Getting Something Off My Chest: Four Years of Breast Cancer Survivorship

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. A time for pink ribbons, inspirational stories, and reminders to schedule our mammograms. For me, October is also something else entirely. It's screening month.

This is the month each year I return for my annual breast cancer surveillance, hold my breath a little longer than usual, and remind myself that being four years into survivorship doesn't necessarily make any of this easier.

Four years. I'm incredibly grateful to be here, but I have learned something that doesn't always make it onto those pretty pink awareness campaigns. Sometimes survivorship is scarier than treatment itself.

When the Treatment Ends, the Fear Doesn't

During treatment, there's a plan. Appointments, doctors, medications, procedures. You're surrounded by people actively doing something to fight the cancer. Then one day, treatment ends, everyone celebrates, and you're supposed to return to your regularly scheduled life.

Except your regularly scheduled life now includes wondering whether every mysterious ache, unusual sensation, or random pain is something sinister. Is that a normal headache? Did I sleep funny? Or should I start updating my will?

It's exhausting. And there's actually a name for part of this experience: scanxiety — the very real anxiety surrounding cancer screenings, scans, and waiting for results.

The National Cancer Institute recognizes fear of recurrence as one of the most common challenges survivors face. In fact, emotional distress can sometimes increase after treatment ends, when the constant reassurance of regular medical visits disappears.

Survivorship isn't simply about being cancer-free. It's about learning to live with uncertainty while trying not to let that uncertainty steal the joy of being alive.

Can We Talk About Women's Health Research?

Here's another part of survivorship that's a real pain in the boobs: navigating the overwhelming, and often conflicting, information about women's health. Hormones are good. Hormones are bad. This supplement is life-changing. That supplement might be dangerous. Menopause is natural, so apparently we're supposed to just power through it.

And if you've had hormone-positive breast cancer, the conversations around hormone therapy can become even more complicated. Some days, researching women's health feels like trying to assemble IKEA furniture with instructions written in three different languages.

The research gaps aren't just in our imaginations. A National Academies analysis found that only 7.9% of NIH grant funding in fiscal year 2023 was classified as women's health research. And while breast cancer receives substantial research funding, other important areas of women's health, including menopause and several gynecological conditions, remain comparatively under-explored.

Now, I'm certainly not suggesting men's health doesn't deserve research funding. It absolutely does. But isn't it remarkable that we've become so comfortable talking about solutions for erectile dysfunction while women are still fighting for better answers about menopause, hormone therapy, and the long-term effects of cancer treatment?

I'd simply like women's health to receive the same urgency, innovation, and attention. Preferably before another generation of women is told that debilitating symptoms are just part of getting older.

Making Peace With Screening Month

So here I am, four years into survivorship, facing another October filled with gratitude, hope, and a healthy dose of anxiety. I wish I could say I've mastered the art of remaining calm. I haven't.

But I've learned to be more intentional about how I care for myself during this season.

• I walk with friends. Fresh air, movement, laughter, and conversations that have absolutely nothing to do with cancer can be surprisingly therapeutic.

• I prioritize sleep. Because everything feels more overwhelming when I'm exhausted, and my imagination certainly doesn't need any extra encouragement.

• I practice mindfulness. Sometimes that's meditation. Sometimes it's journaling. Sometimes it's simply sitting quietly, breathing, and reminding myself that a fearful thought isn't a medical diagnosis.

• And perhaps most importantly, I give myself grace.

Grace to feel anxious. Grace to have difficult days. Grace to admit that even four years later, I'm still figuring this out. I also remind myself that keeping my screening appointments is an act of self-care, even when I'd rather be doing almost anything else.

More Than a Pink Ribbon

This Breast Cancer Awareness Month, I hope we can expand the conversation beyond early detection and treatment. Let's talk about survivorship. About the emotional toll of waiting for results. About menopause, hormones, long-term health, and the research women deserve.

Let's acknowledge that being a survivor doesn't require us to be fearless, endlessly positive, or inspirational every single day.

As I head into another round of screenings, I know I'll feel that familiar knot in my stomach.

But I'll also take my walks, lean on my friends, protect my sleep, write down my worries, and remind myself to be gentle with the woman who has already been through so much.

Four years into survivorship, I'm learning that courage isn't the absence of fear. It's showing up for my health, making room for joy, and continuing to live fully, even when uncertainty comes along for the ride.

And to all of you survivors out there, 👊 and know I'm here if you need a little support, too.