My Philosophy

Breast cancer survivorship is often silent, unsupported, and fucking frustrating.

The truth is the medical system is built to treat cancer, not to help you recover or heal from it.

When the last appointment ends you're promised a new normal, but instead you’re handed a version of life that no longer fits and no one tells you how to change it.

There is no standard of care for your physical, mental, and emotional healing.

So now, it’s time to create your own.

You’re here because…

If you're navigating life after breast cancer - and wondering why it still feels so damn hard - you’re in the right place.

No matter what type of treatments you did, or how many - surgeries, chemo, radiation - they told you, “This is the hard part. Just get through it.” But they never mentioned how it would feel when the dust settled.

Now you’re trying to live your “new normal,” but your body feels like a stranger. Maybe your chest is tight, your scars are unfamiliar, and you can barely bring yourself to look at them in the mirror. Maybe you’re worried about lymphedema but no one really explained what to do about it except cross your fingers and “call if there’s a problem.”

Or maybe you’re just silently wondering, “Why does everything still feel so off?”

You’ve asked the questions (even when you didn’t know what questions to ask). Tried the Google rabbit holes. Joined the Facebook groups. Maybe even tried a support group or two. You’ve done your part. But nothing’s clicked and no one’s connected the dots in a way that actually feels human.

If you’re tired of being handed pink platitudes, vague instructions, or wellness advice that feels abstract or disconnected, you’re not wrong to want more.

You're not crazy. You're not too sensitive. And no, you’re not doing survivorship wrong.

You’re just waking up to the truth:

You’re not broken. You just haven’t been given the full picture.

What’s missing is context. What’s missing is guidance.

You were handed a set of false expectations and a finish line that turned out to be a revolving door.

Why it still feels so damn hard…

My take? The real reason you’re struggling is that no one told you things might actually get harder after treatment ends.

They said, “Just get through this year,” and when you did, everyone cheered! But no one mentioned how disorienting it would feel when the appointments stop, the support fades, and your body still doesn’t feel like yours.

You wake up and your chest is tight. Your arm feels weird. Your energy is gone by mid-afternoon. You try to stretch, move, hydrate, rest. And there’s an undercurrent of emotional tension you can’t shake, a quiet voice wondering, “Is this it? Is this my life now?”.

There has to be more than just “be grateful” and “wait and see.”

You’re not alone and it’s not your fault.

What’s happening isn’t just physical. It’s the whiplash of moving from “You’re so strong!” to “Aren’t you glad that’s over?” when it’s absolutely not over. It’s the chronic uncertainty and the creeping fear that this is just how it’s going to be now.

And when your body feels unfamiliar, your mind races, your relationships shift, and your sense of self starts to unravel and no one has the prescription this time.

The truth is, the healthcare system wasn’t designed to help you live well after cancer. It’s built to treat disease, not support recovery. So you’ve been left to sort through it on your own with half-information, a few disconnected tools, and a deep, aching longing for your life before cancer came calling.

You’re not failing at survivorship. You’re navigating it without a map.

And if you keep going this way?

If you do nothing, chances are you’ll stay stuck in the cycle you’re already in.

Isolated in a body that doesn’t feel like yours, second-guessing every sensation, and worrying that something is wrong without having the language or support to figure it out.

The discomfort might stay low-grade or manageable… or it might escalate.

I’ve seen those weird, hard-to-pinpoint sensations - aches, fullness, or tightness that get dismissed or overlooked become persistent lymphedema because no one explained the early signs. I’ve seen scar tissue harden and limit movement because the only advice they were given was to “stretch.” I’ve seen women shut down emotionally (or completely fall apart) because everyone around them moved on to “you're fine now” when they were still in survival mode.

And even when it doesn’t get worse physically, the emotional toll of living in fear, frustration, or disconnection can ripple into every area of life—relationships, work, body image, and mental health.

Survivorship becomes a quiet, private struggle—until it becomes your normal.

To recover fully—not just physically, but as a whole human—you need more than time.

What “recovery” typically looks like…

Most people are told that healing will “just happen with time.”
Rest. Wait. Follow-up in six months.

But time alone isn’t a strategy. And most recovery plans? They’re not actually plans at all.

Here’s what I see in the standard approach:

  • Disjointed care dependent upon others.
    A physical therapist for one thing. A doctor for another. Maybe a counselor if you’re lucky. No one’s looking at the whole picture, and you're the one holding all the pieces.

  • A narrow definition of success.
    As long as the cancer’s gone, you’re fine. That’s the story. But what about the pain? The fear? The intimacy struggles? The disconnect from your body?

  • No one treating you like a whole human.
    It’s all charts and checkboxes but no map for what comes next. No guide for how to actually feel better. No one preparing you for what this part really feels like.

