October 1st means the beginning of Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
By now, most people are aware of breast cancer. We know the pink ribbon. We see the shirts, the fundraisers, the football players wearing pink socks, and the companies changing their logos for a month.
Awareness matters. Early detection matters. Mammograms matter. Knowing your body and speaking up when something feels wrong matters. Those messages have saved lives, and I will never take that away from them.
But awareness cannot be where the conversation ends.
We also need research. We need better treatments. We need treatments that work longer and do less damage to the rest of the body. We need more funding focused on metastatic disease, because once breast cancer spreads, the entire conversation changes.
There is no simple finish line. There is no treatment, bell ringing, and return to normal. There are scans, medications, infusions, side effects, changing treatment plans, and the constant question of how long the current option will keep working.
That is the part of Breast Cancer Awareness Month that often gets pushed to the side because it does not fit neatly onto a pink T-shirt.
Pink Is Not the Whole Story
I am not against the pink ribbons. I understand what they represent, and I understand why people find comfort in them.
But breast cancer is not pink.
It is scars. It is ports, needles, scans, biopsies, surgeries, radiation, nausea, exhaustion, pain, and medications that fix one problem while creating three more. It is watching your body change in ways you did not choose. It is trying to recognize yourself after cancer has taken pieces of who you were.
It is lying awake wondering whether a new pain is just a new pain or another place cancer has decided to live.
It is also the people who love us becoming caregivers, appointment keepers, insurance fighters, medication trackers, and the ones who hold everything together when we cannot. Cancer changes their lives, too, but they are rarely included in the pretty version of awareness.
Then there are the people living with metastatic breast cancer. The people still here, still making plans, still loving their families, and still living their lives while knowing there is currently no cure for the disease inside them.
We deserve more than awareness.
We deserve research that is properly funded. We deserve clinical trials that are accessible to more people. We deserve treatments created specifically for metastatic disease. We deserve honest conversations about quality of life, pain, mental health, fertility, menopause, sexuality, finances, caregiving, and what it actually takes to keep living through treatment.
And we deserve to be seen as whole people, not cautionary tales or inspirational stories placed between advertisements.
Awareness Without Action Feels Hollow
Every October, corporations suddenly become very pink. Products get ribbons slapped onto them. Social media fills with carefully worded posts. Everyone says they support breast cancer patients.
But where does the money go?
How much reaches research? How much helps the people currently choosing between paying a medical bill and buying groceries? How much supports the patient who cannot afford transportation to treatment, the caregiver who had to stop working, or the family trying to keep life normal for their children?
A pink label is not automatically support.
If a company profits from Breast Cancer Awareness Month, we should be allowed to ask what it is actually contributing. Awareness should lead somewhere. It should lead to research, resources, practical help, better care, and real support for the people whose lives have been turned upside down.
People know breast cancer exists. What many still do not understand is what happens after the diagnosis.
They do not always see the financial damage, the mental health toll, the loneliness, the medical trauma, or the fear that follows you even on the good days. They do not see how much work it takes to stay alive while also trying to have a life worth staying alive for.
That is the awareness I want us to talk about.
What Breast Cancer Month Means to Me Now
Breast cancer is part of my life every month.
I do not get to pack it away when October ends. My appointments do not stop. My treatments do not stop. My body does not suddenly forget what it has been through because the stores have moved on to Christmas decorations.
This month brings up a lot. Gratitude that people are talking about breast cancer at all. Anger that metastatic patients still do not receive enough attention. Grief for the people who should still be here. Frustration with the polished version of cancer that leaves out everything difficult, uncomfortable, and real.
It also reminds me why I keep writing.
Mojo & the Mess exists because I needed somewhere to tell the truth about cancer. Not the cleaned-up version. Not the version designed to make everyone else feel better. The real version, including the fear, the humor, the anger, the love, the exhaustion, and all the strange little moments in between.
I wanted people going through this to feel less alone. I wanted caregivers to feel seen. I wanted families to have resources I had to search for myself. I wanted there to be a place where nobody had to pretend cancer had made them endlessly positive or grateful.
Why I’m Making The Village
That same reason is why I created The Village.
I know what it feels like to need support that goes beyond someone telling you to stay strong. I know how isolating treatment can become, and how easily patients, caregivers, survivors, grieving families, and children can feel forgotten.
The Village is my attempt to turn awareness into something people can actually feel.
On October 10, we are bringing the cancer community together for a free day at Lakeside Community Center in Port Orange. There will be resources, survival kits, activities for children, vendors, music, raffles benefiting Live Like Cameron, and space for patients, survivors, caregivers, and families to simply be together.
I want the people currently in treatment to feel cared for. I want survivors to feel celebrated without having their complicated feelings ignored. I want caregivers to know their role matters. I want children with cancer and the siblings walking through it beside them to feel special. I want families grieving someone they love to know that person is still remembered.
That is what a village should do.
The event cannot fund the research this disease desperately needs, but it can care for the people living through it right now. It can connect someone with a resource. It can fill a survival kit with things that make treatment a little easier. It can give a child something to smile about. It can remind a caregiver that somebody sees them.
It can turn one day of awareness into actual action.
This Month, Go Beyond the Ribbon
Wear pink if it means something to you. Share the awareness posts. Schedule the mammogram. Check your body. Encourage the people you love to take changes seriously.
But please do not stop there.
Learn about metastatic breast cancer. Support research. Ask where donation money is going. Help a patient with something practical. Check on the caregiver. Share resources. Listen to people whose experiences do not fit the cheerful version of October.
And when November comes, keep doing it.
Cancer does not only matter when the calendar tells us to pay attention.
Neither do the people living with it.
Support the Village and Mojo & the Mess
The Village takes place October 10 from 9 a.m. to 2 p.m. at Lakeside Community Center in Port Orange. It is free and open to cancer patients, survivors, caregivers, families, and anyone who wants to show up for this community.
Support The Village through Venmo
Find cancer and caregiver resources
Read more and subscribe to Mojo & the Mess
You can also support my work through my books:
Thank you for reading, sharing, and helping me make sure awareness becomes more than something we wear for one month.
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