Summer 2023
Connection Coach, Speaker, Retreat Facilitator, Doula, Meditation Teacher, Reiki Master, Author, and Attorney Imani Monica McCullough is a vibrant voice for women worldwide. Through her transformative platform, YANAsisters, she thrives on helping women live more passionate and authentic lives.
A writer since she was 8 years old, a reader since 3, today Kellyn O. McGee’s essence of being a learner and teacher shows up as a law professor, editor, certified yoga teacher, and podcast lover with an ever-growing list of TBR books.
Theresa Braddy is a Licensed Professional Counselor with over 20 years of counseling experience, a published author, and a frequent expert on podcasts and talk shows. Since her diagnosis of Stage 4 colon cancer in 2021, Theresa has created a series on Instagram called A THERAPIST DOING HER OWN WORK, through which she provides selfhelp tips to navigate life.
Resiliency is Vanessa Joy Walker’s superpower! As an Executive Coach, Patient Advisor, Speaker, and Founder of the non-profit Living After Crisis Inc., Vanessa has spoken frequently to large audiences, facilitated difficult conversations for Fortune 500 companies, and supported hundreds to overcome challenges. Vanessa can usually be found eating, singing, or exploring the world with her loves, Pepper Joy (the family dog!) and Mr. Walker (the hubby).
JaTaun Hawkins-Robinson has learned the power of hard work through her twentyplus years in automotive finance. She also works tirelessly in the community, including work with the National Coalition of 100 Black Women, Inc. Through these and other positions, JaTaun reminds women how important it is to find purpose, pursue passion, and never lose their voice.
Inspired by her journey of childhood abuse and survival, Fatimha Love is sincerely passionate about people’s abilities to transition, transform, and transcend. Known as the “Motivational Diva,” she pushes her audience to press past the pain and never give up. Fatimha is the author of an acclaimed memoir, WHERE THE JOURNEE ENDS.
What if you lived with a constant reminder that tomorrow is not promised? In her first tell-all essay, Imani shares how her first step toward healing from follicular Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma was deciding she wanted to LIVE.
16
According to Vanessa “JOY” Walker, “the journey after a crisis is often more complicated than the journey through a crisis.” Read about how this two-time breast cancer overcomer shed the guilt of surviving so she could begin to live with JOY — and help others do the same.
26
After surviving a difficult battle with the most aggressive form of breast cancer, Fatimha still believes that cancer will do more for her than it did to her. Read about what the journey taught her, and be reminded that if you still have breath, IT AIN’T OVER!
11, 15, 20, 25, 28
After a diagnosis of Stage 4 colon cancer, and a recent stint in the ICU, some might say Theresa Braddy shouldn’t be here. But Theresa is determined to live on purpose “until the wheels fall off” – which includes sharing her story to help others every step of the way.
22
Early detection of ovarian cancer patches and a full hysterectomy meant a good prognosis for all things physical, but the emotional fall-out was a whole different story. Journey with our sister JaTaun as she shares how she ultimately found her strength.
My journey with cancer has taught me...
Remember when I told you about how I finally shaved my head in surrender to alopecia? Well, I might have left off a little, tiny piece of the story.
You see, after I shaved my head, I was terrified to reveal it to the world because of all the reasons I previously shared. Fear of judgment and criticism. Fear I was no longer beautiful and sexy. Fear of looking different from everyone else... But what I didn’t share is that I was also afraid that people might think I had cancer. And, although loved ones assured me that my bald head didn’t make me look sick, I worried that it did.
And then in the most ironic, cosmic twist of the universe, guess what happened?
Yep, you guessed it... I was diagnosed with cancer.
It’s taken over a year for me to be able to share those words with you, while smiling at the irony of it all. It’s taken over a year for me to be able to look at how one “little” word could make me question everything I thought to be true, cause me to reexamine why I’m here on this earth, and ultimately help me be more grateful for each day than I ever imagined.
Only from this place of wholeness am I ready to share what I’ve learned. And, in keeping with our “you are not alone” theme, we have other YANAsisters who have opened their hearts to do the same.
I understand this topic may be triggering to some, so please be gentle with yourself. As someone who has lost a parent and other loved ones to cancer, I get how this “little” word holds so much power and has caused so much pain. But I’m going to ask you to push beyond the fear if you are able, so you can hear pieces of the story that you may have missed before... pieces about how cancer can also help us live. Actually, not just cancer, how every physical or mental challenge can remind us not to take a single day for granted, so that we’ll say the things that need to be said, pursue the dreams in our hearts, and maximize this beautiful experience called life.
