By Claire Wentz

A cancer diagnosis reshapes every part of life — body, mind, and spirit. Self-care in this journey is not about perfection or relentless positivity; it’s about gentleness, presence, and honoring your needs. Caring for your whole self can support healing, resilience, and a deeper sense of peace, even amid uncertainty.

Key Takeaways

• Small, intentional acts of self-care create big shifts in wellbeing.
• Spiritual wellness—whatever that means to you—can restore strength and calm.
• Nutrition, movement, and rest should adapt to your energy and treatment plan.
• Setting boundaries, saying “no,” and finding community help protect emotional balance.
• Mindfulness and gratitude can turn daily moments into sources of healing.

Nourishing the Body with Compassion

What you eat during treatment matters less than how you approach nourishment. Focus on gentle foods that comfort and strengthen: whole grains, fruits, vegetables, and plenty of hydration. Some people find that small, frequent meals help manage nausea and fatigue.

If you’re unsure what’s safe or helpful, consult a dietitian who specializes in oncology. Listening to your body (not comparing it to others) is the most compassionate approach.

The Power of Movement

Exercise can be a grounding form of care, even in small doses. Walking around the block, stretching in bed, or practicing gentle yoga can reduce fatigue, improve mood, and help with sleep. Before starting or adjusting an exercise plan, talk with your healthcare provider. The goal isn’t intensity. Instead, it’s presence.

Managing Stress Through Stillness and Breath

Cancer brings emotional weight: fear, anger, uncertainty. Mindfulness, meditation, or deep breathing offer a way to quiet that inner noise. Even five minutes of slow, intentional breathing can lower cortisol levels and create a sense of steadiness.

How to Begin Mindful Breathing:

Repeat for several cycles, allowing thoughts to drift without judgment.

Find a comfortable position.

Inhale for a count of four.

Hold briefly, then exhale for a count of six.

Spiritual Grounding: Finding Meaning and Connection

Spiritual wellness isn’t about religion unless you want it to be. It’s about connection to yourself, to others, and to something larger than your diagnosis. Some people find comfort in prayer, others in nature, art, or journaling. Lighting a candle, listening to sacred music, or writing a daily gratitude note can create small moments of transcendence.

Here’s one approach to reconnecting with spiritual strength:

The Strength of Boundaries and Support

Learning to say “no” is a vital part of self-care. Declining extra commitments allows space for healing. Share openly with loved ones about what support helps most — whether that’s meals, company, or quiet.

How to Build Your Support Circle:

• Identify three people you can call when you need comfort or practical help.
• Join a cancer support group in your community or online.
• Ask one trusted person to help manage updates or appointments when you’re tired.

Caring for Your Inner World

Self-care is not just about the physical; it’s about the emotional and spiritual landscape within you. Create a ritual of peace — morning tea, soft music, or a nightly gratitude reflection. These simple actions reinforce that you are more than your diagnosis.

Keeping Track of Your Health and Records

Staying organized can help you feel empowered in your care journey. Maintain a digital or paper file of your test results, medications, and treatment notes so that you and your care team always have access. Saving these records as PDFs keeps them consistent and easy to share. You can also try this simple tool to convert files to PDF with ease.

Daily Practices for Whole-Self Care

To anchor wellness in your day, try these gentle actions:

• Drink water regularly, even when not thirsty.
• Eat something fresh and colorful once a day.
• Rest without guilt — naps are medicine.
• Step outside for sunlight or fresh air.
• Repeat an affirmation: “I am allowed to rest and heal.”
• End your day with gratitude for one small good thing.

The Heart of Healing: Staying Positive Without Pressure

Staying positive doesn’t mean ignoring pain or fear. It means allowing those emotions while still noticing moments of joy, beauty, and connection. Resilience grows when we make space for both hope and honesty.

Frequently Asked (and Deeply Felt) Questions

These questions often arise for people navigating cancer and self-care:

1. How can I balance treatment demands with personal time?
Start by scheduling recovery days after treatments. Protect your rest the way you’d protect an appointment. Delegate errands or ask loved ones to handle small tasks.

2. What if I feel disconnected from my old spiritual beliefs?
It’s normal to question faith or meaning during illness. Explore new expressions — reading poetry, talking with a chaplain, or meditating outdoors. Allow your spirituality to evolve naturally.

