My name is Carly Skillman, and I grew up in Cincinnati, Ohio. I'm the second oldest of four kids, and the first girl in the bunch. Our parents gave us an amazing childhood—one filled with love, laughter, and the kind of community where everyone looked out for each other. It was the kind of place where you always felt safe, like nothing bad could ever touch you.

On the first day of high school, I walked into science class and saw the boy who would change my life. I leaned over to my friend and whispered, "I'm going to marry him one day." She laughed and said, "Whatever! He's not even your type." Well, here we are 24 years later, and I've married that same boy not once, not twice, but three times… without ever separating. First at the courthouse, then a church wedding, and later during a vow renewal at the USS Nightmare Haunted House, which I won through a radio contest in October. (Yes, we really did) Jimmy is my best friend, my life anchor, my person. I couldn't have made it through everything in life without him. Together, we have two wonderful boys, Caleb and Sam, who are my world. They are my loves, my laughter, and the reason I get up every morning.

Before cancer, if you asked me what my hobby was, I probably would've said, "Whatever my kids are into this week." Being a boy mom is my absolute favorite. We went creeking, four-wheeling, on random adventures, and explored every park we could find. Basically, if it made my boys happy, that's where I wanted to be. Then life got busy, sports, school, and the general chaos of everyday life slowed things down. But honestly? My biggest pride has nothing to do with adventures. It's watching my baby boys grow into the amazing young men they are today.

On July 17, 2018, my orthopedic doctor found what he called a "sheath tumor" on my spine at C7-T1. On September 12, I had the tumor removed. A week later, I got the call that it's Stage 2-A Mesenchymal Chondrosarcoma. I didn't know whether to scream and cry or Google it so I just screamed and cried. When I first got my diagnosis, I told my husband, "I'm not going to suddenly turn into one of those people who gets all nice just because they have cancer." Well… yeah. It happened. Not overnight, but over time, I softened a bit. Don't worry, I still proudly rock my cold, dead black heart.

From there, it was game on. On October 17, I had my PowerPort put in. By October 22, I was already hooked up to my first round of chemo. Vincristine, Doxorubicin, and Cytoxan, running 24/7 for seven days straight. Then I took a week-long "break" before three days of Ifosfamide and Etoposide. I did three rounds of each. Just when I thought I was free, I'd come home and get hit with the Neulasta shot. AKA my least favorite party favor. I asked for some pain meds and guess what they gave me? Clairtin! It actually worked! After chemo wrapped up, I got a three-month breather before starting 36 rounds of Proton Beam Therapy. When I rang that bell, it felt like it was my own victory concert, and believe me, I earned it! Because this shit ruined my body and my life. I now have 28 diagnoses and before cancer, I had 4!

It's been a long seven years, and I've had zero recurrences. Every six months I still go see my oncologist and get an MRI. Originally, my doctor told me I'd only need to do that for five years, but at my last appointment, he said, "Let's keep it going a few more years." Ugh but I want to be finished with all this shit! On top of that, over the past two years, I've had five spots of Basal Cell Carcinoma removed. Thankfully, all I needed was for them to be removed with no extra treatments. Except for getting checked twice a year.

A few of the biggest lessons cancer shoved in my face were these: don't live in the past, and don't obsess about the future. Live in the moment. And stop sweating the small stuff. It's just not worth it. Why waste energy being miserable or unhappy when life is short and unpredictable? It also made me realize how much I could be missing out on if I didn't start saying yes to more. I already had a bucket list in the back of my mind, but after all this bullsh*t, I decided to finalize it. And my amazing husband said, "Let's start knocking some off." So we did. He took me to see the Redwoods, Montere. That perspective pushed me to start tackling my bucket list. My husband and I have been crossing things off ever since seeing the Redwoods, visiting The Goonies house, hiking national parks, spotting killer whales in California, and even seeing Mumford & Sons at Red Rocks (my #1!). Some bucket list items are big, but the small ones—like smelling flowers, laughing with strangers, or watching my family enjoy life -- are priceless. Those are the moments that actually melt my icy heart.

These days, I keep busy with workouts, books, plants, and soaking in life's simple joys. But I also found a new purpose. After losing my disability benefits (because apparently I was "too healthy"—bitch, please), I got a job as a Para Professional, working with 7th–12th grade special ed students. And besides raising my boys, it's the most meaningful thing I've ever done. I love showing students they are special, worthy, and capable, whether that's through advice, a hug, or just being there.

