Beyond Pink Ribbons | The Truth About My Breast Cancer Journey

October comes around and suddenly the world blushes pink. Ribbons. T-shirts. Bracelets. Teddy bears. Pens. Water bottles. Even yogurt lids. Pink, everywhere. Breast cancer awareness.

I’ve never been drawn to it. Not when my mom had breast cancer. Not when she passed away. Not now, even as I sit with my own diagnosis. I’ve always felt like the “awareness” campaign tried to wrap something raw and brutal in bubblegum packaging. Like if we make it cute enough, we won’t notice the fear, the grief, or the sheer unfairness of it all.

But here I am. Writing what I swore I wouldn’t.

Because now it’s not just my mom’s story—it’s mine.

My Decision

After my diagnosis, I made the choice to have a double mastectomy. Not because it’s brave, not because it fits some glossy narrative of “fighting the good fight,” but because it’s the right choice for me. It’s messy, it’s terrifying, and it’s mine.

There’s no ribbon that can sum up the swirl of emotions—grief, relief, fear, determination—that come with sitting in a surgeon’s office and circling a date on the calendar.

What I Wish We Talked About More

Awareness is good, yes. But what about the after? What about the women who can’t stand the sight of another pink ribbon because it feels performative compared to the quiet ache of recovery? What about the families who are still grieving? What about the women who are making choices that feel impossible and yet deeply necessary?

What about the days when you’re not a “warrior” or a “survivor,” but just a woman who’s tired and doesn’t want to wear a bra ever again?

My Breast Cancer Promise

I won’t pretend this journey fits into October’s neat little package. I won’t buy the teddy bears. But I will share pieces of my truth here—not to raise “awareness,” but to raise honesty.

Because maybe you don’t need another ribbon. Maybe what you need is someone to admit this is hard, complicated, and not always pretty. Maybe you need permission to feel exactly how you feel, without slogans.

That’s what I needed when my mom was sick. That’s what I need now.

And that’s what I’ll give you.

The Colors I Carry Forward

Pink may be the color of October, but my story will always be written in shades more complex—gray for grief, deep green for resilience, and maybe, just maybe, a little gold for hope.