Life after double mastectomy.

There are moments in life that divide time into before and after. 

My mastectomy was one of them. It wasn’t just a surgery; it was the day my body became a battlefield, and I learned what it truly meant to fight for life, not vanity, not perfection — but survival, dignity, and hope.

I remember the fear, the quiet tears, the strength I didn’t know I had, and the love that held me together when my body felt like it was falling apart. I remember the hospital smells, the scars, the exhaustion… but also the courage that slowly took root in place of fear. The day I woke up without what once defined femininity, I discovered a deeper, fiercer version of womanhood — one that isn’t shaped by physical form, but by resilience, grace, and unyielding spirit.

My scars tell a story — not of loss, but of life reclaimed. They are reminders that I stayed, I endured, and I chose myself. They are the tattoos of survival, etched into skin and soul. I learned to love this new body, not because it is flawless, but because it is brave, capable, and still full of life.

This journey taught me that healing isn’t just physical. It’s emotional, spiritual, deeply human. It taught me gratitude — for breath, for mornings, for laughter, for second chances. I didn’t come out of this experience unchanged; I came out transformed.

I am not “less”. I am not “broken”.
I am still here.
And that is everything.