Thank you for opening your hearts to us. Thank you for your prayers for me and the sisters who’ve shared here, as well as for the countless unnamed sisters and brothers who are on this journey.
We also speak the names of the heroes who’ve braved this journey before us. We remember you.
Love and Light,
P.S. We are so very grateful to each sister who bravely shared her story with us. Thank you for reminding us to be thankful!
As I thought about the theme of this issue – gratitude – these two mantras came to mind. Loosely translated from Sanskrit, the first means “I am, now” and the second, “I am grateful.”
I cannot name here all the women I know who have waited on results similar to our contributors or received unwanted news. But I am grateful to have witnessed each of them embody and inspire awe in the face of a diagnosis, even while unsure and afraid. I am especially grateful to our contributors for opening their hearts and sharing their stories. Not only do they show their gratitude, but we also see that they “are,” right now. Because of and in spite of.
I am grateful for all these women who’ve shown up and are present for themselves (“here, now”) and who show their gratitude by living out loud.
There is another mantra often chanted during yoga practices: lokah samastah sukhino bhavantu. “May all beings everywhere be happy and free.” This mantra, coupled with a heart-opening pose like Camel, is my prayer, my offering, for all of us who have been touched by this dis-ease, either in our own bodies or in the bodies of someone we love.
My arm hurts. I stop briefly to think about whether I want to process this new pain. Turn it over in my mind, analyze the type of discomfort, then determine if it warrants any more attention. But I decide to take the path of least resistance, instead, telling myself that every 51-year-old woman has an occasional ache of unknown origin.
Maybe that’s all it is.
A year ago, I might not have even noticed the dull ache in my bicep. Or I would have quickly discounted it as being a by-product of lifting something heavy (my 65-pound dog, perhaps?), without ever giving it a second thought.
But that was before the diagnosis.
Part of me wonders if a pain will ever again be just a pain, or if I’ll forevermore be the overanalytical girl who tries not to worry, while silently wondering if I’m worried enough.
This story isn’t about who I am or about who I was before I was diagnosed with cancer. Before someone slapped a label on me in a telephone call that lasted less time than a tv commercial, but that left an imprint that I’ll undoubtedly remember forever.
“The biopsy confirmed our suspicion.” I think those were his words but honestly don’t remember. By the time I processed them, gasped to inhale some air from the suddenly suffocating room, and pushed my mind to ask a question about how serious it was (perhaps in hindsight a dumb question, because, after all, isn’t all cancer serious?), he was gone. I think he mumbled something about how he was just the stomach doctor and said that the oncologist would have to answer any questions. He also recommended that I not google the diagnosis, and instead wait for some mystery doctor to call me in the next week or two. Then he hung up.
I sat alone on the stairs in my foyer, waiting to wake up from what felt like a bad dream. Waiting to feel something – anything – then sat some more. Stared at the strange label that I’d hastily written down. Follicular NonHodgkin’s Lymphoma (NHL). Typed it in to Google (you knew I would, right?), then quickly closed the browser when the top searches about “lymphoma” (which is actually a huge category of diseases) appeared to be talking about life expectancy.
If I think hard enough, I can probably remember the calls I made to loved ones. Silence. Shock. Sobs. I think I was the one sobbing, but I can’t be sure. Empty promises about everything being ok. Was that me talking? More silence, shock and sobs. Most certainly me again... I would have done anything to avoid those calls. Somehow
inflicting pain on those I loved hurt worse than knowing I had been diagnosed with what I now call “the little c” (because it no longer gets to hold “big” power over me!).
Anyway, suffice it to say that when I got diagnosed, I thought a lot about dying. Even after the oncologist told me that follicular NHL is a slow growing blood cancer that I might have had for years without knowing and that I might go for years without needing treatment (one year in, that’s thankfully been the case!). Even after he told me that I’d likely die with the disease, but not likely die from the disease, I still worried because even with good odds I had to wrap my brain around the other what-ifs. I sat for days worrying what would happen if the cancer transformed into another type, how I’d handle treatment if and when I needed it, what I’d do if or when it returned after treatment, and whether the scans had picked up everything. Basically, wondering if my number was up and processing how that would make me feel.
I moved through the next several weeks in a haze. Told my loved ones I was ok, then fell into the arms of my bestie when she didn’t listen and came to town anyway. Went to get a second opinion at MD Anderson in Houston, spent time with my family, then enjoyed a cross-country drive back with one of my sisters... Traveled with my guy to two of my favorite beaches to exhale.
