In the aftermath of UFC 314, Alexander Volkanovski dropped a line that stopped me cold:
At first, I rolled my eyes—because let’s be honest: if you’ve spent time in a hospital gown, hooked up to IVs, battling cancer, “privilege” is not the word that comes to mind. Words like unfair, exhausting, or terrifying? Sure. But privilege?
Then I sat with it. And something shifted.
Because adversity isn’t just about the pain. It’s about the invitation.
The invitation to meet yourself in the fire. To discover a version of you that doesn’t show up when life is easy. To confront the parts of you that only get revealed when comfort is stripped away.
Before APL, I thought I knew who I was. But this diagnosis brought me to my knees—physically, emotionally, spiritually. It burns away ego, the illusion of control, the distractions I used to numb myself. And what was left? A raw, honest version of me I’d never met before.
There’s a strange freedom in that.
Adversity asked questions of me that nothing else could:
Who are you when no one is watching?
What do you believe when hope is uncertain?
Can you find beauty in the breakdown?
This experience has taught me that suffering, as brutal as it is, can be fertile ground for becoming. For growing deeper roots. For finding humor in the absurd. For seeing people—really seeing them. And maybe most of all, for loving yourself not in spite of your scars but because of them.
APL didn’t just challenge my health. It redefined my relationship with meaning.
So yeah… maybe adversity is a privilege.
A brutal, unwelcome, holy kind of privilege.
I am in week five of this battle; post-discharge, I have a two-week rest from treatments before consolidation begins. Until then, there will be no quarter until APL taps out.
~Tyler
