the Church, which are acquired throughout the experience of suffering (John Paul II 1984, p. 21). In other words, Pope John Paul II presents a worldview in which suffering is meaningful for everyone, especially when endured in a Christian manner, and it offers little room for unexplainable or horrifying sufferings that Christians might experience as meaningless. While it may offer comfort to some, it is often unhelpful in a pastoral context. Accordingly, we can theologically theorize about the existence of a possible universal meaning, but it will be heavily shaped and influenced by our personal meaning, making it largely inapplicable to all other persons.

Finally, there is the category of redemptive meaning of suffering, which is an objective reality understood through faith. As seen in the texts of Julian and Kempe, once a person chooses to reflect Christ’s image in the Passion, it becomes more tangible, which can be interpreted as linked to redemption. At the core of that desire, culminating in a choice, lies a mysterious eschatological truth of salvation. Redemption is not tied to suffering itself but to the choice made through or even after suffering, ultimately indicating a transformation in how we perceive experiences of suffering. It is through this category that we can understand Paul’s phrase “…I complete what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions…” (Col. 1, 24), which aligns with the tradition of connecting our sufferings to Christ’s to give suffering meaning. It must be clear that this category cannot be absolutized or universalized, and that not all suffering should be linked to redemption in this way (lest it fall back into the universal meaning). It is essential to remember that this choice can only be made after undergoing a comprehensive existential self-transforming process of reconsideration, as described by Lorde.

The conflation of three different types of meaning is damaging to a woman’s perception of hope and her own self. She must be given space to assign (if she chooses and needs to) personal or redemptive meaning to her suffering, which can help her select the kind of hope that motivates her and enables her to grow in the future. Even if she chooses to assign meaning to suffering, it does not imply full acceptance of suffering and still leaves room for resistance against its negative effects, which is a vital crossroads that allows her to reframe her view of herself and her life. As explored throughout the article, the act of naming and transforming despair into language, in written form, can be particularly helpful for a woman to regain her voice.

5. Conclusions

Gathering women’s voices through medical interviews, a personal journal, fictional literature, a dictated biography, and a book written for spiritual meditation, we find their perspectives on cancer and suffering that seriously acknowledge the reality of death. Audre Lorde, Julian of Norwich, and Margery Kempe transcend a society that seeks to silence their reflections, promoting hope and serving as examples for other women facing similar sufferings. By analyzing their voices, it is possible to identify a way to pastorally support women who suffer, encouraging them to find a balance between accepting their suffering and resisting it, regardless of how this may present itself. Through the process of existential questioning about suffering and death, which can lead to the attribution of meaning, the woman develops a sense of self and identity in a context that often tries to silence her. This process is essential for her to consciously and autonomously determine a future to hope for, develop coping mechanisms, set priorities, and ultimately reach a place of healing.

Refusing silence as a vocation can and should be further developed as a concept for both pastoral ministers and especially for women suffering in medical settings. This refusal to remain silent can be expressed through writing, as noted in the article, but should also be explored through speech or various art forms (Hamdar 2021). This vocation of refusal of silence should also be further observed over time with those women who are now experiencing a terminal cancer for longer periods of time (Abbott 2025). The reflections on death and suffering explored in the article were written during times when suffering and disease were very much present, but it would be valuable to see how these reflections evolve when death and suffering are ongoing over an extended period. Exploring women’s voices as a form of research and in pastoral ministry involves continually seeking out these voices and bringing them to light in spaces where they might otherwise remain unheard.