Committed to being vegan’ish. :) Decided I was too hot for hair and would rock what God gave me. And cried... a lot. It felt as if I was still in the middle of a bad dream, and yet it also felt as if I’d woken up for the very first time.
After the second opinion confirmed my diagnosis, my next stop was a holistic doctor who, five minutes into the appointment, asked me when and how I wanted to die. I sucked my breath in, taken aback that this stranger was asking me the one question that I had been trying not to think about. When I looked confused, he explained that the first step to my healing had nothing to do with the prognosis or treatment – instead, the first step was me deciding whether I wanted to live.
I got what he was saying, but still cringed a bit at talking about my death until he looked right into my eyes and said, “My patients with kids and grandkids want to live to see them grow up. But, since you don’t have kids, you’re going to have to dig deeper to decide whether you’re prepared to fight to be here. That’s the only way you’re going to heal.”
Although still surprised by his brutal honesty, I appreciated his addressing the elephant in the room. And, after thinking hard about his questions, I finally had an answer: I was not ready to die.
In fact, I am not even close to being ready. I don’t know all of my purpose for being born into this world, but I have this unshakeable feeling that I was sent here to make a difference, and a belief that I have barely scratched the surface. No, I am not yet finished.
Once I wrapped my brain around the current reality of living with this dis-ease (which I still have to do regularly), I realized that the “little c”
diagnosis gave me the gift of recognizing that tomorrow has never been promised and made me ready to LIVE like never before.
So, I’m ready to take the trip TODAY. Start the business TODAY. Write the book TODAY. Pursue my purpose TODAY.
Ready to wear my freakin’ bald head TODAY. Love the body God gave me TODAY. Stop caring what people think TODAY. Eat healthier and move more TODAY. Say “no I just can’t” TODAY. Say “yes” even on a school night TODAY.
Ready to protect my peace fiercely TODAY. Stop worrying about the small stuff TODAY. Realize that most stuff is small TODAY.
Ready to honor my truth TODAY. Speak things unsaid TODAY. Forgive myself and others TODAY. Release hurt and anger TODAY. Find things to be grateful for TODAY, and ready to remind everyone else in the world — whether living with dis-ease or notthat it’s time to do the same.
My diagnosis of stage 4 breast cancer provided me with two options. I could lay on a pillow and feel sorry for myself or I could believe in His complete healing and face this challenge head on. This was the toughest 2 year battle of my life that included a double mastectomy, hysterectomy, 15 rounds of chemotherapy and 21 rounds of radiation. Initially it appeared to be an uphill battle, but when I made the shift to chose faith over fear, my entire life changed. I stopped thinking about a potential expiration date and begin mapping out the beautiful life I wanted to live.
This true test of faith set my life on a new trajectory and has been my best chapter yet. I was limiting myself in my business goals, relationships, and my happiness because of the fear of the unknown, or fear of failure. Now I stand amazed that I’ve always had what it takes to accomplish my goals. As a mother of three daughters and a granddaughter, I was determined to be an example to my girls by modeling steadfastness and courage through it all.
I am fearless, courageous and a SURVIVOR!
KatrinaMy journey with follicular lymphoma showed me the immense strength, faith and gratitude I possess. Learning to advocate for myself was an empowering experience. After a lifetime of giving, I am now on a path of mastering self-care and self-love.
I should not be here. But I am bigger than cancer and I will live this life until the wheels fall off!
This part of my journey started on April 2, 2021, when I received an unexpected call from my Primary Care Office. Much to my surprise, the doctor told me that based on my CT scan (a scan that was for something else) she thought I might have cancer.
I was convinced it must be a misdiagnosis (like my sister had previously), but five days later – after a rushed biopsy – the diagnosis was confirmed. And, after 2 weeks of additional testing, I was hit with the biggest shock of my life – a diagnosis of Stage 4 colon cancer.
I could not believe it — STAGE 4 cancer!?? After all, I lived a relatively healthy lifestyle, and I was a strong black woman who, as a Licensed Professional Therapist, counseled others for a living. But I also had a family history of colon cancer. My father and 4 of his 14 siblings had all been diagnosed with this disease. They were diagnosed early, treated, and lived well into their 70s and 80s.
In hindsight, I wish I’d advocated for myself more. I’d had a baseline colonoscopy in 2007 after my father’s diagnosis (which was clear) but had not had any followups. For what it’s worth, I had no symptoms —- no dark stool, no bleeding in my stool, no abdominal pain, no diarrhea, no constipation, or weight loss. I was healthy, with no expectation that cancer might call.
