08/16/2025
“You have Lynch Syndrome.”
The words didn’t sound real. I had never even heard the term before. Yet suddenly, they became part of my identity, my future, my survival.
By then, I was already drowning.
In May 2013, my husband died in a car accident. My daughters were only 5 and 8.
By January 2014, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.
In February: “You have Lynch Syndrome.”
By March: a double mastectomy.
By November: a full hysterectomy.
Through all of it, I kept moving. I worked. I showed up. But it wasn’t “strength.” It was exhaustion. Fear. Grief stacked on grief. I woke up wondering how I would get through the day.
People call that resilience. But resilience isn’t glamorous. It’s crying in the shower so no one hears you. It’s breaking down in your car, then walking into work with a smile.
Resilience isn’t a gift — it’s a choice you make when survival is the only option.
“You have Lynch Syndrome.” Those four words changed my life. But they did not define it.
I’m still here. Still fighting. Still discovering strength I never asked for — but found anyway.
