Worst club, best members.

Did I mention we're moms, too?

If you’re here it’s probably because you are a lot like me. One day you woke up, and you didn’t know it, but that day you would find out you have cancer. And your life would never again be the same. You would never again look at your children the same way.

Why are we here? Where did we go wrong? What did we do to deserve this?

I don’t have the answers, I really wish I did. But maybe the only thing harder than not having these answers is the loneliness that comes with the diagnosis. The way we lay in bed at night and just wonder how on earth we ended up being the people on this side of the equation. We’re supposed to be worrying about things like snacks and did we order the right diaper size and did our child get the after-school program they want? And yet, here we are. Worrying about cancer on top of all of that.

When I was diagnosed in August 2022, so much time was spent looking for women that I could connect with that could relate to my story: 35 years old, stage 2 triple negative breast cancer, four month old baby and 3 year old son. No family history (and even if I had family history, would that have made this any less horrific? Absolutely not.) My sister spent days rummaging through Instagram and old contacts, trying to find someone, anyone who could relate to me while I sat there spinning out of control with anxiety.

And she did. It was not easy, but she found some amazing women. And as the word spread in my community, more people offered to connect me to other people who had gone through similar treatments or diagnosis. Those connections saved me in the darkest moments. I remember connecting with one fellow survivor who told me that as long as her cancer never comes back, she is grateful that it happened because of how much she learned about her life, self and happiness. I held those words so close to my heart through my year long treatment consisting of 16 rounds of chemotherapy, 20 rounds of radiation, 17 rounds of immunotherapy and a lumpectomy . I needed to hear them to know that there might be a light, a reason for all of this pain and fear and anxiety.

And one night it dawned on me that this is my reason. I am a community builder, a lover of mothers, a supporter of women. Everything that is authentic to my soul, everything that gives me energy is right here in the potential for this community.

Sharing education, sharing stories, holding space for each other through the darkest days, the hardest questions. That’s the community I hope we can build here through so that we all have somewhere we belong.

And we’ll do it through groups, and interviews, and posts, and comments, and however else we want to do it. It’s day one- we can do anything. Not to mention, we’ve quite literally stared death in the face. What can’t we do?

So what do you say?

Will you help me build this beautiful community of the luckiest unlucky mothers ever?

Will you help me create a space where we can feel at home when no one else seems to understand our symptoms, or the fears that haunt us in the middle of the night?

Will you help me create a community that helps us navigate those difficult conversations with our children - the ones with no easy or clear answers? Those conversations we should never be having in the first place?

I’m so grateful that you’re here. Welcome to the worst club with the best members.