On the day of my diagnosis, I felt numb! So, I went to my room and prayed, saying: “Lord, I have lived a good life, so if it’s my time I am
ok. But YOU promised me a husband so you can’t kill me yet!” :)
Although I don’t yet have a mate, I have not been alone. My support system has been the bomb! I have the best family and friends!! They put together a calendar when I was first diagnosed, and since then, loved ones fly in the week of my chemo treatments to take care of me. Those that cannot show up often send me things or call to keep me motivated. Our system has been a well-oiled machine. I can honestly say that I’ve needed nothing, and I’ve only had positive energy around me.
But I must admit that chemo has been hard. I’ve experienced a lot of side effects: weight loss, vision issues, weight gain (from steroids), change in taste, heartburn, blood clots in lungs, nose bleeds, teeth and gum issues, loss of appetite, hair loss, neuropathy, hemorrhoids, blood in my stool, discoloration in my hands and feet, cognitive issues, anxiety, and diabetes. And, unfortunately, chemo has been mostly continuous since my diagnosis. I initially had 12 weeks of aggressive chemo, then 7 months of maintenance chemo during a period of remission. When the cancer came back, after a short break, the aggressive chemo resumed. I was devastated, scared, angry, and frustrated.
NO, I SHOULD NOT BE HERE TODAY! BUT I AM. I DECIDED TO TAKE A STAND AND DECIDED TO KEEP LIVING ON PURPOSE. I CONTINUE TO FIGHT THIS THING CALLED CANCER AND CONTINUE TO WALK IN MY PURPOSE.
Thankfully, my support system showed up again, with more dedication than before because I was in a crisis situation. Not just the return of cancer, but at one point my body was in so much turmoil that my blood sugar shot up to 1236! Normal blood sugar is under 140, so even the healthcare workers were amazed by my recovery. After being unresponsive for 3 days, I miraculously woke up, then stayed in the hospital and rehabilitation center for 27 more days. I had to learn how to walk and talk again. I had to fight to continue to live.
No, I should not be here today! But I am. I decided to take a stand and decided to keep living on purpose. I continue to fight this thing called cancer and continue to walk in my purpose.
I fight because my passion lies in helping African American Women heal from depression, anxiety, and challenges with intimacy. And, since my diagnosis, I’ve been able to use my own challenges to help others through a social media series called “A Therapist Doing Her Own Work.” I hope that by sharing my good and bad days I can remind others that how we look at situations can create a shift in the energy. I also hope that my self-help tips can help others –whether it’s someone dealing with disease or someone who just needs help navigating life.
Yes, despite all of the ups and downs, I am still here. Somehow, walking in my purpose – even during my own challenges – makes me fight harder and reminds me that I CAN’T GIVE UP NOW.
YES, DESPITE ALL OF THE UPS AND DOWNS, I AM STILL HERE. SOMEHOW, WALKING IN MY PURPOSE – EVEN DURING MY OWN CHALLENGES – MAKES ME FIGHT HARDER AND REMINDS ME THAT I CAN’T GIVE UP NOW.
My journey with stage 3 breast cancer showed me that me that I am truly fortunate. Not only did I have cancer, but my 16year-old daughter was diagnosed with Stage 4 Hodgkin’s Lymphoma in the middle of my journey, and my mother suffered a massive stroke. Needless to say, my family was devastated. As hard as this time was in our lives, all I could do was thank God that it was only that bad. Things could have gone much worse than they did. For that reason, I feel fortunate and grateful. We all made it through! My daughter and I are both completely healed and in remission, and my mother is still with us on her journey to full recovery. It’s an odd thing to feel fortunate for such things, but I couldn’t be more grateful for life than I am now.
My journey with Stage 3 Breast Cancer taught me to surrender and trust my divine spirit. I had so many preconceived notions about cancer and holistic vs western medicine. Most of which I learned were judgments against one type of treatment over another. I thought holistic was the only way to go, and that western medicine was essentially a money grab that couldn’t possibly be good for you. Well I learned that two things can be true at one time. My journey required that I trust both as I was reminded that everything is God!
My journey with Stage 3 Breast Cancer gave me the courage to heal. It became utterly clear that I was not healthy in many ways. I was forced to look inside and explore my true self, examine who I have become and identify all the things that contributed to that. It truly opened my mind to new levels of self-love and awareness.
