I’ve been quiet lately—not because I had nothing to say, but because life handed me something so personal and transformative that I needed time to sit with it, to feel it, to breathe through it.
On July 1st—Canada Day—a phone call changed everything. I was biking along the Lachine Canal with my love, Marc. The sky was wide open, the air soft. It should’ve been a normal, beautiful day. But when I returned a missed call from my doctor, my world cracked open.
“You have breast cancer.”
The words felt unreal. Especially because just one week earlier, I had stood at the wake of my beloved friend Marilisa—whose journey began with the same diagnosis. Losing her was a heartbreak I hadn’t fully processed… and now I was faced with the same mountain to climb.
My first reaction was disbelief. Grief. Anger. I had taken care of my body—eating well, exercising, nurturing my health through feminine wisdom practices I’ve taught for years. And yet, in that moment, it felt like my body had betrayed me. I remember staring into the water, the question echoing in my chest: “Why me?”
For a while, I withdrew. My inner spark dimmed. I stopped writing, stopped showing up, unsure how to speak from within the storm.
But something began to shift. I stopped asking “Why is this happening to me?” and started asking, “Why is this happening for me?”
That question opened a sacred door.
Through this journey, I’ve remembered something profound: our bodies—even when they falter—carry immense wisdom. Our femininity is not just about pleasure and beauty; it’s about resilience, surrender, and presence. And our most painful experiences can crack us open into deeper love, if we allow them.
With the support of Marc, my family, and a circle of women whose stories and strength lifted me, I’ve started to feel alive again. Not in the same way—but in a deeper, more present, more sacred way.
So I’ve chosen to share this. Not because it’s easy, but because I now understand that sharing heals me, and perhaps it will offer something to you, too.
This letter is for any woman facing this disease, for those who have lost someone they love, and for anyone quietly carrying fear in their body. You are not alone. You are held. And there is power in walking through the fire—and emerging not burned, but illuminated.
In the coming weeks, I’ll be opening up more about what this journey has taught me—about body wisdom, feminine energy, sacred presence, and what it really means to be alive.
Thank you for being here. For witnessing. For walking with me.
