Life felt busy, full, and predictable — until the day I felt a small lump that would change everything. I was working full-time as a corporate English/Italian trainer, managing work from home while taking care of my two sons — my oldest was 14, and my youngest only 2. Italy was still in lockdown mode due to the COVID-19 pandemic, so my days were packed with work, house responsibilities, and parenting.
I had a history of fibroadenoma since my early 20s, so when a small lump came back in my right breast after I weaned my youngest, I didn’t think much of it. It was small and painless, and I assumed it was nothing serious. But it wasn’t until almost a year later, in July 2021, that I noticed the lump had grown, become harder, and was painful to the touch. When I spoke with my gynecologist, he recommended I see a breast specialist at a private clinic.
I booked an ultrasound, and the doctor recommended another ultrasound, a mammogram and a biopsy, at a specialized clinic, just to be thorough. I tried to stay optimistic, telling myself that since I had fibroadenomas before, this was probably nothing serious.
By mid-August, my husband and I were sitting in the radiologist’s office, the quiet hum of the machines surrounding us, waiting for the biopsy results. When the radiologist told me the news — I had stage III breast cancer — I was in shock. Tears came next, and my husband held me tight. Her face reflected the gravity of the news, yet she tried to give me hope: the type of cancer I had responded very well to monoclonal therapy with Trastuzumab, and there was a real chance for complete remission.
The first days after the diagnosis were overwhelming. I felt numb, in shock, and didn’t want to talk to anyone. I would wake up at night crying, wishing it was just a dream. What helped me cope during these initial days was the love, support, and presence of my family, friends, and loved ones. Hope, faith, prayer, and meditation became my anchors, helping me navigate the fear and uncertainty.
Someone very dear to me — who had only just finished chemotherapy herself — became a pillar of strength, my point of reference, and one of my greatest sources of support. Her experience and steady presence gave me courage and realistic hope when I needed it most.
I decided early on that I had to radically shift my perspective: I was going to get through this no matter what. I changed my diet to a wholesome vegan one, began juicing, and practiced fasting before treatments — doing everything I could to support my body’s path to recovery.
When my oncologist explained the treatment plan, I felt hope. I would begin with chemotherapy, specifically the drug known in Italy as “la rossa” (Adriamicina or Doxorubicin), named for its characteristic red color. This would be followed by monoclonal therapy with Trastuzumab, and eventually a mastectomy. Throughout this stage, I drew strength from the same dear friend I mentioned earlier — her recent experience with chemotherapy gave me a sense of what to expect and inspired courage. I prepared mentally and emotionally: cutting my long hair in advance, resting as much as possible, and bringing books and podcasts to stay in a positive headspace during hospital visits.
Throughout this journey, my family’s unwavering support made all the difference. They encouraged me daily, took care of my boys, and gave me the space to focus on healing. I found that keeping myself busy — especially with creative activities like DIY projects — gave me a sense of purpose and productivity, even on days when I had little energy and couldn’t get out of bed. Studies show that keeping your hands busy helps both mentally and emotionally, and for me, these creative moments became a lifeline.
Planning for the future also became a powerful tool. Having events, milestones, or small projects to look forward to gave me a reason to keep moving forward, offering hope and motivation through the most difficult days. Focusing on what lies ahead helped me navigate the challenges of the present with more strength and resilience.
Looking back, I realize that even in the darkest moments, hope and courage can carry you through. Every small step, every act of self-care, and every message of support mattered. If you are newly diagnosed, remember: it’s okay to feel scared, it’s okay to cry, and it’s okay to ask for help. But also know that you can find strength you never knew you had, and that every day brings a chance to move forward, to heal, and to reclaim your life.
No matter how dark it feels today — there is hope, support, and strength waiting for you every step of the way.
Have you just started your journey? Share your story or message me — you’re not alone.
Courageously yours,
Aurora
Because courage is often just the simple act of waking up and choosing hope—even when everything else is numb.