I was diagnosed with breast cancer at 34. I was angry, afraid, and tired of pretending to be strong. The word “cancer” felt like a death sentence, and I didn’t know how to carry it. I cried in the shower, screamed into pillows, and smiled through the pain so no one would worry. But inside, I was unraveling.
Still, I refused to let fear win. I leaned into God.
Not with perfect faith, but with desperate prayers. “Help me,” I whispered. “I don’t know how to do this.” And slowly, He met me in the chaos. Not by removing the storm, but by sitting with me in it. I felt His presence in the waiting rooms, in the quiet moments after chemo, in the kindness of nurses who held my hand when I couldn’t hold it together.
I started journaling—not just the pain, but the glimpses of grace. A friend who dropped off groceries without asking. A stranger who prayed with me in the hospital hallway. A verse that popped up on my phone when I needed it most: “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you.”
Treatment was brutal. My body changed. My hair fell out. My strength wavered. But my spirit? It grew. I discovered a resilience I didn’t know I had. And more than that—I discovered purpose.
I began sharing my story online. Not the polished version, but the raw truth. Women reached out—some newly diagnosed, some years into remission. They said, “Thank you for being real.” And I realized: my pain had become a platform.
Today, I mentor women walking through cancer. I sit with them in their fear, remind them they’re not alone, and point them to the God who never left me. I tell them, “You are more than your diagnosis. You are still you. And you are still loved.”
My cancer didn’t win. It didn’t steal my faith, my joy, or my identity. It tried—but God was louder.
I’m not just surviving. I’m living with purpose, with gratitude, and with a heart full of hope.
Because even in the darkest valley, light found me. And I’ll never stop shining it forward.
