It's ironic that so much good has come out of such a crappy situation. I say that because when I was first diagnosed, I didn't want anyone to know. I didn't want anyone's pity or sadness or grief. I told close family members of the diagnosis, and a handful of good friends, and I asked them all to keep my secret. They obliged, but with one or two of them insisting that it might be good for me to open up about it. In hindsight, I wish I had started publicly documenting my experience right from the get-go, but I just wasn't ready to face it. There was so much on my plate - doctor's appointments, consultations, biopsies, blood draws, mammograms... It took all of my energy to just solely focus on those appointments and surgeries.
It was during my second chemo that I was sitting in my chair, thinking long and hard about what an ex-boyfriend had said to me when I told him of the diagnosis. Looking back, I don't remember the entire conversation, I just remember that he thought it would be good for me to get it off my chest. Because burying that pain so deep inside of me was surely only going to cause more damage. I would hear cancer commercials on the radio, or see them on the TV, or in casual conversation someone would start talking about someone they knew who'd died of cancer, and every time one of these things happened, I would cringe. I couldn't escape cancer. It's like it was hunting me down, trying to remind me daily of its presence in my world. Cancer was my new normal at the time, whether I liked it or not. So, as my mom and I waited for my nurse to show up with my first meds and before putting my cold caps on, I made the decision to go public, posting a picture on Instagram and Facebook, detailing how my life had drastically changed. And to my surprise, I didn't receive pity. If anyone thought of me differently, it was in a positive way. I was told how brave I was. How strong. How fearless. How positive. People offered prayers and well wishes. I leaned on other people for support who have also gone through cancer because I needed to know that I would come out on the other side. Because I didn't actually feel brave, or strong, or fearless. The only thing I desperately clung to was my positive outlook. I had to in order to survive everyday.
So with that first public picture came this realization that I needed to go public about my experience with breast cancer. Not only so I could help other young women, but to give breast cancer a face. A name. To let people know that I'm a real person, and yes, it happens to women under 40. I wanted to be honest and open about every single struggle I was going through, but also taking time to celebrate the small victories. Being vulnerable is incredibly difficult, especially in the judgmental society we live in, but I needed people to hear my story. Letting go of the fear of being judged or labeled as weak or incapable was the best decision I've made. Being public about my cancer has helped me heal in a way that I don't think anything else ever could have.
It has also opened several doors for me. Learning about Barbells for Boobs and fundraising to help young women and men get access to screenings. Traveling to the Young Survival Coalition Symposium and meeting Z from BFB and getting to train with her. Having my pictures be used in national campaigns for the YSC and BCO to spread awareness about breast cancer in young women. A video of mine being used for the YSC to offer advice to young breast cancer patients. Writing an incredibly raw and heartbreaking account of my experience with IVF and cancer and having it be published. Advocating for Barbells for Boobs and raising awareness. Possibly getting featured for an amazing cancer organization within the CrossFit community..
But the most amazing thing that has happened has been receiving messages like the ones below. It has reminded me that what I say makes an impact. My small voice is being heard. And if I can change even just one person's life, then that makes it all worth it.
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