Coming Home to My Body: Lessons from a Cancer Journey

At 36, just four days before my wedding, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Up until that moment, I thought I had a pact with my body—a quiet, implicit understanding that it would rise to any challenge I set for it. I had been a runner, a climber, a yogi, and, more than anything, a believer in the resilience of my physical self. My body had always delivered, until it didn’t.

Cancer was not just a medical diagnosis for me—it was a betrayal. My body, which had carried me through marathons and adventures, was now a danger to itself, silently working against me. That realization shattered my trust, propelling me inward, into a fortress of logic and problem-solving.

For years, I thrived on action. I built to-do lists, tackled logistical challenges, and found comfort in controlling what I could. Vulnerability? Not my thing. It was easier to carry the weight of my fears alone than to expose them. I buried my anxiety and grief deep within, thinking that if I ignored them long enough, they’d simply disappear. Spoiler alert: they didn’t.

The Cost of Disconnection

After my initial treatment, I moved on—or so I thought. Within a year, I was back at work, planning a family, and letting the rhythms of life lull me into a sense of normalcy. But beneath the surface, there was an undercurrent of unprocessed stress. I had learned to function, not to heal.

By 2016, life had piled on more stress. I was the sole breadwinner, juggling work travel, two small children, and a relentless need to perform. My body became an afterthought, a vessel to carry my brain around as I tackled deadlines and responsibilities. Fitness fell by the wayside, surgeries took their toll, and I lost touch with the physical self I had once revered.

The pandemic amplified everything. Like many, I absorbed stress from the world around me. Headlines, layoffs, family pressures—it was all too much. But I pushed on, as high performers do, ignoring the warning signs my body was sending.

Then, in 2021, the cancer came back.

A Wake-Up Call

If my first diagnosis shook me, the recurrence was a thunderclap. This time, I couldn’t just muscle through. I had to confront the patterns that had brought me here: the relentless drive, the disconnection from my body, the inability to process stress.

It was in the aftermath of that second diagnosis that I discovered somatics. For the first time, I explored what it meant to truly inhabit my body again—not as a machine to be optimized but as a home to be cared for.

Somatics taught me to listen to the whispers of my body before they turned into screams. It challenged me to process stress, not bury it; to embrace vulnerability, not avoid it. This journey back to myself has been as profound as any marathon I’ve run, requiring a different kind of endurance and courage.

Lessons for High Performers

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: ignoring your body’s needs is not a sustainable strategy. As professionals, we’re often rewarded for our mental acuity, our ability to solve problems, and our capacity to deliver under pressure. But none of that matters if we lose the foundation that supports it all—our physical and emotional well-being.

Stress is not just an abstract concept; it lives in your body, shaping your health in ways you may not even realize. Processing it is not a luxury—it’s a necessity.

Moving Forward

I’m still learning what it means to prioritize my health in a world that often equates worth with productivity. But I know this: coming home to my body has been the most important work I’ve ever done. It’s an ongoing process, one that requires intention, grace, and the willingness to let go of old habits.

If you’re reading this and feeling a twinge of recognition, I encourage you to pause. Ask yourself: What is my body trying to tell me? The answer might just change your life.