If I could leave anyone with advice through their cancer journey, it's this: Take a deep breath and enjoy every moment, good or bad. Say what's on your mind and get it off your chest. You can't change your path, but you can choose how to embrace it. Smoke the weed! You'll feel way better than taking all those pills! Dance when you can, even if you feel like total shitballs in a hospital gown. Give yourself grace!! It's everyone's first time living. Last, my favorite, IT IS WHAT IT FUCKING IS!

Please remember that being vulnerable isn't a weakness. It's trusting yourself to be strong enough to handle the hurt. It's actually the purest form of love. I am strong. I know my worth. And I'm still here, living it all with laughter, sarcasm, and a heart that has been broken, scarred, and healed, but somehow keeps finding new ways to love and be grateful.

What follows is my personal journey through cancer—the highs, the lows, and the mental battles in between. In each section, I'll open up about what I experienced and how I learned to move from difficult emotions like fear, anxiety, and despair toward courage, peace, and hope. If you're walking this road too, I hope these moments help you see that you're not alone—and that shifting your mindset can become a powerful part of your healing.

Can you take us back to the moment you heard the diagnosis? What did that shock feel like, and what helped you start moving toward acceptance?

I was a 36 year old woman who loved her life. On September 19th 2018, I was sitting on my couch icing my neck from my tumor removal surgery I had a week before. I got a phone call from my surgeon. The way he delivered the message to me I will never forget. He said "Carly write this down and do NOT google it. You have Mesenchymal Chondrosarcoma. It is serious and you need to find an oncologist ASAP. See you in 2 weeks to get your staples out" Then he hung up. I sat there and told myself that I had 5 mins to lose it. Oh boy did I! Then I googled it of course. It was bad. I read that it was insanely rare and there were only 600 people who have had it since 1952. I wiped my face and facetimed my husband Jimmy and screamed "It's cancer and it's really bad!" and he said "Carly we got this. Try to stay calm and I'll be home soon and we will figure this out." My mom stopped by two minutes to check on me and boy that was hard to tell her. I asked her to tell my dad because I didn't have it in me to tell him. It's something about seeing your dad cry, and I knew I couldn't handle it.

Once I got my news I decided to not tell my 2 kids Caleb (15) and Sam (9). We were leaving in 2 days to go to Gatlinburg for my older brother's wedding. I wanted them to have one last great weekend before cancer took over our lives. We stayed in a big house with our whole family. That whole weekend of love and togetherness is what I needed. It really helped me accept what I was told a few days ago.

So within 2 weeks I was denied by quite a few doctors. They told me they didn't know how to handle this type of cancer. I was told that I might have to go to the Mayo Clinic since nobody here has ever seen MCS here. Then I finally found "The Man" Dr. A. He just left the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota and moved to Cincinnati 2 weeks before my appointment. He told me that he has seen this one other time and to be prepared for a fight of a lifetime.

For the first few weeks of my diagnosis I'm pretty sure that I experienced every emotion imaginable. I have to give a huge shout out to my support system. I wouldn't have been able to do it if I didn't have them. We had "Carly Crusaders" t-shirts sold. A Meal Train was made and we had meals for my husband and sons 5 days a week. Since I worked part time and I took care of most of the duties at home, this was a tremendous help. There was also a golf benefit. Which I was told was the biggest outing the golf course ever had. Our friends, family and even the people that we don't know that have gone above and beyond will always have a special place in my heart.

If I could give you any advice on how to deal with your initial shock of cancer, it is to "embrace the shit storm" "fake it till you make it" and remind yourself that "it is what it is." We can't change what is happening to our bodies, but we can choose how we react and handle it. I have had a lot of people tell me that they would never have known what I go through if I hadn't told them. I always have a smile on my face and a positive attitude (when I'm in public.) After all of this I can say I'm a professional at "faking it, till I make it."

What fears began to surface after your diagnosis, and what helped you take your first steps toward courage despite them?

When I found out that I had this stupid cancer, I can honestly say that I lost it big time. I decided I needed to get some things in order. One of the things I did was write letters to my husband and sons. I was so upset thinking I might not be there for their "big events" in life and that is what pissed me off about this whole diagnosis. I didn't want my husband to marry another woman! I wanted to see my boys turn into fathers! I wanted to see it all! Be a part of it all!