3. Is it selfish to prioritize my needs over others’?
Not at all. Healing requires energy and attention. Meeting your own needs first allows you to give from overflow, not depletion.

4. How do I talk to friends who don’t know what to say?
Let them know honesty is okay. You might say, “I don’t need answers — I just need your presence.” Many people appreciate clear guidance on how to help.

5. Can mindfulness really reduce treatment anxiety?
Yes. Research shows that mindful breathing and grounding techniques can lower stress hormones and improve sleep, making treatments easier to tolerate.

6. What’s one thing I can do when everything feels overwhelming?
Pause. Place your hand over your heart, take a slow breath, and remind yourself: “I am safe in this moment.” Simple grounding can bring calm even in chaos.

Conclusion

Healing is not linear, and self-care isn’t a checklist to complete. It’s a rhythm — of rest and action, connection and solitude, hope and acceptance. Each act of care, no matter how small, is an act of courage. You are not alone on this path, and every gentle choice you make in your own favor is a form of healing.

My story is a story of elephants—and of hope.

Elephants are deeply social and emotional beings. Their families are led by females, built on lifelong bonds, and often include non-relatives who are welcomed as their own. They mourn their dead. They protect the vulnerable. In many ways, they are just like us.

I grew up with an incredible family of origin. But this is a story about the families we choose—and the ones who choose us.

In 1990, I moved from Minnesota to attend UNC Charlotte, knowing no one and having never set foot in North Carolina. I found my first chosen family in the theatre department. Long nights in costume shops and scene shops forged lifelong bonds. We were united by art, passion, and purpose. I met my future husband there, and when we married in 2002, our wedding party was filled not only with nieces, but with members of our theatre family—people who had become kin.

Over the years, we were adopted into more herds: work families, hobby families, and eventually our own, when our son was born in 2010.

Then, in May 2022, everything changed.

What I assumed was menopause led to a long-overdue exam—and a diagnosis of cervical cancer. I was initially staged at 1, with a treatment plan that felt manageable. But sharing the news felt overwhelming. How do you keep everyone informed without reliving the trauma over and over?

I created a private Facebook page called What a Beautiful Mess. What began as a way to share updates quickly became something much more. It was therapeutic. It was honest. And it became a community—mostly women—who laughed and cried with me, brought meals, offered rides, and held space for my fear.

Then, in June 2022, a scan revealed the cancer had spread to my lymph nodes. I was re-staged to Stage 4b. There is a big difference between Stage 1 and Stage 4.

Still searching for connection, I googled “cervical cancer support” and found Cervivor—a global community of patient advocates. From the moment I joined, I was welcomed. These women understood instantly what I was going through. For the first time, I wasn’t explaining—I was being understood.

But I still craved in-person connection. So I started leaving bracelets at treatment centers, each with a note reminding fellow warriors that no one fights alone. Many of those connections grew into friendships, advocacy partnerships, and sisterhoods.

In January 2023, I hosted my first cervical cancer fundraiser, Circle-Up with Christy. That same month, I attended the Cervical Cancer Summit virtually and realized I wanted more than survival—I wanted to advocate. I could fight for others while fighting for myself.

After countless treatments, surgeries, side effects, and setbacks, I received the words every cancer patient dreams of hearing: N.E.D.—No Evidence of Disease in May 2023. My many circles celebrated together.

In August 2023, I added another circle to my family when I was chosen to attend a Teal Diva Retreat. It was my first time spending extended, intentional time with other gynecologic cancer survivors and thrivers—and it was truly life-changing. I formed deep friendships and experienced a level of sisterhood I had never known before.

So much happened in the mountains that weekend, but as they say, the first rule of the retreat is: don’t talk about the retreat (if you know, you know).

Since then, I have remained an active participant in Teal Diva events and was later honored with the opportunity to facilitate at another retreat—an experience that felt both humbling and full-circle.

In September 2023, I attended Cervivor School in Seattle, where I was trained in storytelling for advocacy. Soon after, I successfully submitted proclamations declaring January 2024 Cervical Cancer Awareness Month at both the county and state level—standing proudly before my community to use my voice for change.

