After receiving the confirmation of my diagnosis, sleep became elusive. Over several nights, I found myself lying awake, my thoughts racing. But being in the company of my mom and kids helped keep my mind from wandering too far into dark places. Their presence was a constant reminder that I wasn’t alone in this.
I tried to maintain some semblance of normalcy, so I attended my usual Happy Hour on Friday. I wanted to feel happy, to forget, even if just for a little while. I hoped that a few drinks would dull the edge of the dread I was feeling. But the reality lingered. Throughout the evening, I found myself looking at my children, drawing strength from them. Their innocence and energy were the reassurances I needed to prepare my mind for the battle ahead.
As the night wore on, I felt a strong urge to share my news with those closest to me. It was something I couldn’t keep bottled up any longer. I found the words— “I have been diagnosed with breast cancer”—and said them out loud. It felt surreal, almost as if I were talking about someone else. But because I hadn’t told my children yet, we didn’t speak about it for the rest of the evening.
The next morning, I sat my 13- and 10-year-old down and told them. I tried to explain it in a way that wouldn’t worry them, keeping my tone as calm and reassuring as possible. I wanted them to feel safe, to understand that I was still their mom and that everything would be okay. But deep down, I wasn’t sure if I was convincing them—or myself.
That day, my dear friend came to visit. We talked, and I found that the more I spoke about it, the better I felt. It was like a weight lifting off my shoulders, bit by bit. It made me realize that I couldn’t keep this to myself, that isolating wouldn’t help. I needed to share this news with more than just a select few. My colleagues, the people I’ve worked with for years, also needed to know. They are part of my extended family, and I couldn’t go through this without them.