After the initial shock of it all, my depression and anxiety started to kick in full force. The first thing I did to make myself feel better was dye my hair blue. Since I was about to lose it all, why not! One of my favorite humans named Jen came over and we laughed, cried and dyed my hair blue. I told people that "I felt like a new woman." That's when I knew I was a professional at "faking it till I make it." I was really crumbling on the inside.

My family and friends are the best! No matter how many times I complained and cried to them, they always just sat there and listened. I'm a firm believer that laughter can get you through anything. I think I have a pretty good sense of humor and love to laugh and joke around. Another way I tried to keep myself distracted was just listening to my friends and family talk about their problems. It took away all the chatter in my head. They always said "Carly, I hate complaining to you because your problems are worse than mine." My response was always "Yes they may be but your problems are big to you and you are important to me. So just let it out so you feel better." Little did they know they were helping me so much more than I was them!

On October 15, 2018 I had my first round of chemo. I stayed in the hospital for 3 days hooked up to Vincristine, Cytoxan and Doxorubicin (the red devil). I did 3 rounds of that. I also did 3 rounds of Ifosfamide, and Etoposide and would stay for 7 days. I was hooked on 24/7. My anxiety and depression was kicking in full force. I cried a lot! I was so angry at the world, God, myself, doctors. I kept thinking no 36 year old mother should go through this.

One of the worst things (I thought at that time) people said to me is "You know God only gives you what you can handle." After hearing that for a while I started to get snippy with my response. It usually came out something like "Well then God must think I am a bad ass because I don't know too many people that could handle this shit." I can't tell you how many times I asked God "why does he let some people suffer so badly?" Finally after 7 years of dealing with this I got an answer from my best friend Erin and she said "Maybe because he knew you would do something positive with your diagnosis and experience. Just like Jesus did."

Since at that time I didn't have an answer, I started to lose faith. My friend Natalie was telling me one day how she lost her faith. Her friend told her about carrying healing crystals on her. So she gave me an Azurite to try out. From that day on I was hooked! I have researched and started to journal about all different types of crystals. That seemed to take my mind off the crappy situation that I was currently in. When I got tired of reading, writing, and coloring. I would walk around the hospital and try to spread my positivity through the cancer ward and the rest of the hospital. Some days I wasn't so positive and wouldn't look at or speak to a single soul.

During moments when you felt weighed down or overwhelmed, what did that season of depression look like—and what helped you begin finding joy again?

I woke up one day and decided that I wasn't going to let this shit storm of a life get me down anymore! I told my husband in the beginning that I wasn't going to turn all soft and nice like most people do when they get cancer. Well, guess what? I gradually started to change. I began to see life differently and realized I didn't want to be that angry, unhappy, miserable person.

That's when I started my daily affirmations. My three mantras that I said every morning were: "Carly, you are a badass bitch, and you can do anything you put your mind to!" Next was, "It is what it is, so get up and choose happiness." Finally, I reminded myself, "The world needs a Carly. Everybody deserves to enjoy a Carly. Carly deserves to be happy!" I'm telling you, these affirmations help! I still recite them every morning and love the positive mood they create for me.

Another way I managed my depression, anxiety, and pain was through marijuana. It wasn't legal here in Ohio, but I didn't care! All the medications I was given made me feel horrible, and the cannabis was the only thing that helped. Of course, I didn't smoke it while I was in the hospital—silly me! I ate it instead. My friend made "special cookies" for me while I was in the hospital. After my treats kicked in, I would have one if not 2 dance parties a day. Nothing like shaking your grove thang' to kick your shit mood! Depending on my mood, I would listen to Mumford and Sons, Macklemore or The Dixie Chicks.

One day, when I was having an awful day, I decided to eat two cookies! Man, was I feeling good! I was lying in my bed, really hoping someone would give me a surprise visit. I heard a familiar voice down the hallway, and I knew it was coming for me. My first thought was "oh shitballs my teacher is about to see me stoned out of my mind and this is going to be interesting." It was my fellow survivor and one of my favorite teachers, Mr. Michael Day, who also had my son, Caleb, in his class. We sat and chatted for over two hours. He shared his feelings of survivor's remorse and mentioned how he would often visit the cancer wards to talk with patients. Our conversations always leave me with hope I didn't know I needed. I will forever hold this memory close to my heart.