People joke that cancer is “the gift that keeps on giving.” But the truth is this: cancer gave me a community. A fierce, compassionate, unstoppable circle of women I now call family.

My advocacy logo is an elephant with a cervical cancer ribbon, inspired by this truth:
When female elephants sense danger, they circle up—protecting the vulnerable, masking weakness, and standing guard with fierce love.

There is always room in my family for more elephants.

Story written by: Christy Chambers | photo credit: Molly Dockery Photography

Ellyn and Debra first met through a social meetup, unaware that their brief introduction would grow into a meaningful bond. In October, both women were selected to attend the Teal Diva Retreat—an experience designed to create a safe, nurturing space where attendees can heal, build lasting friendships, and develop vital support networks.

When Debra learned that Ellyn was facing surgery alone, she didn’t hesitate. Debra and her husband arranged to pick Ellyn up and take her to the hospital, and Debra stayed by her side throughout the entire day—waiting during the procedure, taking careful notes during the post-surgery consultation, and ensuring Ellyn made it home safely.

What began as a simple introduction became a powerful example of connection, compassion, and the life-changing impact of community.

What a great example of a little lift – small acts of kindness that “lift” a woman’s spirits, reminding her she’s not alone in her journey. Little Lifts are just one part of Teal Diva’s Sisterhood Series. The Sisterhood Series is where we meet outside the clinic — a space for connection, laughter, and healing through shared experience. It’s about rediscovering yourself, building friendships, and remembering that joy still exists, even in the midst of cancer. It encompasses Art Therapy, Eco Therapy, Social Meetups, Little Lifts and Hope Notes.

In this giving month of December, let us remember that the most meaningful gifts are not always material. The gift of oneself—of time, presence, and compassion—is often the greatest gift of all. This simple act of kindness became a powerful reminder that community truly changes lives, and that sometimes the deepest healing comes from knowing someone genuinely cares. Connection is the best medicine.

by Cheryl Van Allen

When Teal Divas posted their Facebook Question “I’m not just a survivor, I’m a ___________” I was hesitant to respond.  All the other posts were ones of encouragement and strength.  These women, these strong, resilient women, women like me who are now or in the past having to face down this beast of a disease, this silent killer, posted “I’m not just a survivor, I’m a thrived, a warrior, a woman of faith, an advocate.”  And that is USUALLY the type of post I would make, too!  It is in my nature to be “glass half full.”  But I wrote what I was feeling in that moment.   “I’m not just a survivor but I am a-fraid.”

My name is Cheryl Van Allen, and I’m a Warrior who has been battling Stage IIIC Ovarian Cancer for three years.  I have high grade serous carcinoma, am platinum resistant and am about to start my 4th line of defense in 3 years. 

During those three years and 3 lines of defense, I’ve had a massive debulking surgery, 2 allergic reactions to drugs that ended up with an epi-pen (or two!) and ER visits.  I’ve had to have cataract surgery due to side effects, and had a full 6 treatments of a drug I’m allergic to via a process called desensitization, which meant being hospitalized for the infusions overnight.  It has been a long, bumpy road with MANY MANY days and nights of fear, sadness, disbelief, devastation and sickness, plus all the other fun side effects like baldness and neuropathy, just to name a couple.  There were days I never left my pj’s, just sat in a rocker and read, did NYT puzzles, watched comedy movies to make me laugh and texted with friends.

But those three years have also brought SO MUCH LOVE and some GREAT adventures.  I was humbled by the support of friends, far and near, who cooked for us or sent us gift cards, who sent snail mail, text messages, gifts both wonderful and silly, and MUCH needed prayers for me, my husband and my now 25 year old son.  My husband has been my absolute ROCK – taking me to all my treatments and appointments.  I am BEYOND grateful for these people, and the amazing team who has kept me alive for these past 3 years!   

My husband and I have traveled more than we had our whole lives in these past three years, some alone, some with family, some with friends – Key West, NYC, New Orleans, Ocean City, a two week trip of a lifetime to Italy and France, and most recently, Seattle.  I even did my very FIRST solo trip to NYC, which was SO freeing and empowering!!  We’ve had so many moments of sheer joy experiencing new places, cultures and meeting people along the way, as well as spending treasured moments with friends and family.

