RIDICULOUSLY BRAVE

RIDICULOUSLY BRAVE
'Love, Loss, and the Courage to Keep Going'
Exclusive Interview with Jenny Olson
Featured in 'Innerviews'
Hosted by Allié McGuire

​When you sit down with Jenny Olson, you don’t just hear a story—you feel it. A mother who’s walked through the unthinkable, she’s turned heartbreak into hope through her words, her book, and her voice on countless stages. Today, we speak not just about pediatric cancer, but about courage, love, and the fierce strength that comes only from being a mom.

ALLIÉ: Jenny, when you first heard the words that no mother ever wants to hear—that your little boy had cancer—what was the very first thought that crossed your mind?

JENNY: You know, the very first thought that crossed my mind was that my family has not had a good history with cancer. And my immediate thought was: this is a death sentence, because no one in my family who had been diagnosed had ever survived.

ALLIÉ: How old was your son when he was diagnosed, Jenny?

JENNY: He was two and a half. We were just getting ready to start potty training, and that was put on hold.

​ALLIÉ: So much of motherhood—mom to mom—we can feel this in our bones. It’s all about protecting our children from pain. And here you were, facing something you couldn’t fix with a kiss on the forehead. How did you find your way through that helplessness? And what did it teach you about yourself?

JENNY: Oh, that’s such a great question. So, you know, we just actually had the anniversary of his diagnosis back on August 17th. And it’s really a strange space to be in now, because I remember when I got the call, I remembered exactly where I was. I remember my husband looking toward me across the room and knowing something was wrong.

In that space, I just remember thinking to myself, “I don’t think I can do this,” because just two years prior we had spent two months in the NICU with our son. And so I thought, I can’t do this again. I’m not made for this.

And then it just kind of shifted. It brought out what I always knew was inside but had never come to the surface before. I found my voice. I stopped being afraid. And I realized I had the opportunity to be an advocate and to really fight for my son. Because with pediatric cancer, it’s not just one patient. You have three patients—mom, dad, and the child.

ALLIÉ: No, absolutely. Let’s talk about your book—Ridiculously Brave. It’s become a beacon for families walking through the same storm you went through. But before it was a book, it was your lived reality. Can you share a moment from that journey that still, to this day, sits with you? A memory that reshaped the way you saw life and motherhood?

JENNY: You know, I’ll never forget Labor Day weekend. Of course, our plan was to be on vacation, but that didn’t happen. We were sitting in the hospital waiting—frustrated, wanting to go home—but what even was home anymore?

My son had just had a biopsy of his liver. There was an incision, and—this will be shocking—but his incision literally burst open while we were there. His intestine started to come out. That was the moment I knew we were walking through something unpredictable. It wasn’t just cancer or chemo—it was all the things.

I remember running as fast as I could. The resident froze. The nurse stepped up. And I thought: We’re in this for the long haul. It’s going to be brutal, it’s going to be hard, but we’re not going to give up.

And, oddly, everything aligned that day. The perfect surgeon was unexpectedly on call. Moments like that change your perspective—you realize you have to take control, even in chaos.

ALLIÉ: Yeah, I hear you. I had a similar situation with my son, who had a tracheotomy at three months old. Suddenly he was breathing out of a tube through his neck. I remember thinking, “Oh, we’ll only be in the hospital every now and then.” But no—it was constant.

There was a time he coughed out his trach. A nurse said she hadn’t done it before and looked around for help. I moved them out of the way and said, “Watch. I’ll show you.” I did what needed to be done. And then I stepped out and cried for so long.

ALLIÉ: Did you have similar experiences—where you had to be strong in the moment, but then broke down afterward? Were you able to give yourself that grace?

JENNY: Oh, yes. I’ll never forget when he had a port put in. The rule is if you attempt to access that port and you’re unsuccessful, you cannot use that needle again. After his liver resection, I saw a nurse attempt not once, not twice, but three times. I spun around and said, “Step away. Step away now and get your manager.”

He was still under sedation, but clearly uncomfortable. I called in the head of port training and said, “I don’t know what just happened, but it will never happen again.”

Afterward, I sobbed to my husband. We didn’t need another complication on top of cancer and liver surgery. There are moments you take that adrenaline and use it—but then the human side comes out, and you cry. And then you pick yourself back up.

ALLIÉ: Yes, that’s just it. Sometimes the bravest thing is simply waking up the next morning and doing it all again. Jenny, in your hardest days, what did courage actually look like for you? Not the big gestures—the quiet, everyday ones.

JENNY: Honestly, it became more evident after treatment was done, when he was declared in remission. I was warned about PTSD, but I thought I’d be fine. Six weeks later, when life was supposed to go back to “normal,” it hit me hard. Nothing would ever be normal again.

There were days I begged my husband to stay home because I was so afraid. A cough or sneeze sent me spiraling. But I made myself get up every day. Sometimes that was all I could do. I sought counseling. I let myself feel what I felt—but I never stopped getting up.

ALLIÉ: I love that you bring up PTSD—it’s so overlooked. The bigger issue is our child and their needs, so we forget our own.

Now that your story is one you’ve shared on stages and in pages, how do you balance being an encourager for others while still honoring the tender parts of your heart that are still healing?

JENNY: For me, healing has come through telling our story. Even 15 years later, when I speak, the tears come—it all feels real again. But it’s therapeutic.

Little things still trigger me. For example, the beeping of cash registers at Target reminded me of hospital pumps. My husband joked that maybe that was a good thing—less money spent at Target. Humor helps.

But I know how devastating this journey is, how scary it is. And I know that after remission, support often disappears. That’s why I keep sharing: so families know they’re not alone. Because they aren’t.

ALLIÉ: Absolutely. And that no one ever fights alone—or has to. One more thing, my friend: what message do you most hope another mom, sitting in that doctor’s office hearing the unthinkable, would take away from you right now?

JENNY: Don’t go it alone. Reach out. Relationships change—some people can’t handle it. But find someone, anyone, to connect with. Even just one other mom who understands. It makes all the difference. ∎

Learn more about Jenny and her story here:
www.jennylinnolson.com
Find & follow her on Instagram:
​@jennylinnolson