As I sit down to write this, I never would have guessed a year ago that this would be my story to tell. Breast cancer wasn’t even on my radar. I was 36, a busy mom with two little kids, and cancer was something I thought happened decades down the road. But my story started around Labor Day when I noticed my left breast felt different than my right. I’m not even sure I would use the word “lump” to describe it. It just felt… different.
One night, I couldn’t ignore it any longer and asked my husband to feel it, half expecting him to laugh and tell me I was imagining things. But he didn’t. He said, “Yeah, that feels really weird. You should get it checked out.” From that moment, deep down, I knew.
Everything moved quickly after that. I had a mammogram within days, which led to a biopsy right after. Then, on September 20, the words I thought I was too young to hear became my reality: “You have breast cancer.”
“But I’m Too Young”
I kept repeating that to myself — I’m too young for this. I thought breast cancer was for women in their 50s or 60s. Maybe 40s, if you were unlucky or had the BRCA gene. But me? I was healthy. No real risk factors. And yet, there I was.
That’s the scary thing about being under 40: Most of us aren’t getting mammograms yet. We’re chasing toddlers, shuttling kids to after-school activities, and just trying to keep our heads above water. A major health crisis doesn’t fit in the schedule. Cancer isn’t on the list. But it can happen. And it does.
Once the shock of my diagnosis settled in, the reality of how this would collide with motherhood hit me even harder.
Parenting Through Cancer
Cancer in your 30s comes with plenty of complications, but nothing compares to having young kids who still need you for everything. At the time, my kids were almost 5 and 7. My biggest fear wasn’t chemo, or losing my hair, or even dying — it was how this would affect them.
One morning, on the way to school, I was trying to explain the “special medicine” I was going to get and how it would make me sick. I told my daughter the medicine was going to kill all the bad things inside of me. A word of free advice: Don’t tell a 5-year-old that medicine is “killing” anything. All she heard was that the medicine was going to kill me. While that conversation definitely didn’t go as planned, we kept talking throughout my treatments, and I slowly got better at finding the right words.
And here’s a confession I didn’t expect to make: In some ways, having cancer is easier than parenting. With cancer, a team of experts hands you a binder with a clear plan — where to be, what medicine to take, which test to schedule. Your only job is to follow instructions. With parenting, there’s no playbook, and certainly no expert hotline for all your questions. You’re just constantly figuring it out as you go.
The (Surprising) Silver Linings
As strange as it sounds, there were a few really positive things that came out of going through cancer. My husband has always been an involved dad, but like many moms, I carried the mental load. Packing lunches, school schedules, doctor’s appointments — I handled it all. Before cancer, I was convinced I was the only one who could do these things correctly. But as it turns out, when Mom is out of commission, someone else can, in fact, pack a lunchbox. I had to let go of control and discovered, miraculously, that the children still got fed and made it to school on time.
Our friends and family showed up for us, too, helping on the hard days so we never felt alone. Our kids also found a new resilience, learning to be more independent and patient. It was a tough time, but it revealed the incredible village we had behind us.
What Help Really Looks Like
If you ever wonder how to support a mom going through something like this, let me tell you what made the biggest difference:
- Be Specific. A vague offer is work; a specific plan is a lifeline. The best text I ever received was simple: “We’re headed to The Children’s Museum, can I pick up your kids on the way?” It took the burden of asking off my shoulders, gave my kids a normal, fun afternoon, and gave me the priceless gift of rest.
- Feed the Family. During treatment, I had zero appetite, but my husband and kids still needed to eat. A spot on a meal train or a DoorDash gift card was a lifesaver. It meant one less thing for my husband to worry about and ensured our family had a hot meal on the table at the end of the day.
- Everyone Loves Presents. This might sound silly, but it created a strange, dark-humor mindset of, “Well, this sucks, but at least I get presents.” I loved the little things that could help pass the time — puzzle books, a cozy blanket, or the Tamagotchi someone gave me. (Because what you really need during chemo is another tiny, demanding creature to keep alive.) It wasn’t about the gift itself; it was a reminder that I was still me, and that someone was thinking of me.
Those gestures might feel small, but they made the heaviest days feel a little lighter.
My Message to Other Moms
If you take anything from my story, let it be this: trust yourself. If something feels off, don’t ignore it. Don’t wait. Don’t convince yourself you’re “too young.” I’m living proof — you’re not.
And if you know a mom in the middle of this battle, show up for her. Bring the meal, take the kids, send the text. It matters more than you know.
Because cancer doesn’t wait until you’re old enough. And neither should you.