Have you ever experienced survivor’s guilt? Or has the fear of a future challenge prevented you from enjoying your life after a crisis?
I have experienced both of these scenarios.
Sixteen years ago, I received some news that would change the trajectory of my life forever: My husband was leaving me. I was 30 years old and had been working on getting my big break as an opera singer. The money wasn’t good, but that hadn’t been an issue because my then-husband was the primary breadwinner. I was convinced that his success was our success. But when we separated, the only thing we had to divvy up was debt; I had to rethink everything. I quickly learned that his success was not something we shared. So, I took a step back from singing and got a real job to pay my bills.
One month later, I found out I had cancer. Life sucks sometimes.
How was I going to tell my new boss that I had cancer? I was her personal assistant and helped run her small film company and manage a
busy family life. Cancer altered my future and derailed my dreams. The years following my diagnosis were horrible – surgeries, chemo, radiation, healthcare bills, and a looming divorce. It was difficult, but I survived.
Fighting and surviving cancer takes everything out of you, and I mean everything! Enduring any crisis changes your emotional DNA. It changes the way you see yourself and the way others see you. When I was in active treatment for breast cancer, I found myself apologizing for everything. I was late to work, late to events, and really just late for life! I constantly felt guilty, even though my tardiness was because of early morning radiation treatment and extreme fatigue. I was slow because I was navigating a crisis, and I was doing it quietly and alone.
I thought that perhaps after the treatments ended I would feel more like myself and a sense of normalcy would return. But there was no going back to "normal." I could only go forward into the unknown and hope that someday this new reality would feel comfortable.
And then, four years later, when my life was just starting to get back on track, I found myself back in a pink paper gown, listening to my doctor say, “The cancer is back.” I was angry, and I felt helpless. My life goals didn’t seem to matter anymore because I had to think about job security and health insurance. Even though I was newly married to my forever husband, I just wanted to die. Imagining that I could have a fantastic career with financial stability and a wonderful family seemed impossible. It still does sometimes.
I learned that the journey after a crisis is often more complicated than the journey through a crisis.
Constantly running in the background were the questions, “How much time do I have
I LEARNED THAT THE JOURNEY AFTER A CRISIS IS OFTEN MORE COMPLICATED THAN THE JOURNEY THROUGH A CRISIS.
left?” or “Why did I survive when others died?” The wondering and worry were overwhelming. Some call this survivor’s guilt, but I call it survivor’s curiosity.
Here’s the thing: I can be a bit extra. I try to squeeze every ounce of living out of each day. It can be challenging for me to pause and simply enjoy the passing of time. The FOMO is real! The fear of wasting one moment or missing one opportunity weighs me down. It’s exhausting.
The label “cancer survivor” is heavy, and survivorship is uncomfortable. It’s like wearing jeans that are just a bit too tight while riding a bike in 90-degree weather. You get the point! I hated being the one who survived because it felt like I was supposed to be happy and grateful all the time. The label “Survivor” left no room to grieve what cancer and crisis had stolen from me – my youth, my dreams of having biological children, my breasts, my ovaries, and my pre-menopausal sex drive!
After each diagnosis and treatment regimen was completed, I struggled to acknowledge the lingering sadness, anger, and fear. It felt selfish to admit these feelings. So, I kept these thoughts hidden. And hiding things never helps.
Shedding the guilt of surviving and managing the survivor’s curiosity so that I could really LIVE – even thrive, took practice. Being a survivor of anything requires resilience.
Surviving only comes after suffering—the accolade is earned through sacrifice, pain, sadness, grief, and perseverance. To transform from survivor to thriver, I had to get creative at cultivating joy amidst the uncertain landscape of life after a crisis. Being a survivor assumes that you've accomplished or endured something difficult. And yet this accomplishment can leave you feeling lost, left behind, uncertain, and afraid of what's next. For me, it was through the act of acknowledging the crisis and sharing my story that I discovered a crisis born confidence to navigate life’s messiest moments.
Here are 4 things that continue to help me embrace survivorship:
MAKE SPACE FOR THE PAUSE.
Pausing takes practice and planning. Scheduling out your moments of peace prepares you for survivorship. It is a unique kind of self-care to acknowledge the importance of space to download dreams and worries.
MAKE SPACE FOR YOUR PAIN. Pain and grief need room to breathe. As do the thoughts, feelings, and fears that come with them.
MAKE SPACE FOR YOUR GRATITUDE.
