For days I’ve asked myself: Why would God want me to live like this? Why would He do this to me? I’ve wanted so badly to give up. The harder I fought, the worse everything seemed to get. I’ve been blindsided by waves of overwhelming, painful emotions—waves I’ve tried to calm and reassure myself through, hoping everything would someday be okay. This went on for days, weeks, months, even years after my cancer treatments and surgeries.
Cancer treatment brings changes—physical and emotional. Some are temporary; others last forever. My appearance changed, and I couldn’t do the things I used to do. I felt insecure, and in many ways, I still do. My scars were painful reminders of a time when life nearly broke me. No matter how often I told myself that these scars were my strength, the pain remained. It took me years to rebuild my sense of worth and find my inner strength again.
When you’re stuck in a black hole of despair, every decision feels like it’s made out of desperation. Unless you’ve plummeted to that depth—unless you’ve lost yourself to emptiness and darkness—you have no right to judge. You don’t know what it’s like to hold on for dear life for your children, your family, your friends. If I were selfish, I’d have focused only on my pain. But I thought of the people who loved me. Not once did I put myself first.
I did everything I was “supposed” to do: finished school, got a good job, worked hard, was never late. Yet I ended up with a disease I never asked for and lost everything. And no one was there to truly help me.
Stop and think: You can’t understand, and you can never fully feel my pain.
I worked hard and made my own way in life. I was strong and independent, raising four children on my own and even buying a home. Don’t misunderstand—I listened to good advice, did my research, made a plan, and then acted. I didn’t invite cancer into my life; it came after me with a vengeance. You can be highly educated and have an 800 credit score—cancer doesn’t care. It drags you down into darkness. Cancer doesn’t discriminate. It doesn’t care about your race, gender, age, political stance, or religion. Nothing matters to it. It is here to obliterate you, period.
Living as a breast cancer survivor is never easy. There are countless things we must continue to do—follow-up care, blood work, mammograms—all while our lives remain in upheaval. You may hear uplifting stories of survivors who return to a semblance of normality, but what about those whose lives are destroyed, never to be the same again? My world turned upside down, and nothing is close to what it once was. Where are the survivors like me? The ones whose lives have been shattered so completely? I want to hear their stories so I know I’m not alone.
There are so many whose lives will never resemble what they once were. The continuing medical care costs money, and we don’t have it. We can’t get it. My nightmares steal my sleep. Flashbacks force me to relive everything I endured—again and again. It’s like a terrible movie stuck on repeat. Sometimes I react without understanding why. I’ve held on for so long that holding on is all I know how to do. Look at me.
Do you know me? If so, tell me who I am. I’m not the little girl you grew up with. I’m not the young woman you met after high school, college, or at work.
I wish I could support other women going through the worst time of their lives. But I’m not in a position to help them, to keep them from losing everything as I did. Not every resource we’re told will help actually does. Support groups are meant to lift your spirits, but they did nothing for me. I found no comfort there. I needed something else—something that wasn’t offered.
When treatment ends, the real struggle often begins. We drown in financial hardship, lose our homes, cars, jobs, even partners. Everything we’ve worked for can slip away. Some of us become depressed, homeless, or worse. You don’t understand, and you can never truly feel my pain. I can tell you a thousand words, and still you might not comprehend what I’m feeling or going through.
People say, “Try harder. Get over it. Move on.” I don’t want pity. I don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me. What I want is for you to try, just try, to understand that I’m human. I have feelings. And right now, I’m living through the worst time of my life.