Normally, I write about joy, gratitude and encourage others to LIVE their lives to the fullest.  But on the day Teal Divas posted that question in FB?  I had just gotten bad news – my genetic testing came back with no matches to trials, my cancer was back and tumors were all growing (I can actually feel one, which is SO scary) and I was facing down a lessening number of options for treatment. It was starting to feel like the chapters in the book of my life were coming to a close.  THAT was why in that moment, I chose to write:

“I’m not just a survivor – I’m a-fraid.  Afraid that they will run out of treatments to keep me alive while we pray for a cure.  Afraid of leaving my son and husband mother/wife-less.  Afraid of not having more time.  But fear won’t stop me…just makes me take time to process before I pivot.”

“I FIGHT so I can LIVE, for myself and my family and friends.” 

I have since processed all this news and pivoted to “we have a plan, let’s kick the beast’s butt!”   I am back to “I FIGHT so I can LIVE, for myself and my family and friends.”  I am back to “I fight because this drug may be the one, or at LEAST the one that keeps me alive till they FIND or MAKE the one!”  That is the person I am, 95% of the time.

But there is that other 5% – and I believe transparency is incredibly important.  We shouldn’t have to fake it to make it, to put on a happy face all the time.  People need to know how scary this is for us, that the emotional toll is as challenging as the physical.  We are not always feeling like warriors.  Sometimes, no matter how much people tell us we are not alone?  We really are – inside our heads, with our scary thoughts, alone.  No one can truly understand – except other survivors and warriors. 

Thank you, Teal Diva, for giving us a place to encourage, a place to trumpet success, but also a place to be transparent, to feel seen, and for giving us the opportunity to support or be supported by other survivors and warriors.

For cancer survivors, a trusted primary care doctor isn’t just another name on a chart—it’s a vital partner in long-term wellness. When your long-time physician retires, it can feel unsettling. The good news: with preparation, organization, and the right tools, you can smoothly transition to a new healthcare provider who understands your history and helps you thrive.

What Matters Most

When your doctor retires, start by gathering your medical records, organizing insurance documents, and identifying doctors familiar with cancer survivorship care. Use digital tools to share health information securely. Interview potential doctors, verify credentials, and trust your instincts before committing.

Why Choosing the Right Primary Care Doctor Matters

Cancer survivors often require more coordinated care—monitoring for recurrence, managing side effects, and addressing emotional health. A new physician must understand these layers of care and communicate effectively with specialists, nutritionists, and mental health professionals.

Organizing Your Medical and Insurance Records

Before meeting potential doctors, ensure your medical information is complete, clear, and easily shareable. Store treatment summaries, medication lists, and insurance documents in one accessible location.

If you have large or complex medical files, using a tool to split PDF documents allows you to quickly divide large files into smaller, topic-specific sections—like lab results, imaging, or oncology notes. Once you’ve separated the pages, you can rename and share them with new doctors, specialists, or caregivers as needed.

Pro Tip: Keep both printed and digital copies of your core medical documents. Back up digital versions to secure cloud storage platforms such as Google Drive, Dropbox, or Microsoft OneDrive.

Steps to Find the Right New Doctor

Checklist: Before You Meet Your New Doctor

• Updated medication list
• Cancer treatment summary (ask your oncologist for one)
• Latest imaging and lab reports
• Health insurance card
• Emergency contacts
• Questions you want to ask

Keep this checklist stored in your patient portal or a note-taking app like Notion.

How-To: Prepare for Your First Appointment

1. Research your new doctor
   Read reviews, clinic information, and office hours.
   
   
2. Bring all essential records
   Print or securely email recent test results.
   
   
3. Share your survivorship goals
   Explain ongoing symptoms or concerns.
   
   
4. Discuss communication preferences
   Ask how to reach your doctor between visits (portal, email, or phone).
   
   
5. Plan follow-up steps
   Schedule your next visit or referrals immediately.

For additional structure, explore American Cancer Society Survivorship Care Guidelines for templates you can use to communicate with your new provider.

Tips to Make the Transition Easier

• Keep your records portable: Store a summary of your treatment on a flash drive or secure cloud folder.
  
  
• Review your medication list regularly: Use a health app like MyChart to keep medications up to date.
  
  
• Verify clinic accessibility: Consider distance, parking, and telehealth availability.
  