When I was home, I tried to be in "mom mode," and that seemed to help my depression. I couldn't do much, but I started to feel better mentally and physically. I remember one day I was so down in and my husband Jimmy and son Sam took me to one of my favorite places, Hobby Lobby. Knowing I couldn't walk for long, they got me a wheelchair and pushed me around. They were such troopers going up and down all the Christmas aisles. Even though it was only the second week of November, Jimmy hates putting up Christmas stuff before December. He said "If it makes you happy, then I'm happy and we will put it up!" The next few days it looked like Christmas threw up all over my house. I couldn't have been happier! Happy wife, happy life. Right?

When anxiety began to take hold, what thoughts or situations triggered it—and what helped you find moments of calm in the midst of it?

Chemotherapy weeks turned into a crash course in letting go of hair, dignity, and any hope of having a sex life with my husband. I learned to let go of what I couldn't control (somewhat). The side effects, the test results, the uncertainties. Instead, I focused on what I could control: my body, my family, and finding moments of gratitude, however big or small. Once I did that, life got a little less stressful. Over time, the anxiety that once consumed me began to lose its grip.

As the weeks went by, something shifted. Even though I felt like dog shit 97% of the time, I found myself taking breaths. Deep breaths and blowing them out every time the pain gets so bad. It helped. So then I googled "breathing exercises." When I was/am anxious, overstimulated, and about to snap. I started to take one long deep breath for 1,3, and 5 seconds and then let it out. I just love how it calms my brain down just a few notches. I don't "Hulk out" on anyone.

Another thing I find comforting is my dark, bubbly, outgoing personality. I'm a talker. I love learning new things, laughing, and sharing life stories or lessons. If I have any tips or tricks, I'm always willing to share them — sometimes a little too much. I tend to overshare, probably about 75% of the time. That's the ADHD. It has played a big role in my cancer journey, helping me cope with my new life after my MCS diagnosis. Laughter has been shown to reduce stress hormones and release endorphins, improving mood and reducing anxiety. Using humor can help people shift their perspective, find meaning in their experiences, and regain a sense of control — all of which can boost resilience.

Having the support system I had still blows me away. It brings tears to my eyes whenever I think about it. My mom and dad stepped in and took over everything at home and with our boys. Jimmy would come and sit with me at the hospital for a few hours each day. Honestly, I couldn't have done it without them.

Our friend Anne set up a Meal Train for us, and we had four dinners a week delivered by family and friends. It was an absolute godsend! If we had to rely on Jimmy's cooking, we would have starved.

My friend Diana had rubber bracelets made with "Carly Crusaders" on them and sold them. My buddy Scott organized a golf outing, and holy moly, the turnout was incredible. The golf course had to borrow carts from other courses. They said, "It was the biggest turnout we've ever seen — this woman must be very, very special."

I stood there a few times throughout the day and just cried happy tears. Knowing so many people cared about my family and were willing to help us out is one of the best feelings in the world.

Chemotherapy weeks became an exercise in surrender. I learned to let go of what I couldn't control. The side effects, the test results, the uncertainties. Instead, I focused on what I could control: my body, resting when I was tired, and finding moments of gratitude, however big or small. Once I did that, life got a little less stressful. Over time, the anxiety that once consumed me began to lose its grip.

The day or two before my scans, I'm not a fun person to be around. I hate how I just celebrated my six year cancer free anniversary April 11, 2025 and I still have to go through this. Don't get me wrong anxiety is still there but I'm not a raging psycho like I use to be. The fear was still there, but it no longer defined me. I found a calm that was deeper than the chaos. A calm rooted in the present moment, the simple act of breathing, the support of those around me, and the quiet strength I never knew I had.

But in the midst of that chaos, something surprising happened. My world grew smaller, and the small things started to matter more. The I love you from a friend, my dogs Harper and Mavis always at my feet, the way the sunlight streamed through the window and painted the walls gold. I began to anchor myself to those tiny moments, letting them pull me back from this shit storm.

And slowly, the anxiety that had once consumed me began to loosen its grip. The fear was still there, yes, but it no longer held me hostage. I had learned to live in the small, quiet moments. I had learned to breathe through the fear, to hold onto the present.

