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.

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