This is not a fight. It's a return.

What if cancer wasn’t just something to fight - but something to feel through? In this post, I share how my diagnosis cracked open parts of me I had long ignored. Old patterns, fears, beliefs. They all came up. And with them: the chance to heal more than just my body.

A bracelet that says 'healthy', that I bought a long time before the diagnosis.

As deep as this title might sound, when I was diagnosed, I didn’t really realise anything. I went numb - like I had slipped into the deepest corner of my mind. A place so dark I didn’t even know it existed. Actually... maybe I did, in an Ayahuasca ceremony a couple years ago. But that's for another story.

You need to know this about me: I’m someone who’s extremely connected to my body. I would notice the smallest shifts right away and then go straight into action mode and fix it. Fix me. Whether it’s a cold, a hormone imbalance, a weird symptom - I’m on it. Immediately. I love researching things to understand them. It gives me control. And I like to be in control (I mean who doesn't?).

I’ve had this goal for most of my adult life: To age healthily. And to live long. But if I’m really honest with myself, this goal has always been tied to something else. Fear. A deep, sometimes paralysing fear of death. So you can imagine the noise in my head when I heard the word cancer. There was this one voice, louder than anything else and that just kept repeating: “You’re going to die.” And even though a part of me knew this wasn’t true, that this diagnosis didn’t mean the end, it felt like it. The doctors told me it was treatable, right?

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In the beginning, all I wanted was for the tumor to go away. Disappear. Never come back. That was it. That was the only goal. Survival. And if you’re there right now, in that raw, terrifying place - I get it. More than you know.

But with time, came trust and the longer I was into treatment, the less I could feel the lump. My body was responding. And as that physical fear slowly faded, I noticed something else: my focus shifted.

For the first time, I wasn’t just thinking about the tumor. I had a bit more space to breathe, and with that, more space to feel. To reflect. To ask different questions.

And that’s when I think something began to shift. Like not overnight, but gradually. Through late-night thoughts, emotional spirals, conversations with loved ones, that cracked something open. I started to wonder if this wasn’t just something happening to me, but maybe see it as an invitation. An invitation to stop trying to get “back” to who I was. To stop treating this like a fight I have to win.

And instead... to return. To myself. To something quieter. To parts of me I had long ignored.

And don’t get me wrong - I want nothing more than for this tumor to shrink and disappear forever. That hasn’t changed. But what has changed is how I meet this moment.

This blog isn’t here to define the cancer journey. I know it’s different for everyone.

What I can share is mine, and mine has become something deeper than I expected. A process that’s revealed more layers in need of healing than just the cancer itself. Physical, emotional, generational.

I’ve chosen to look deeper. To feel what’s there. But of course, there are days I just want to survive and get through. I'm not saying this has to be your path as well. We all get to meet this in our own way.

Whether you’re newly diagnosed, deep in it, or finding your way after - this space is for you.

And if you’re here as a partner, a sister, a friend, a parent: It means something that you’re here. That you care enough to read, to try and understand. Thank you for showing up. It makes a difference. 🖤

If you want to know how it all began, I wrote about the day I got diagnosed. Read that story here.