  
• Confirm communication practices: Ensure your doctor offers online portals for appointment reminders and messaging.
  
  
• Build a trust foundation: Discuss your priorities openly and set expectations early.

Product Highlight: A Tool That Simplifies Health Organization

If you’re managing multiple medical documents and records, Evernote can help you stay organized. You can scan, upload, and categorize your health information—like lab results, insurance cards, and medication lists—into secure, searchable notebooks. During doctor visits, quickly access important details or share updates without digging through paperwork.

FAQ

Q1: Should I tell my new doctor about my entire cancer history?
Yes—provide a full treatment summary and note any ongoing effects or medications. Context helps your doctor tailor care effectively.

Q2: What if my old doctor’s office already closed?
Contact your hospital’s medical records department or state medical board. Many retain files for several years.

Q3: How do I know if a doctor understands survivorship care?
Ask specific questions: “How often do you work with cancer survivors?” or “How do you coordinate care with oncologists?”

Q4: Is it okay to switch doctors again later?
Absolutely. Continuity matters, but so does comfort. If communication or care quality isn’t right, you can always make a change.

Q5: Are virtual appointments safe for follow-ups?
Yes, for routine check-ins or reviewing lab results. Verify your telehealth provider follows HIPAA-compliant standards.

Glossary

• Primary Care Physician (PCP): A doctor who provides general health care and coordinates specialist care.
• Survivorship Care Plan: A document summarizing cancer treatment and outlining follow-up care.
• Health Portal: Secure online access for medical records, appointments, and communication.
• Continuity of Care: Ongoing management of a patient’s health through consistent medical relationships.
• Telehealth: Remote medical services using video or phone communication.

Losing a trusted doctor is never easy, especially after cancer treatment. But with preparation, digital organization, and the right partnerships, you can build a new foundation of care—one that keeps you healthy, informed, and confident about the road ahead.

Glenda’s journey with ovarian cancer began with bloating, back pain, and unusual bleeding — classic symptoms of ovarian cancer that were dismissed for over a year. Today, she shares her story of how adversity inspired her to give back to the ovarian cancer community.  THANK YOU, Glenda, for sharing your story with us and your work to influence ovarian cancer in Australia! 

“I was told my symptoms were menopause. My doctor even said, ‘Oh, we all get aches and pains.’ I felt dismissed and ignored.”  

After finding a new doctor, Glenda learned she had Stage 4 epithelial high-grade serous ovarian cancer. “Hearing the diagnosis, I felt like the floor split apart, and I was falling, hitting the sides as I descended. My life would never be the same again.”  

Glenda knew that she couldn’t control the cancer, but she knew there were things that she could do for herself that would help with cancer, the treatments, and, of course, her mental health.   

“I juiced, walked to chemo, adopted a plant-based diet, meditated daily, and made art.  

Her message to women: “It is YOUR body. If something doesn’t feel right, keep going to doctors until one hears you. Go to 100 doctors if need be. Also, slow down. My life was crazy hectic, but now, I take time to look after myself. I don’t work as hard. I sit in my backyard and find contentment in watching the clothes dry in the breeze. I journal my thoughts and feelings. I enjoy life a lot more.” 

Now, 8 years into her survivorship, Glenda works as an ovarian cancer ambassador with the OCRF in Australia. She shares her story widely, reminding us: “I’m not scaring people, I’m awaring them.”  

“If my doctor had acted on my first symptoms that had appeared back in 2016, my cancer would have been diagnosed at a much earlier stage. Yes, I am alive and well now. But being diagnosed earlier would have prevented me from experiencing physical pain for so long, and maybe my treatment may have been less severe.”  

“Women have been ignored for far too long,” Glenda concludes. “Our bodies are temples and are precious beyond words. Value yourselves and persist when things don’t feel right. You are the captain of your own ship.”  

My work with OCRF has taken my face around Australia, my home, for the annual “Frocktober” event in the form of billboards, posters, and some good old-fashioned community awareness. This event is a wonderful fundraising event where people wear dress-ups, including their favourite frock. I have also participated in a stair challenge in Melbourne, where I climbed 1800 stairs to raise funds and awareness! This year, in August, I spoke and shared my story at the Cancer Summit in Sydney, which was a great privilege! I love being an ambassador as it’s fun, but ultimately, it allows the public to donate funds for research, along with reading up about all things ovarian cancer. This can only increase the intensity of research and knowledge, along with HOPE for all women experiencing ovarian cancer, now and in the future. A screening test is just around the corner, which is a fantastic prospect! 

