Dear Me,
- Surviving Breast Cancer
- Sep 9
- 2 min read
By Tricia Hammack
Dear Me,
I see you—standing in front of the mirror, trying to recognize the woman staring back. Your body is tired, worn from the fight you never asked for. Your chest bears the scars of survival, and yet you wonder if that survival has cost you your worth. You ache not just from the treatments, but from the silence, the emotional abandonment, the sharp loneliness that crept in where love was supposed to live.
You were raising two boys, pouring out everything you had while barely holding yourself together. And through it all, the one who promised to be your partner, your comfort, made you feel ugly, unwanted—less than. He made you question your beauty, your value, your enough-ness.
But I’m here now. And I need you to know something he couldn’t show you—something even you struggled to believe: you are not what he made you feel.
Scars do not diminish you. They are proof of what you endured, and how deeply you loved your children, your life, yourself—even when it didn’t feel like love. Every inch of you carries a story of grit, grace, and unshakable strength.
Ten years later, I’ve walked through the wreckage and found something sacred: peace. No longer tied to the weight of someone else’s inability to love me, I have learned to love myself. Truly. Fiercely.
I may never find romantic love again—and I’m okay with that. Because the love I’ve found within myself is enough. I am enough. And you always were.
So to the woman I once was—scared, hurting, brave beyond measure—I hold your face in my hands and whisper, you made it. You did not lose yourself. You were becoming.
With love and deep gratitude,
Me
Read More:
On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations
Rebuilding Intimacy Post-Diagnosis: A Conversation on Sexual Health and Relationships with Tiffini Sharifi
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