What did you feel you lost through your cancer journey—and how did you begin to rediscover a sense of purpose or fulfillment?

Transforming from loss to fulfillment during a cancer battle is one of the deepest, most courageous journeys I feel a person can take. It's not about bypassing the pain or pretending to be okay. It's about finding purpose, presence, and power in the experience, not avoiding it.

As a woman, going through cancer in your mid-30s was hard. I'm not your typical girlie girl but I like to feel confident in my skin. When I lost my hair, I thought I would be ok. I didn't cry when we shaved it. I cried while I got ready to go out. I hated that I didn't have hair. I hated that all the other women got to do their hair and eyebrows. I hated it when they would complain about them. I told my friend, "I was going to throat punch her if she complained about it to me again." I wouldn't actually. That's when I started telling people, "that maybe they should shave their heads at least once in their lifetime. Being bald and having it grow back, looking all crazy. That right there was the most humbling experience of my life." When my hair grew back, I didn't have the thick curly gray hair like people said I would get. I have the same damn hair but thinner! So thin I got diagnosed with aplasia. Now I take 4 meds to grow hair, and man, is it coming in!

After thinking about all that I have "lost" during this process, and man did I lose a lot! One thing I miss the most is the "everyday me." I have just learned that this is "the new me I've never met before," and I have to accept her. When people think about cancer, they usually think about the big things, chemo, surgery, and hair loss. Maybe even the survival odds. They don't talk enough about what it does to your everyday self. The version of you that gets out of bed, cooks a meal, drives to Target, remembers birthdays, and multitasks like a champ. That's the version of me I miss the most. Cancer didn't just hit me physically, it hit my everything. My body wasn't mine anymore. My brain? Ha. Most days I can't find words, thoughts, or the will to finish a sentence. I forget people's names. Hell, I can't even find my way around my hometown sometimes.

The mental toll, you ask? Oh, she came a swinging. Anxiety. Fog. Grief. Resentment. That. The feeling of being trapped inside a body that used to carry me freely. Now needs you to babysit it 24/7. It is infuriating, and yet…That's where the transformation started. Not when I beat the odds. Not when my hair grew back. But in the small, painfully slow rebuilding of my everyday self! I celebrate the weirdest victories, like waking up with a positive attitude. Or cooking something without forgetting to turn off the stove. Or hell, walking 500 steps a day. I have now worked up to 15,000 steps! I've learned to appreciate energy like it's a luxury. I stopped taking my body for granted. I started listening when it whispered instead of waiting for it to scream. She still screams a lot, but I just love to see how much farther I can push her daily.

I may never be the "old me" again. Maybe that's not the goal. Maybe the goal is to finally live my life to its fullest. To feel joy, even if my bones are killing me. To find fulfillment even when my brain is foggy. My everyday abilities may have been the biggest loss. But I'm reclaiming them, one fragile step at a time. That's been my greatest victory. It's okay to grieve what cancer stole. It's okay to miss the version of you who could do all the daily things. But know this, you are not broken. You are becoming the most beautiful, brutal, badass version of you! So fight the fight. It's so worth meeting the stronger, wiser, calmer, and loving version of you!

This journey wasn't just about baldness. It was about becoming. It was about learning that confidence has nothing to do with a ponytail. That being seen, really seen, isn't about how you look in the mirror. It's about showing up. Scarred, bald, and sickly... and still you. Now, I don't just see a woman fighting cancer. I see a woman rewriting what beauty means. A woman who laughs, even through the ache. A woman who can turn hair loss into humor, and grief into grit. This is not the glow-up I planned, but it's the one I'll never trade. I can finally say I'm damn proud of myself!

Did you experience anger during your journey—toward your situation, others, or even God—and what helped you begin shifting toward gratitude?

Some people find inner peace during treatment. I found a deep dark, fiery pit of sarcasm and rage. My "big dead black heart" was raging! I was angry at everything! My body, healthy people, the wind blowing the wrong way. I was angry that my husband would maybe have to start over with another woman. I was angry that I may not see my boys become boyfriends, husbands, dads and hell even grandpa's. I was mad that my family and friends were affected by all of this. I was mad that I wouldn't be able to enjoy another amazing concert, good laughs with my friends, and a simple I love you from a loved one.