This is what most survivors are handed:

  • A local support group with a vibe that just doesn’t vibe.

  • A cancer “coach” who is just another person in the same boat with no actual training or experience.

  • A few handouts or online PDFs that no one walks you through. Information without context. Suggestions without support.

And it’s why so many of them feel stuck—even years later.

The Three Common Paths

There are three common roads I see people go down, and I say this with deep compassion, because I’ve walked some of them myself. None of these paths are shameful. They’re what people do when no one gives you another option.

Wait and see.

“Call us if there’s a problem.”

Waiting until something becomes a “real” problem (like full-blown lymphedema or chronic fatigue) means missing the window where early, gentle care could have made a huge difference.

DIY overwhelm.

“I’ll figure it out on my own.”

This usually leads to frustration and burnout. Between Dr. Google, Facebook groups, and conflicting advice, it’s easy to end up overwhelmed and unsure of who or what to trust.

Generic wellness.

“I bought the things. I started the routine. I guess I’m healing?”

A lot of “wellness” advice isn’t designed for people recovering from cancer so the methods feel disconnected and irrelevant to your actual needs.

What healing actually looks like…

Healing isn’t a single outcome—it’s an intersection.

It’s the place where physical relief, mental clarity, and emotional safety finally meet. And it’s different for everyone.

But here’s what I’ve seen, again and again, when someone starts to come home to their body:

  • The pain softens.

  • The range of motion returns.

  • The fear gets quieter.

  • The questions become clearer.

  • The scar tissue becomes something they can work with—not against.

  • And slowly, they stop bracing for the next thing to go wrong.

They feel more informed, less overwhelmed. More confident, less dependent. More trusting of their body—and more capable of living in it.

This is what healing looks like to me. Not perfection. Not bouncing back.

But integration—where your body, mind, and heart are finally in conversation again.

Survivorship care needs to be trauma-informed and rooted in real-life functionality, not aspirational habits.

Here’s what I believe actually helps…

Healing after breast cancer isn’t about trying harder or doing more.

It’s about finding the right support, the right tools, and the right kind of guidance—ones that actually match what you’ve been through.

  • You need information that makes sense.

  • You need practices that feel doable.

  • You need space to move at your own pace—and permission to trust yourself again.

But most of all?

You need a way back into your body because healing doesn’t happen in theory. It happens here.

Your Body Is Your Home

After cancer, your body may not feel like a safe place to live anymore, but it’s still your home. The only one you have.

You don’t need to move out. You need to move back in—with care, intention, and support.

This is how I see it. Your body holds every part of your healing:

  • Your mind - for clarity, confidence, and autonomy

  • Your voice - for identity, self-expression, and reclaiming your narrative

  • Your heart - for grief, acceptance, hope, and love

  • Your gut - for intuition, nurturing, and self-trust

  • Your hands - for gathering tools (education and self-care practices) and support (guidance and community)

  • Your feet: grounded in the reality that you take your healing with you—wherever you go

This is what I believe healing really looks like.

Not fixing everything. Not becoming who you were before.

But learning to live—fully, gently, and bravely—in your body, as you are now.

A body-based approach to self-care is one of the most comprehensive ways to heal. 

When we start with the physical—scar tissue, lymphatics, breath—we create openings for emotional release and mental clarity. This is what whole-person healing looks like.

This is how I work.

I don’t hand out a rigid plan. I offer tools, rhythm, and reflection—because real healing happens when you’re the one holding the map.

Whether it’s through hands-on care, self-care education, or collaborative guidance, here’s what I help you do:

  • Understand your body as you are now

  • Choose and create your self-care systems

  • Become an active part of your healing team

  • Rebuild trust in your knowledge and abilities

  • Remove the need to live by a list of do’s and don’ts so you can make informed decisions and live life in the way that is most true to you

And this is where true self-care comes in—not the kind you’ve been sold, but the kind that helps you come home to yourself.

Self-care isn’t just bubble baths, meditation apps, or checking things off a wellness list.

It’s learning how to understand, care for, and connect with your body in ways that are safe, effective, practical, and actually relevant to what you’ve been through.

Body-based self-care means:

  • Releasing scar tissue—not just ignoring it

  • Supporting your lymphatic system—not fearing it

  • Moving in ways that build trust—not just strength

  • Learning what your body is telling you—and how to respond

  • Making informed choices about your care—instead of being told what to do

This isn’t about doing it all alone.
It’s about becoming an active participant in your healing, with tools that work for you and support that meets you where you are.

If you’re ready to start—not perfectly, but meaningfully—I invite you to sign up for my Breast Cancer Self-Care Starter Kit.