What Breast Cancer Is Teaching Me About Life

• Reflections from my first chemotherapy and the lessons this unexpected journey is already teaching me about life, honesty and listening to our bodies.

If someone had asked me a year ago, I probably would have said that I was doing everything “right”.

I was eating consciously.
I had spent years working on healing my past and processing trauma.
I was learning to regulate my nervous system and live a more balanced life.

Somewhere inside, I think I believed that if I did all these things, nothing truly serious could happen to me.

And then one day, at 40 years old, you sit in a doctor’s office and hear the words:  “This is breast cancer. But it is treatable.”

Yes,  the woman in the photo is me.
Taken last week, during my first chemotherapy.

The last few months have taught me more about life than I expected.

I’m not sharing this story out of a need for sympathy.
And I’m definitely not sharing it to create fear.

In fact, it was someone else’s story that led me back to the doctor last autumn. I had already been several times before, but something inside me kept whispering that something wasn’t quite right. Eventually, I gathered the courage to say it out loud and ask for further investigation.

I’m deeply grateful that I did.

Since then, life has turned upside down for our whole family.

And yet something beautiful has happened too.

The four of us, my two daughters, Bryn and I, have grown even closer.
We pay more attention to each other.
We talk more openly.

I have learned that there is no place for secrets in our home.
We speak honestly with the children about what is happening, always in a way that matches their age and understanding.

I have also learned that it is absolutely okay to draw boundaries.
To say no to situations.
To say no to people when something doesn’t feel right.

I don’t feel like a sick person.

But I do feel strongly about raising awareness and listening to our bodies.

If something doesn’t feel right, keep asking questions.
Keep going back to the doctor until you are properly examined.
Our bodies speak to us, sometimes quietly at first.

Another unexpected lesson has been about people.

Some find it easier to disappear quietly, perhaps because they don’t want to disturb you, or they don’t know what to say.

And that’s okay.

Sometimes people fall away during difficult seasons, and that too is part of life.

But there have also been beautiful moments of connection.

One person asked me a question I will never forget:

“What would feel best for you? Should I check in every day, or less often? Would you like to talk about it, or prefer to speak about other things?”

That question meant a lot.

Because the truth is, we all have different needs when we go through something like this.

For me personally, I appreciate when people reach out.
No one is disturbing me.
There is no need for pity or dramatic conversations.

Just honest, adult conversations about life, about anything.

I am deeply grateful for the friends and family who quietly check in and ask if everything is okay.

And I can honestly say: everything is okay.

I feel good.
I don’t feel like a sick person.

There are harder days, of course.
There are moments and situations that can pull me out of my center, and sometimes it takes time to find my way back.

Fortunately, I have tools that help me return.

This experience has also taught me something very simple:
I need more rest.

And that is okay.

When I am tired, I rest.
I no longer push myself beyond my limits.

I have also learned that it is perfectly human to feel sadness, frustration or even anger sometimes.

I try not to stay in those emotions for too long, but why shouldn’t I allow myself to feel them when they arise?

Another thing I’m learning to face honestly is the subject of hair.

People often say, “It’s just hair, it will grow back.”

And yes, I know that is true.

But I will be honest: losing my hair does scare me.

Because while I still have my hair, I can choose when and how I share what I am going through.

Without it, the story is written on you before you even speak.
Wherever you go, people immediately see: cancer.

And I don’t want to be seen through the lens of pity.

For my daughters, the topic of hair loss is already something that worries them too.

One week after my first chemotherapy, I still have plenty of hair. Only a small amount has fallen out so far. Next week brings another round of treatment.

In the meantime, life continues.

I work.
I cook and bake.
I spend time with my loved ones.
I garden.

I simply move through my days with a little more awareness and a little more rest when I need it.

This journey is still unfolding.

I don’t know yet what it will teach me next.

But one thing I know for sure:

Even in the middle of uncertainty, life continues to speak quietly, patiently, one day at a time.