Stepping into gratitude allows you to step away from fear. Gratitude is a miracle drug that nourishes your soul and lays the foundation for joy, peace, and happiness.
MAKE SPACE TO CELEBRATE. Yes, we are blessed to be here, but being here isn’t always easy. Be kind to yourself. Try letting a few minutes slip by, and trust that simply showing up is enough. It’s enough to celebrate the fact that you're still here! YOU are enough.
Here’s what I know for sure: A crisis puts you at the corner of possibility.
Why? Because challenges help us grow, learn and evolve. Difficulties make us kinder, more empathetic leaders, colleagues, and world citizens. No matter how much we prepare, we cannot avoid unforeseen diagnoses, losses, or disappointments.
We are all past, present, and future survivors of something! And every day that we choose to hope and step into JOY, we spread light in the darkness. And that, my friends, is a legacy worth fighting for!
My journey with cervical cancer taught me that your vagina speaks to you every day and deserves your advocacy. As women, it is imperative to listen to your vagina and have a solid relationship with it. It speaks to you, for you, and what it says deserves your attention. Are you truly listening to what it has to say?
Andréa W.
My journey with stage 4 breast cancer gave me a chance to receive help and care from others—in very unexpected ways. I am a very ambitious person and like to help/please others. It was pleasant and therapeutic to be a recipient of such a high level of care from others.
My Breast Cancer (Ductile Carcinoma) journey in 2014 made me stand up and fight in a way I didn’t know I was capable of. My Breast Cancer (HER2+) journey in 2021 brutally pushed me to the edge of life physically, mentally, emotionally and financially. My second journey gave me the AUDACITY to believe God would heal me completely and make me whole!
Tia
“I am not what has happened to me. I am what I choose to become.”
~ Carl Jung
I always had problems with my menstruation. It was heavy and painful. I’d throw up and have terrible symptoms. I didn’t want to think about my body, and I certainly didn’t have the skills to advocate for myself when doctors dismissed me.
By the time my ex-husband proposed, I was menstruating three weeks of every month. I couldn’t put up with it anymore, so I scheduled a Pap smear.
You know something’s wrong when your doctor starts calling in other doctors to look over his shoulder! That exam turned into a sonogram, a biopsy, and unending tests. Finally, they told me I had fibroids the size of grapefruits and abnormal cells. Ovarian cancer patches.
They scheduled me for emergency surgery, and I had a full hysterectomy three months before my wedding. It was a blessing they caught it all.
My doctor prescribed hormone replacement therapy and instructed me how to take it. I don’t know if I was still loopy, or if I just didn’t want to think about it anymore, but unfortunately, I didn’t get how important those hormones were and why.
My mother and grandmother had already faced menopause, and they convinced me hormone replacement was risky and unnecessary. They weren’t totally wrong — for menopause! For a younger woman, it was a completely different situation. Instead of doing my own research, and making sure to meet my own needs, I just accepted everything they said and never took the hormones.
I tried to keep my pain and my needs to myself, but that backfired.
Ignoring my health backfired, too. When I say, “I lost myself,” that isn’t just a colorful metaphor.
My reproductive organs had been removed because of the ovarian cancer patches. They don’t just make babies, you know! Every part of your body balances everything else. By not taking the hormone replacements, I was slowly starving my brain of the ability to function properly. I started literally losing my mind.
My emotions were out of control. My coping skills disappeared. Instead of treating my then-husband with love and kindness, I became resentful, hurtful, and cruel. I treated him with disrespect and contempt.
Our lives became chaotic and unsustainable. The more volatile I got, the more problems my husband tried to hide. The more hidden problems jumped up, the more I came apart. Eventually, it was just too late.
When my poor messed-up body laid me out with kidney stones and high-powered pain pills, I was at the end of my rope. I couldn’t tell myself any more fairytales to make things look better. When I realized my marriage was over, I felt as if the only place left to hide was in the ground.
I didn’t want anyone to know I’d gone to Queens, New York, or that I was living in my cousin’s basement. I didn’t want them to know I’d lost my marriage and lost myself. I surely didn’t want them to know I’d tried to take a whole bottle of pain pills and spent 72 hours in the hospital. I just wanted to be left alone.
But then my phone rang, and I heard my cousin say, “You’re gonna be mad. Aunt Frances says you better bring your butt to the house. The whole family’s here.”
I UNDERSTAND THAT I NEED TO BE INTENTIONAL ABOUT EXERCISE, REST, NUTRITION AND REGULAR HEALTH CHECK-UPS. AND THAT I ALWAYS HAVE TO SPEAK UP FOR MYSELF WHEN IT COMES TO MY HEALTH.