That kind of anger is exhausting! I felt like nobody around me understood what I was really going through. I just wanted it all to be over. I wanted my old life back. I hate that I was mean as hell to my husband and kids. I wish I knew an easier way to deal with what all we were going through as a family at that time. On top of my cancer we were dealing with, my son was also having a very hard time. His depression got really serious. He needed me. A healthy me. One who could fully grasp what was going on around us. I felt like all of this was my fault and that pissed me off more. Now I was fucking angry at myself, cancer, and honestly God for testing me like this.

After being so damn angry I decided I needed to change. I was told that "gratitude doesn't always come from the big things. Sometimes, it's found in unexpected places." That's when I started to notice and enjoy "the small things in life." One I specifically remember is when I was crying to a nurse and saying all I wanted to do was to quit chemo. She told me "Nope! Not an option lady!" Then she left the room. She came back in with a blanket she made me and a Damnit Doll. She said "I had a feeling you were going to come in here ready to quit and I was going to have to try and change your mind." I'm glad she did.

Once I started making it a habit to be more positive on a daily basis, life got a little easier. Slowly, my rage gave away to something quieter, gratitude. It didn't hit me like a lightning bolt. It crept in, soft and stubborn, reminding me that even in the worst moments, there were people and pieces of your life worth holding on to. Cancer took a lot from me but it also gave me a brutal kind of clarity, and for that strangely enough I'm thankful.

It's been years now on this cancer journey, and today I find myself thinking about how complicated it is to transform anger into gratitude. It's not a straight line. It's messy. Some days I feel strong, peaceful, even thankful. Other days, the weight of it all hits me again, and I'm right back in the thick of it. And I'm learning… that's okay. Cancer really is the gift that keeps on giving physically, emotionally, spiritually. It shows up in unexpected ways, long after the treatments, the scans, the appointments. But in its wake, it also offers something else: a chance to truly feel. I've come to understand that healing isn't just about the body. It's about letting myself experience the full range of emotions. Especially the hard ones. Anger. Sadness. Grief. I don't push them away as much anymore. I sit with them. And somehow, in doing that, I've started to notice something surprising: gratitude. Gratitude for the life I'm still living. For the people who stayed. For the quiet moments I might've missed before. For a strength in me I didn't know existed. No, it's not always graceful. But it's real. And maybe that's enough.

When you felt most out of control or helpless, what was that experience like—and what helped you begin to regain a sense of strength and empowerment?

I was told that it's okay to feel helpless and overwhelmed at the beginning of this journey. Cancer is a major life event that shakes everything up. You don't have to force yourself into feeling "empowered" all the time. There are moments when it's about simply being, processing, and allowing yourself the grace to not have everything figured out right away. Empowerment during a cancer journey doesn't mean feeling strong every day or even every moment. It's about accepting where you are, knowing that each day is part of the process, and that it's okay to have moments of feeling vulnerable and scared.

Asking for help didn't come easy. I was used to being the one who took care of everything. But that day, the exhaustion was overwhelming, and I couldn't ignore it anymore. Cancer has a way of humbling you, especially when the "Red Devil" chemo is tearing through your body and you're too weak to even walk to the bathroom without support. That day, I had no choice. I had to ask my husband, Jimmy, to go out and get me a sitz bath. I couldn't even go myself which crushed me more than I expected. My Fitbit said I'd only taken 140 steps that day, and it was already 7 PM. The fatigue, the aches, the nausea, everything had caught up to me.

When Jimmy came home and got everything set up for me, I eased myself into the warm water, and I just cried. I sat there thinking, How did I get here? When did I get so sick? That sense of helplessness was suffocating. I didn't feel like myself anymore and as a mother, that feeling of being weak, of not being able to care for myself or anyone else was devastating. I felt utterly helpless and that's not a feeling a mother, one who's used to being the strong one, ever wants to feel.

Then Jimmy walked in. With clippers in hand. Right there, in the middle of my pity party, he started trimming his beard and his nose hairs. Right there, in the bathroom with me. I know how strange that sounds. But in the middle of my pain, here was my life anchor, trying to make me laugh and cheering me up in the middle of this shitstorm of a life. At that moment, I knew I was going to be okay. Maybe not all at once. But I had him by my side, loving me, lifting me, and making me laugh even when I felt like I had nothing left. That gave me a flicker of something stronger than the Red Devil could take away—hope. Hope that everything is going to be ok. I was going to be ok!