I’ve heard the words “you have cancer” twice in my life, once for myself in 2021 and again in 2025 with my mom.  I never thought my own battle with cancer would be in the lessons learned and used to help guide my mom through her battle.  My journey afforded me the opportunity to help guide my mom’s cancer journey. Although our diagnosis was different, we both had “cancer”. I have been in Georgia for over a month, attending every appointment and trying to help my mom take some of the responsibility off my brother.   

I understand the nuances of navigating healthcare and cancer care.  I’ve been able to ask the hard questions and make appointments because a diagnosis is a full-time job.  A full-time job that no one can truly prepare you for, but in my case, I’ve been able to help my mom process, understand, and navigate this journey.  Although having ovarian cancer is different from breast cancer, I am still learning more each day.  I don’t look at myself as a caregiver but more as an advocate for my mom, a buffer for issues, and help my mom understand a cancer diagnosis and how to navigate life. In difficult moments, I step back to clear my mind and make a plan before making decisions, whether I’m in the role of a patient, advocate, or caregiver.  My motto is “Take it an hour at a time, a day at a time if needed”.  I try to remind my mom of how she told me I could do this, and I was strong. Now I am reminding her of her words that have carried me through a lot of struggles.  The advice I would give to a caregiver is to live in the moment. You won’t get that time back.  

I always believe in HOPE. That’s been my word every year since February 13, 2021, at 3:45 pm, and I shared this word with my mom.  I lost my mom on July 31st, 2025. Although she did not make it, I hope the next ovarian cancer patient will.  Hope means to keep going and hope for a cure.  My mom raised me to become involved with politics.  I promised her I would continue sharing my story and now hers. I wake up hoping I can make her proud. 

-Lashelle 

Breast Cancer Patient Policy Advocate/Lobbyist 

This story is in memory of Rosalyn, Lashelle’s mom. 

By Claire Wentz

Feeling Whole Again: Everyday Wellness Strategies for Life After Cancer Remission 

Remission isn’t the end. It’s a new beginning you didn’t ask for — but now you’re living it. There’s no parade, no guidebook, just a quiet return to routines that somehow feel unfamiliar. You might look fine on paper, yet still carry questions that can’t be scanned for. That’s okay. Healing is nonlinear. This isn’t about “getting back to normal” — it’s about building a rhythm that makes space for how far you’ve come. Below are some tactile, no-fluff ways to enhance your well-being without burning out your bandwidth. 

Start the Day with Grounded Energy 

You don’t need a bootcamp morning. You need one that doesn’t betray your body. After remission, energy might feel inconsistent — some days you’re wired, other days you’re sandbagged by invisible fatigue. The goal isn’t to outsmart it but to reset gently. A morning routine with hydration before screens or caffeine can cue your nervous system toward regulation instead of reaction. Stack in sunlight, five quiet breaths, and something tactile — a hot washcloth, a soft shirt — to reconnect to the physical world before it starts demanding from you. 

Eat to Be Alive, Not Measured 

Food during and after treatment often carried transactional weight: calories for survival, proteins for repair, ingredients to decode. Now, you get to eat with less math and more freedom. This means slowly returning to trusting hunger and fullness cues rather than overanalyzing every bite. It’s not about perfection or purity — it’s about peace. You may need to reintroduce joy to your plate: something crunchy, nostalgic, or just messy. And that’s not indulgent — it’s biological sanity. Let meals nourish your identity, not just your metrics. 

Move to Meet Your Mood 

Forget “getting back in shape.” That old fitness framing is punishing and pointless. Post-remission bodies don’t always follow the same output rules. But what they do crave is circulation — blood, breath, momentum. Movement doesn’t have to be programmed to be potent. It’s a tool to modulate emotion, metabolize worry, and reclaim agency. Even short sessions can surprise you with how they boost emotional resilience, especially when done outside routine. You’re not trying to outperform — you’re trying to feel things move again. That counts. 

