What we write about

Who I am now

You might recognize yourself in some moments and feel like a stranger in others. There's room here for both.

Not quite the old you

Sometimes the change is obvious. Clothes fit differently. Your energy has different limits. Sometimes it's quieter: a conversation you used to enjoy feels exhausting, or a plan that once made perfect sense no longer feels like yours.

You don't have to return to who you were to make other people comfortable. And you don't have to become an entirely new person, either. You can miss parts of your old life while keeping the parts that still fit.

When the schedule goes quiet

For some women, treatment ending brings relief. For others, it brings a strange loss of structure, or all of those feelings at once. If you're still in treatment, you may be finding that your sense of yourself changes between appointments, too.

A day without a big plan can still be a day you lived. Making lunch, answering one message, noticing what you want instead of what you think you should want: none of that needs to become a turning point.

You can leave the definition open

You don't owe anyone a polished answer to ‘How are you now?’ Maybe you're more private. Maybe you're angrier. Maybe your sense of humor hasn't changed at all. There isn't one correct way to be a person affected by cancer.

Here, we write about the awkward space between other people's expectations and your actual life. Not a before-and-after reveal. Just the ongoing work of being yourself when the circumstances have changed.