A year ago today, I was diagnosed with cancer.

A year ago today, I was diagnosed with cancer.
Two months ago, I got the all clear.

It’s strange to write that.
Because for most of the past year, I kept it off social media.
Not out of shame or stoicism, but because it felt like something I needed to tell people in person. 

A few weeks ago, I finally shared a little about what I’d been through.
And I was blown away by the response.
Hundreds of people reached out.  And I still get calls and messages.

People I hadn’t spoken to in years got in touch. Others shared their own stories… of illness, loss, recovery, resilience.
It was one of the most humbling and moving responses I’ve ever received.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all these heartfelt conversations.

It reminded me that openness has power, especially when we share before we’ve wrapped things up with a bow.

Now, with a little distance and a lot of reflection, here’s what I can say:

Cancer stripped things back. Fast.
It made me question what really matters: In life; work; how I show up for others and myself.
It taught me a kind of patience and kindness I didn’t know I had in me.

It reminded me that control is comforting but often an illusion.

And weirdly, it also made me laugh more again.
Because somewhere between operations, radiation treatments, chemo, blood tests and biopsy results, I realised:

·      Hospital gowns are designed for maximum indignity.

·      The phrase “you’ll feel a small scratch” is medical code for “we’re about to stab you violently.”

·      Nothing like being told life-or-death news while still high as a kite post-op.

·      You can get in a lot of meditation done in waiting rooms.

·      Life’s too short for bad coffee and pointless meetings.

There were hard days.
Scary days.
Days I questioned if it worth it.  Why not just give up?

But there was also something strangely grounding in it all.
I learned how to ask for help.
How to slow down without guilt.

How to sit with pain and discomfort and not try to fix it.

How to re-evaluate who I really am and why I’m here.

How to re-connect with my body again.
And how to hold space for big questions without rushing to answers.

You don’t need a diagnosis to rethink what matters.
But sometimes a shock to the system gives you the permission you didn’t know you needed.

I’m not sharing this for sympathy.
I’m sharing it because so many people go through hard things behind the scenes, while still showing up, still leading, still trying to be “fine.”

So if that’s you: I see you.

And if you’re going through something really hard that’s changing you, and are now figuring out what that means for you, your work, your leadership, your business and your future, I’d love to hear your story. It’s the kind of space I hold for my clients every day.

The photo below? That’s me, standing by the sign to the hospital I drove to for two months of radiation. That daily drive became its own kind of ritual; part dread, part determination.
Sharing it here feels like part of closing a circle.