Mojo and the Mess

Cancer takes your life long before it threatens your death.

That’s the part no one says out loud.

The unraveling happens quietly—

not in hospitals, not during scans—

but in the stillness between appointments,

where pieces of you slip away before you even notice they’re missing.

You don’t wake up one day and feel changed.

You wake up one day and realize you’ve been changing all along.

The Slow Death of the Woman You Were

There was a rhythm to who you used to be—

a softness, a spark, a laugh that rose from someplace unbroken.

Now everything feels muted,

like someone poured grief into your bloodstream

and called it treatment.

You watch your old self from a distance,

like a girl you used to know—

carefree, unscarred, untouched by mortality.

She feels fictional now,

a character you once played

before the world tilted.

Menopause Arrives Like a Storm Without Warning

Your body goes silent,

then angry,

then unpredictable.

Heat strikes like punishment.

Nights drown in sweat.

Your skin thins.

Your bones ache.

Your hormones vanish like someone blew out all the candles inside you.

You were not meant to feel ancient this young.

You were not meant to mourn youth while you are still living it.

But cancer does not care about timing.

It does not care about womanhood.

It does not care about the parts of you you still needed.

It simply takes.

Fertility Becomes a Ghost You Carry Everywhere

No one hears the silent funeral you hold for the children

you never got to try for.

The grief is invisible,

but heavy—

a stone you swallow every time someone posts a pregnancy announcement

or asks, without knowing,

“When are you having kids?”

There is no script for a young woman

mourning a family she never had the chance to build.

There are no cards for that kind of loss.

No rituals.

No sympathy flowers.

Just quiet devastation.

Your Body Turns Into a Stranger You Have to Live Inside

It betrays you.

It weakens.

It scars.

It hardens.

You begin speaking of yourself

like a before-and-after picture—

the girl then,

the patient now.

You don’t trust your skin.

You don’t trust your cells.

You don’t trust the mirror,

because sometimes she looks too tired,

too hollow,

too different from the woman you remember.

You touch your own arm

and feel like you’re reaching for someone else.

And Desire… It Disappears Before Anyone Notices

Cancer steals the part of you that once wanted,

that once glowed,

that once reached for another body with certainty.

Now you shrink from your own reflection.

Now you avoid the word intimacy.

Now you pretend “I’m tired”

means “I don’t want to talk about this.”

It’s not just menopause.

It’s grief

blooming under your skin.

You miss the woman who used to feel alive in her own body.

You miss her more than you let on.

The Future Fades Into Fog

You used to picture decades.

Now you picture months.

You used to dream in full color.

Now everything looks like a room with the lights dimmed.

Cancer steals the luxury of assumption.

You cannot assume you will grow old.

You cannot assume you will stay.

You cannot assume your life will unfold

in the gentle arc it was supposed to.

And that loss—

the loss of your imagined future—

is one of the deepest cuts.

But Still… You Rise From the Ashes of Who You Were

Every day you wake up is an act of rebellion.

Every laugh is a miracle.

Every tear is a reminder that you are still human,

still trying,

still here.

You build a life from ruins.

You stitch yourself back together

with whatever scraps of hope you have left.

You walk through your own darkness

and carry the weight of every loss—

fertility, desire, safety, certainty, the girl you used to be—

and somehow,

you keep breathing.

That is not weakness.

That is not pity.

That is the quiet power of a young woman

who has lost almost everything

and still refuses to disappear.

A Note to My Readers & Subscribers

If you read all the way to the end of this, thank you.

These are the pieces of my story that don’t fit neatly into an Instagram caption or a TikTok clip.

These are the truths most young women with cancer carry alone.

If this blog gave you comfort, perspective, or a moment of feeling less alone, I hope you’ll stay connected:

Visit the Home Page to read my full story and follow along with the journey. Check the Resources Page if you’re navigating cancer and need help, guidance, or someone who understands the chaos. Visit the “Keep Mojo & the Mess Going” Page if you’d like to support this blog, my care, and everything I pour into this space. And if you want to make my day, subscribe so you never miss a post.

Thank you for showing up here.

Thank you for letting me be honest.

And thank you for helping me keep going.

You matter more than you know.