I was busted.
When I got there, my Aunt Frances, the woman who helped raised me, with great wisdom, laid me across her lap right there in front of all my cousins and had an old-fashioned “come-to-Jesus.” I broke down in tears. I was so embarrassed, but she told me, “You hold your head up high. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You never have to hide from family. We will always be here for you.”
She put her finger right on the problem: shame. Shame had built me a prison and was holding me back from the very thing that would heal my heart. My family’s love and acceptance were waiting for me, but I was so busy hiding that I almost missed it.
I thought I was the only woman in my family who’d ever been separated or divorced. I was a failure. An outcast. Instead, my aunts and cousins circled around me and started sharing their stories, their pain, and their roads back to themselves.
They didn’t bust me. They busted me out of that prison of shame. That day didn’t
magically make my problems disappear. I still needed doctors, therapists, and a lot of time to rebuild my life. But their truth gave me the strength to face my truth. Their love helped me believe I was worth loving. I realized that day, that no matter what, I will always love my ex-husband, but I love JaTaun too! Until then, I didn’t know my own strength.
SELF-LOVE.
Since my brush with ovarian cancer patches, my health has taken many more twists and turns, including brain surgery to remove a tumor. But it has all taught me that I deserve to spend time and energy on my health. I understand that I need to be intentional about exercise, rest, nutrition and regular health check-ups. And that I always have to speak up for myself when it comes to my health.
I now know my worth and understand how to embrace my worth. God has so much in store for me that I can’t underestimate the importance of self-care. I know I am worthy of all of God’s blessings and love.
My journey with Metastatic Breast Cancer has taught me that God loves me. I say this because this is my 3rd battle with this disease and I’m still here standing strong. I remember when it came back the second time my oncologist called me to inform me that I was to live 10 years after my diagnosis. This crushed my soul and made me question so much in my life. God has continuously been there saying not yet and has fought for me 'one more time.' Every battle has been worse but every single time he sees me through. I’ve followed so many breast cancer thrivers and it hurts me so deep every time I see one succumb to this disease.
My journey with Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, showed me that my favorite scripture, Proverbs 3:5-6, was more than just words in the Bible or a scripture I recite from time to time. Not knowing anything about blood cancer, its treatment or prognosis, I had to “trust God, and allow Him to direct my path, leaning not on my own understanding.” Even today, seven years since my diagnosis, I do not fully understand what is happening to my body, but every single day I continue to fervently do one thing...I trust God.
MariaHe provided me with a village that pushes me through every time -without them being my crutch I don’t know where I would be. I know I am here for a reason, to speak and inspire others with my truth.
Gleny
by Fatimha Love
September 11, 2001, I watched as the first tower burned then ultimately came tumbling down. September 11, 2022, I discovered the lump in my breast that would change life as I know it.
the blood of Jesus and say it was the blood flowing into her veins that would heal her. It wasn’t until I heard this that I saw chemo as giving me life. That was a big revelation, and it helped me through. I realized that even in my weakness, I was still strong.
I prayed and asked God to tell me what the lump meant, and in that moment, I heard God say, “Daughter, you have Cancer. It will be tough, but you will be okay.” I fell to the floor and cried out to God. What was I about to face with (what was later confirmed as) stage two metastatic breast cancer? What did God mean when He said I would be okay? Would I beat this, or did “okay” mean God had a bigger assignment for me in heaven? I wondered why God trusted me to be strong enough to avail such a difficult battle.
At first, I was consumed with what Cancer would do to me. How it would make me sick, and what it would take from me. Chemo took me for the ride of my life! Nausea, neuropathy, pain, stomach issues, hair loss, changes in vision, and more. If there was a side effect to be had, I had it. Cancer, along with chemotherapy, is miserable; with it, I lost all control. How I looked and felt suddenly belonged to whatever chemo decided at the time. It reminded me of a book by Nancy Stordahl, Cancer Was Not a Gift & It Didn’t Make Me a Better Person: A Memoir about Cancer as I Know It. I felt this way and am glad I was not the only one.