Reclaim Direction Through Professional Growth 

After remission, some days feel aimless — like your calendar lost its stakes. That’s why revisiting long-term aspirations can help anchor your forward motion. Structured learning with a master of business administration online builds more than credentials: it sharpens strategic decision-making and financial analysis — both of which strengthen your ability to evaluate options and lead your life with intention. You’re not hustling for status; you’re choosing rhythm and mental engagement on your own terms. When your identity gets rebuilt by choice instead of circumstance, healing takes on momentum. 

Don’t Let Scanxiety Steal the Week 

You mark the calendar. You pretend you forgot. You feel it in your stomach days before. The scans that once saved your life now hold it hostage. “Scanxiety” isn’t irrational — it’s an embodied memory. You can’t logic it away, but you can develop distraction and grounding techniques that soften its grip. Think hand-based activities (puzzles, kneading dough, clay), structured conversations, or forward-scheduled tasks that claim your attention. You’re allowed to compartmentalize — that’s not denial. It’s survival architecture. 

Watch for Leaks in Social Energy 

Everyone’s relieved, and so they talk louder. They say you’re back. You’re not. Social energy post-treatment doesn’t refill the same way, and some conversations hit like sandpaper. Reclaiming your capacity starts with noticing who drains you — and who doesn’t. Let yourself connect with other survivors who won’t flinch at your language or your lulls. Social rest is a real category. It doesn’t mean isolation. It means choosing presence over performance. If a text feels like work, wait. That pause is intelligence, not guilt. 

You Don’t Owe Anyone a Grand Narrative 

You don’t have to “make sense” of everything. Some parts of your story don’t resolve, and some might never feel empowering. That’s not brokenness. That’s honesty. Closure doesn’t arrive on a timeline — it emerges in traces. You might express feelings through journaling, creative rituals, or micro-reflections that no one else reads. The pressure to package your experience into something motivational is a trap. Let ambiguity breathe. What you’ve survived already is the meaning — it doesn’t need a caption. 

Remission is a threshold, not a finish line. It asks you to build from pieces that don’t always fit neatly — a mix of gratitude, grief, and unfinished rewiring. There’s no one blueprint for how to feel “whole,” but there are daily movements that help you feel here. No optimization needed. Just small, human-sized adjustments that acknowledge the full terrain of your recovery — cognitive, emotional, cellular. You don’t have to do it all. But if something in your day today feels more like you, that’s the work. That’s the win. 

Join the Teal Diva community to connect with a sisterhood of strength, support, and empowerment for those impacted by gynecologic cancer, and discover how you can make a difference today! 

We’re closing this series with a powerful collection of survivor voices—each one a testament to strength, resilience, and hope.

Survivors were invited to finish this sentence: “I’m not just a survivor, I’m a ________.” 

Their words bring the conversation full circle, celebrating life beyond cancer and the many ways survivorship can be defined.

Advocate

Advocate

Human

A person who cares. No one knows what it is like to go through this better than someone going through it.

New person

A person who cares. No one knows what it is like to go through this better than someone going through it.

Diva

Strong woman trying to make great memories with my family. Take one milestone at a time and achieve it!!!

I’m a mom. I’m a career woman. I’m just another human trying to live life for the first time, just like everyone else.

Warrior!

Lover of life

Fighter. Warrior. I’m alive.

Testimony to His greatness

Wife, Mom, Daughter….I am so many things, but those are the most important to me.

Cancer fighter

Badass

Thriver!

Fighter

Warrior!

Thriver and living my best life!

I’m not just a survivor, I’m a (coming up blank here. I’m lots of things, but it’s hard to put in one sentence). All our life experiences shape us into the person we are today. Cancer has definitely shaped me as well, but I would say it’s mostly shaped me in positive ways. I can be thankful for my cancer because I survived it. I’m not sure I’d be so thankful if I were still fighting it or if I thought it was terminal. It’s been over 6 years since diagnosis, and I am thankful I went through it so I can have more zest for life and appreciation for living. I was excited to turn 40, because not everyone gets to that milestone! Now I’m coming up on 45 🙂

Woman who cares.

Bebe to three precious humans (soon to be four!)

I’m not just a survivor, I’m proof that God’s not finished.

Living testimony and a fighter until the end.