The day I found a lump in my left breast began like many other days. I was lying in bed and my two young daughters came in to wake me up. They started jumping on the bed and I grabbed my breasts to protect myself. That’s when I felt it: a hard lump I had never noticed before.
I went to the emergency room that day to ensure I was looked at as quickly as possible. A doctor confirmed the lump and scheduled a mammogram and ultrasound for me. Soon after, a biopsy was scheduled.
Then, I was sitting in a small room with a breast surgeon and before I could even think, he said “So, you have breast cancer. First…” I stopped listening. All I could hear was a buzzing in my head and those words repeating: “You have breast cancer.”
I’d just turned 36 two days before. Wasn’t I too young? No, I don’t have any family history. Yes, let’s discuss a treatment plan. A treatment plan? I have breast cancer.
That’s basically how it went. My surgeon said a lot. I barely heard any of it, but I got the basics: my plan was surgery first — as soon as we could — then potentially chemotherapy, followed by radiation.
I left that appointment and burst into tears.
A few weeks later, I was preparing for surgery. I decided to have a single mastectomy. I stared at myself in the mirror, saying goodbye to my left breast. It had nourished my babies, it looked great in a tank top, it had been with me since I was 12. And now it would be gone, just like that.
But I’m so grateful for that surgery. It was the best option for me — and it saved my life.
Surgery was so successful, in fact, that I didn’t need to undergo chemotherapy or radiation. My cancer was gone, hadn’t spread, and the long-term effects of more treatment could do more harm than good. I’m so grateful.
Next, I began hormone therapy which will continue for ten years. A year later, more surgery: a bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy to remove my ovaries and Fallopian tubes.
Now I’m 38 and in menopause. Hot flashes, insomnia, night sweats, joint pain — it’s a treat! I’ve started a new treatment to help strengthen my bones, since I have a higher risk of osteoporosis and bone cancer. I’m planning to have my other breast removed, hopefully in early 2023.
It’s never ending and all consuming. It’s easy to get lost in the negatives, stress, and anxiety. Friends always ask how I’m doing and how I stay so positive when dealing with it all. Honestly?
Topless photos.
It all started about four weeks after surgery. My friend and fellow photographer, Danielle, took my portrait showing my scar. I wanted to document myself and share it so others could see the reality.
I was so nervous and insecure about the idea. When I looked at my scar, at myself, in the mirror, I felt gruesome. Having photos taken, I thought, would bring those feelings flooding in — but they didn’t.
When Danielle sent me the photos, I burst into tears. Not because I looked weird or creepy or different, but because I looked beautiful. I couldn’t believe it. I just couldn’t stop crying.
I went into that photoshoot thinking “it isn’t going to be pretty, but it’s important.” I think it’s incredibly important to share these hard things we go through. That was reason enough for me to conquer the fear of that first photo session.
What I didn’t realize was that this shoot would be such a healing experience. I had no idea how much I would love these photos, and in turn, love myself. It seems simple but I really didn’t see it coming.
It brought me back to myself and I’m forever grateful for that session, and for all the self-portraits and sessions with friends that would follow.
It’s been two years now and I take self-portraits often. I show my scar and share my story as much as I can. I want others to see that scars are beautiful, they’re strength. Even more: scars don’t define you.
Photo 1: “The Photo”
This is the photo. The one that helped me see that I’m still me after surgery; that made me burst into tears; that started my love of posing topless; that has healed me more than anything else.
Photo 2: “One year”
I felt strong, healthy, brave, and more like myself than ever. Danielle and I thought we’d take a photo similar to “the” photo every year to show the yearly change. I love that we did this — and I love my year one shot.
Photo 3: Floral
My friend Rebecca had this vision of me in a field with florals covering my nipple and showing how far I’ve come in a year. This session blew my mind. This shot is a favorite of mine. I feel strong, badass, and free.
Photo 4: Two years
Celebrating my second year cancer-free. Danielle’s friend and amazing florist, Krystal, made this stunning floral headband for me to wear. The headband, paired with this gauzy, flowy robe, made me feel powerful — like a queen.
Photo 5: Community
This image represents community. The breast cancer community is beautiful and so supportive. None of us want to be there, but we’re all grateful to have each other to lean on. This is to remind us all that we’re not alone.
Photo 6: Feel it on the First
I took this for Feel it on the First — a social media movement to remind everyone to do monthly self-breast exams. On the first of every month, I join this movement and post an image of myself. It's a friendly reminder to #feelitonthefirst.
Photo 7: Comfort
Learning to dress my new body and find comfort in clothing has been a whole other piece to this journey. Bras, specifically, have been a big adjustment. I’m grateful for companies like Knix who have created bras with comfort in mind and that fit and work for my body.
Photo #8: Shattered
This photo is chaotic and confusing. It showcases my mental and physical health for the past few years. Unfortunately, cancer doesn’t end when treatment ends. Survivorship is hard. It’s messy, blurry, and imperfect.
I feel very fragile. I have a lot of anxiety. I worry every day that it will come back. I said goodbye to a friend who was diagnosed a year before me and have watched other friends on social media have progressions or leave us. It’s a lot to handle and completely unfair and shatters me. This image portrays how broken I sometimes feel.
For others going through cancer diagnosis and surgery, I hope these photos remind you that our bodies are amazing, scars or not. Any and every chest and body is beautiful and worthy. Our bodies have gone through a lot and keep on going — they are incredible.
I hope they remind you (yes, you!) to check your breasts, take control of your health, advocate for yourself, and see the beauty in any and every body.
I remember the day of my surgery and being so worried about how I would look afterwards. I’ve always had a larger chest, and suddenly being flat on one side seemed surreal. I was mainly nervous that I would somehow be a different person — that without my normal chest, I would somehow be less myself.
In a way, I was right — but not in the way I thought. I do feel like a different person. Going through a cancer diagnosis, it would be hard not to. But the difference isn’t that I’m lesser now. It’s that I’m even more. These photo sessions and self-portraits helped me get to this point.
I’m more confident. I’m more aware. I’m more grateful. I’m more creative. I’m more carefree. I’m more alive.
I’m more me.