March 14, 2026

Back in November 2025, I had to have a second mammogram due to some suspicious findings on my annual. No big deal. Four years prior, I developed a lump in my armpit, had it checked out, and it was nothing but an allergic reaction. I went through the whole thing, got genetically tested, and my percentages were below the threshold to worry about future issues. I was feeling pretty good. 

Last November, I was also in the middle of a break-up. Not my marriage, just so we are clear. This was a break-up of harmful patterns. Not drug-use, so we are further clear. I have been clean for 3.5 years. Not going back. This break-up of sorts was ongoing and was the accumulation of lots of past trauma and generational type things. It was the break-up that I wrote about in my last post of 2025. I have removed it from the blog, but I may just put it back for context. 

Once I hit 4o, things began to change. I am not talking about the sudden onset of breaks and pains associated with being 40, where you turn wrong or reach for something and you are down on your back for three days. Yes, this happens, but that is not the point of this story. I am talking about the inability to pretend anymore. Some call it masking and it is when you go about your life, smiling, pretending, and accommodating others to keep the peace, and betraying how you really feel. People don’t know the real you but come to know the always-pleasurable version of you. 

Back to November. Repeat mammogram. Results. I was already an emotional wreck before the appointment due to the overlying gunk. I made it through the entire appointment with a straight face. I am numero uno when it comes to pretending. I almost made it through the parking lot unscathed, but once the car door shut and I was settled in the driver’s seat, there was no more reason to hold it in. Big tears and loud sobs followed. A ruminating replay of what the doctor said came next. I called my husband. Told him the news. Then I received a phone call that I answered and quickly regretted.

Let me segway here. Some people cannot hold your hurts safely and the evidence of this fact usually has already presented itself as a pattern in your life. Listen to that part of you that knows better. You do not have to give everyone access to your life and you don't have to answer every request for communication. Don't make the same mistake that I did that day. I had just received scary news and my expectations for that particular conversation were higher than they should have been and I was sorely disappointed by their further requests for me in that really low moment. A request was made that I would  "fix" an issue, meaning, I would need to "be the one" to swallow it all and pretend so that all parties involved could just go back to the way things were before, when I constantly was "the one" that keep things intact by "keeping quiet & keeping the peace." 

Respectfully, no. Those days are through. I can't hide the disdain of disrespect anymore and frankly; I don't want to. Being the peacekeeper has cost me in ways that I wholeheartedly regret. I've a lifetime of secrets hidden within me that over the years have just chronically eaten away at good parts of me, like an emotional cancer. I'm wondering now if ALL of the stress over the years played some role in this sudden turn of events. 95% of cancers are preventable and caused by lifestyle choices. Yeah, I was shocked too when I read that. 

Trauma = Stress = Harmful Habits = Disease

Back to November 2025. I needed a biopsy. I scheduled it for spring break, which was four days ago. They explained the procedure twice. Once in November and then again in January. It sounded awful.

I watched a YouTube video the night before because I am one of those people who likes knowing things, so she feels somewhat in control. There is a lot to unpack there, but that's for a different day. 

I sat in a straight-backed chair, undressed the breast in question, and waited for next steps in the torture chamber. My tech, Teresa, the best at Ballantyne Breast Center, skillfully maneuvered my bits, finding the right spot. The Doc came in, numbed me with lidocaine, during which I definitely felt, but then suddenly there's no feeling whatsoever, and with quick precision the whole thing was over in less than 15 minutes. 

Recovery took about 4 days, but it wasn't terrible and definitely doable. The part that sucks is the waiting and not knowing. I like to know, so I requested the report to go to my portal and a phone call. I thought I was fine. I knew the odds. Less than 2% of biopsies come back with something. I had a BI-RADS 3 to begin with. The odds were good.

The report came on Thursday. I read it and sighed a sigh of relief. No cancer. Then, I reread it and noticed two abnormalities were found. So, I googled it and the sigh became a low groan. We weren't out of the clear yet. Then my skin cancer biopsy came back about an hour later, and we were definitely not in the clear. I didn't sleep on Thursday. I couldn't. Friday, the calls came early and everything from that point on has been moving quickly. 

A choice of surgery or radiation on the leg determined. Surgery chosen for the squamous next Friday. A consultation with a breast surgeon in the works. Lumpectomy googled and an understanding that we caught it early. My gut telling me to take this seriously, even if the odds were low, confirmed. Not out of the woods yet but being proactive about it. Scared but not afraid of next steps. Plan in place. 

Next, came the realization that if I had not taken this seriously ... if I had waited ... how close was I? I am forty-two years old. Young. What have I yet to do? What have I taken for granted, thinking there was enough time to do it? Why am I doing anything that doesn't align with who I am anyway? 

That point in the story, when something happens and challenges your perception and you stop making excuses. This is the point. I am at the point. "We caught it early," becomes the pivot point. I see my life in its entirety, and I understand the next assignment. "We caught it early," becomes the "wake-up call,” because what is there to be afraid of, once you've faced your own death? 

I turned 40 and the world is different. The way I maneuver it is different. I'm not that little girl anymore. I am a woman. I have birthed babies, held life inside of me and conquered demons. I am the ancestor to my children's great-great grandchildren who broke generational curses. I am strong. I am powerful. I am aware. I do not pretend and I do not lie. I have courage to be myself, created in the image of God. I am not afraid of anything.

Life is short, and I have lived a full life up to this point. I have seen miracles. I have ministered to kids and adults. I have led revivals. I have acquired impossibilities through prayer and hard work. I have taught and helped mold four incredible teenagers. I am not worried about them. They will get through their lives because they know resilience. My contributions to heaven are innumerable. When I die, I can say without hesitation, it was a life well-lived.

Yes, I have goals. I have things that I would still like to accomplish, but they are all icing on the cake. I like who I am. I love my life. I love my place in it. I am so grateful for every single thing that made me who I am.

Every troublesome thing was a lesson and an opportunity. This uncertainty surrounding these breast abnormalities is an opportunity to trust and I am going to honor it. I praise God who gave me life and the opportunity to live it to the fullest. Not a buzzword but a promise. We cannot choose our circumstances, especially not the ones we are born into, but we can choose who we become. 

I needed the break-up to be able to stand on my own. To be reminded that I am more than capable of writing my own story, one without need of validation or other's expectations placed upon it. I choose to live without fear. 

I know what is coming. We all know we just don't ever face it. We will not live forever. We will die one day. I faced all of my demons, looked them all in the eye, and they had no power over me. There is nothing that I can't overcome.

Dare I say it? I am thankful for this “pivot point.”