Week 9: The Story Beneath The Diagnosis There’s a hush that comes after the final chapter. Not silence—just stillness. A breath held between what was and what might be. This is Week 9. Not the end of the story, but the end of this telling. We’ve walked through shadows and sunlight. Named the ache. Cradled the joy. Lit candles in the margins and gathered strength from the ordinary. And now, we pause. Not because the healing is finished. Not because the questions have quieted.

Week 8: The Story Behind The Diagnosis There are days when the diagnosis feels like a headline stamped across your chest—loud, unrelenting, impossible to ignore. But then there are the margins. The quiet spaces between appointments, the hush after the tears, the breath before the next brave step. It’s in those margins that light begins to gather. A chipped mug of chamomile, still warm. The way your child’s laughter curls around the corners of the room. The ritual of lotion on

Week 7: The Story Behind the Diagnosis I used to avoid mirrors. Not because I didn’t recognize myself—but because I did. I saw the woman who had been cracked open by a diagnosis, stripped of certainty, and reshaped by survival. I saw the scars, the shifts, the silence. After awhile, I started looking again. Not with dread, but with curiosity. Who is this version of me? She’s softer in some ways, fiercer in others. She’s not defined by what was taken, but by what she chose to

Week 6: The Story Beneath the Diagnosis I decided to cut my hair because of my treatment.   It was already starting to fall out, and I kept having dreams that it would come out while I was at work—or just out in public, anywhere. The thought of losing it unexpectedly made me feel anxious and exposed. So I took control. I chose to let it go on my own terms. I stared at the hair in my hand, then at the mirror. It wasn’t just hair—it was history. It was the hair my mother used t