That sitz bath moment was a turning point for me. Not because I was physically stronger after it, but because I realized I wasn't alone. I began to understand that asking for help isn't a weakness. Sometimes, it's the first step toward healing. The kind of love and support that makes you laugh while you're crying is a form of power I never knew I needed. Empowerment didn't look like standing tall. It looked like sitting in warm water with tears and laughter mingling together.

I now realize that empowerment doesn't look like being able to do everything on my own. It looked like being able to ask for help and accept it, knowing that help could come in the form of love, laughter, and support. And with Jimmy by my side, I could face the rest of the journey with a little more strength, a little more hope, and a lot more heart.

Were there moments when you felt alone in your journey—and what helped you begin to feel seen, supported, and truly loved?

Loneliness is a bitch. Down right bitch! Six years out and it still gets the best of me. Sometimes I just cry and wish we didnt have to go through all this bull shit just to live a long fucking happy life! Isn't it bad enough that we get cancer but now we have to have all these horrible feelings build up inside us and eventually explode into some horrible mouth diarrhea or God forbid something worse.

I felt lonely on multiple levels. From situational, social, self imposed and emotional. Unless you have truly gone through something so shitty in life, I feel you will never know how bad it really is. During my cancer treatment, I often felt isolated not just physically because of the exhaustion and time spent in the hospital, but emotionally too, as it's hard for others to truly understand what I'm going through, and sometimes I pull away because I didn't want to burden anyone with my struggles. During treatment I would get FOMO (fear of missing out) really bad. It wasn't the "going out" per say that I missed. It was the conversations, laughs, hugs, holidays and so on. That my friends is a loneliness that was hard to shake. I wanted to be able to enjoy all of these with my special people.

The self imposed and emotional loneliness is what got the best of me. Sometimes being alone felt safer than trying to hold a conversation with someone who's worried, or cheerful, or just… normal. Most of the time I didn't want to be comforted. I don't want to be pitied. I just want to be invisible for a little while, where no one expects anything from me. Not even a smile. I know this isolation was something I was choosing. It's not fair to the people who care, but right then, solitude felt like the only space where I could breathe.

After all the heartache and loneliness, I wanted to feel all the feels again. I missed being a mom, a wife, a daughter, and a friend. I was ready to feel like a woman again! I was ready to try and love myself again. I was ready to let others love me again. So I started to say and believe my morning mantras. "I am worthy of loving myself and loving others. I am kind and gentle with myself." My most favorite one is one I saw on Facebook "Chemo tried to cancel me. Cute I rsvp'd with middle fingers and mascara running. I bleed glitter, puke rage, and still smirk in the face of death. Crown slipped? Never I stapled that bitch to my scalp!"

Now that I'm looking back, I wish I never made myself and my family feel so bad. It wasn't worth it. I was hurting. I was scared. But I see now that I was also hiding from them, from myself, from the pain I didn't want to feel or face. And it cost all of us so much connection. I did the work. I faced the darkness. I healed what needed to be healed and I'm still healing. But now I do it with open hands, not clenched fists. With love in my voice instead of fear in my silence.

I'm proud of that. I'm grateful I found my way back, not just to them, but to myself.

Were there moments when you felt deep despair—and what helped you begin to find hope again, even if just a small glimpse at first?

Despair can be dramatic, hope is the bitch who refuses to quit! Before cancer, my biggest crisis was what to make for dinner. After cancer? Let's just say the bar for a "bad day" got raised significantly. Getting diagnosed felt like getting walloped by a steamroller. Then it backed up over me. Slowly. With the driver yelling out the window, "By the way, it's cancer!" I didn't have some grand, inspirational moment. I didn't suddenly become wise and brave. No. I panicked. I cried so hard I nearly choked on my own snot and found the darkest hole I could crawl into.

It felt like my whole identity collapsed into one word: cancer. That word took over my thoughts, my body, my relationships, hell, even my browser history. I grieved the life I had and the life I thought I was going to have. People kept telling me to "stay strong," which is basically code for, "Please make me feel less uncomfortable around your suffering." I hated that phrase. It made me feel like I was failing as a wife, a mother, a woman.