The first part of my treatment regimen consisted of receiving an aggressive form of chemo, referred to as ‘the red devil,’ because it was red and lethal. As I was receiving the chemo I cried as it flowed into my veins for the first time. Then, a friend who had gone through the same regimen years ago told me that each time she had chemo, instead of calling it the red devil, she would plead
I later learned to focus on what Cancer would do for me. Pastor Benjamin Windle said it best, “Forging purpose while you are suffering is a way of exploring the brighter end of the spectrum—the side of wonder, of laughter, of joy. The purpose you develop must be bigger than the pain you have endured.” When I couldn’t find the words to speak over myself, I found purpose in inspiring others to keep fighting. When I couldn’t pray for myself, I prayed for others. That’s a strength that only God could provide. The one thing Cancer couldn’t take from me was the ability to know the pain and struggles of others. Even during what seemed like the worst time in my life, I could still see there was someone, somewhere, who may have been struggling more than me.
Today, staring in the mirror at the botched stitches in place of where my imperfectbut-perfect breasts used to be, I’m still often overwhelmed with sadness. It’s a site that reminds me of Sally from the movie The Nightmare Before Christmas. Who is this person with no hair, darker skin, and drooping eyes staring back at me in the mirror? Is she still a woman without her breasts? How will she go on knowing her breasts are no longer hers, even with implants to come?
“Trust the process, Fatimha,” I tell myself, thinking back on the word that God gave me before I was diagnosed. Angry and frustrated at my lack of energy and the things I cannot do, I sometimes feel defeated. It’s a painful thing to no longer see the person you once knew when you look in the mirror. There are so many emotions that I must get
through and accepting this new life isn’t easy. Although I rely on God with all my being, it doesn’t mean that I don’t need to be reeled back in or reminded of His grace during this arduous journey. Trying to find purpose in pain is complicated when the battle seems so much bigger than my strength. . . . While I think Cancer has been one of the worst experiences I’ve faced, I can also look back and know that no matter what Cancer destroyed, I survived it all. I may not always understand why God sends me down certain paths, but I am grateful for each day I wake up and thankful that God has given me the will to fight. As I continue this journey, I don’t know all that will result from Cancer. However, I believe that Cancer will do more for me than what it did to me.
•Cancer reminded me why I continue to fight. I’ve overcome great adversity and won’t let Cancer take my championship belt. It’s not my time to die, but it is my time to live for me and love me more than ever. After all the battles I’ve won, now isn’t the time to give up. I continue to fight because I no longer just see the sun, the moon, or the sky; I see life in them that is also in me. On the days when I thought it was too hard to make it, God showed me a new day, then another night and the stars shined until the next day was to arise.
•Cancer reminded me it’s ok to put myself first. We talk about self-care, yet, at least for me, I always seem to get lost in my giving to everyone else. Not this time. I’ve dedicated my life to my family, children, and many others, putting myself last most of the time. Now I’m first and just as important as those I care about. I will constantly look back at all that Cancer has done, and how I have overcome, and remember that I am in a season of pouring into me. I don’t know what this will look like, but I anticipate it will be liberating. It’s my time to fight for me, live for me, and pour just as much into myself as I
pour into others.
•Cancer reminded me of all the life I have to live. Often times we simply utter the words “tomorrow is not promised” without a second thought. I’ve said it many times, yet I don’t think I knew the magnitude of that statement until Cancer stared me in the face. So, for me, life is now different and even more meaningful. I am different now. Not better, but different. It’s my time to create new dreams, plan new goals, and live out loud on my own terms.
There is much living I need to do, be, and experience. Cancer is the battle of my life where getting to the victory line means betting on ME.
It ain’t over because God didn’t say it was over. Not for me, and if you are living right now, at this moment, then that means it’s not over for you.
Fight, win, survive, and live with purpose, on purpose.
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We created a playlist that’s all about GRATITUDE! Use the QR Code to enjoy it on Spotify.
Gratitude (India Arie)
Thank You (Dido)
Unfinished (Mandisa)
Stronger (What Doesn’t Kill You) (Kelly Clarkson)
Can’t Give Up Now (Mary Mary)
Grateful (Hezekiah Walker, Love Fellowship Choir)
I Wanna Thank You (Maze)
I Want to Thank You (Alicia Myers)
Live Out Loud (Meredith Andrews)
I Didn’t Know My Own Strength (Whitney Houston) I Got Sunshine (Avery Sunshine)
Over and Over (Trin-I-Tee 5:7; PJ Morton)
Thankful (Kelly Clarkson)
Break The Shell (India Arie)
Thank You Lord (Amber Bullock)
It Ain’t Over (Bishop Paul S. Morton)
Gratitude (Cellomano)
Lokah Samastah (The Yoga Mantra and Chant Music Project)
Interlude 1: Grains (India Arie)
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