And my body? Oh, it betrayed me big time. When my hair fell out. I got called "Sir" more times than I care to count. One time, my son and I were walking into Target. A guy in his 20s working there looked right at me and said, "Excuse me, Sir, do you have a minute?" I ignored him. Then he said it again. I stopped, took a deep breath, and said in the calmest voice I could manage and with the smile of someone who's about to snap: "You are a fucking idiot. You just shamed a woman with no hair because I have cancer. For the love of God, I'm a woman. You should've figured that out when you were staring at my boobs as I walked in. If I had the strength, I'd throat punch you right now." I walked away and then again, from behind me I heard "Excuse me, Sir…" I ignored him but my son Sam didn't. He spun around and shouted "She is a WOMAN with CANCER! I'm sorry, Mom. I hate when stupid people say stupid stuff." That boy will always have his mama's back.

Then something happened. Not a miracle. Not an epiphany. Something smaller. One night, I was out at dinner with "My Loves" my husband and two boys – Caleb, my oldest, suddenly busted out laughing. That laugh. I hadn't heard him laugh like that in a long time. I swear to you, that sound cracked something open inside me. That's when I realized that despair didn't own me. Not unless I give it the deed. And I was done paying rent to sadness.

I started fighting back. Because I wanted to see my family happy, and they wanted to see me happy. I didn't get here easily. I hauled my ass, middle fingers raised, through a full-blown shitstorm. Because sometimes hope isn't gentle. Sometimes it's feral. Sometimes it looks like sarcasm. Sometimes it's survival in sweatpants, dragging its way to the party carrying vodka and bad decisions. Hope isn't about pretending everything's fine. It's not about being fearless. It's about showing up even when you are scared. It's about laughing when you're not supposed to. It's about letting the dark exist, but refusing to let it win. You don't have to be a hero. You just have to be here. One ridiculous, brave, beautiful day at a time. So here I am scared, hurting, tired…but alive. Living this wild, imperfect life to the fullest, in my own way, on my own terms.

Did you experience any feelings of guilt during your journey—and what helped you begin to release that and move toward self-acceptance?

I used to feel guilty about everything. Guilty for not catching it sooner, for being exhausted, and not being able to do my wifey duties. For crying all the time in front of my kids, for not "staying positive" 24/7. It was all just too much. This burden that we put on our shoulders is ridiculous. Here are some things I told myself when navigating my guilt.

I don't have to make my cancer journey easy for everyone else by pretending I'm fine. I did for a long time and it was for the damn birds!

I don't need to earn my right to be here by being grateful every second of the day. I fought hard, really fucking hard and learned a few life lessons along the way.

Survivors' remorse/chemo envy is an absolute bitch and it is ok to feel all the feels!

All this self blaming bull shit just wastes your precious time. Quit it already! Finally

No amount of guilt can change the past and no amount of anxiety can change the future!

Like I may have said I'm a cryer. No matter what it is. Grief sure can screw with your brain. Even though my doctors said I was in decent shape, I didn't feel like that. It felt like death! When you feel like that you start to think like that and then boom! You are in the middle of a shitstorm. I couldn't help thinking that every holiday, birthday, anniversary was going to be the last. That's a hard pill to swallow for a youngish wife and mom. I wanted to be a part of every special moment and the everyday stuff. If I didn't make it I felt that it would be my "my fault" someone was sad on their special day. Or worse my husband would replace me with a Carly 2.0. So my only decision was to fight. Fight so I could be there for all their special moments.

Honestly it was probably a year after my diagnosis, it took me until I realized that I was exhausted from carrying all this guilt. So I decided to start treating myself with some love. I realized that grace, not guilt, is what I needed. Grace for my body. Grace for my mind. Grace for the parts of me that were trying so hard to heal with little to no help from doctors. Since all but one (My oncologist, and he has only seen it one other time) hasn't seen this type of cancer before and knows about all of its side effects. Also lot of dark humor and a whole lot of "fuck this shit" I'm not a saint. I'm a woman who lived through hell, and came out swinging. That doesn't make me ungrateful. That makes me a survivor.

I hope all fighters and survivors know that you don't owe the world a perfectly healed version of yourself. You don't have to be grateful every second. You just have to be honest. Well here it goes… I'm a little broken, angry, sad, thankful but I'm very much alive and trying. Really trying to love this messy, scarred-up version of myself. Not because I feel guilt and I enjoy punishing myself. It's because I finally fucking deserve to be happy and that is enough for me and my family!