Pink Everyday is dedicated to all the lives affected by breast cancer. The truth is that breast cancer is lifelong. There seems to be no end to the battle. My hope is that we can create a community of truth tellers by sharing our stories of grit, perseverance and bravery.

Telling Secrets

“What we hunger for perhaps more than anything else is to be known in our full humanness, and yet that is often just what we also fear more than anything else. It is important to tell at least from time to time the secret of who we truly and fully are . . . because otherwise we run the risk of losing track of who we truly and fully are and little by little come to accept instead the highly edited version which we put forth in hope that the world will find it more acceptable than the real thing. It is important to tell our secrets too because it makes it easier . . . for other people to tell us a secret or two of their own . . . ”Frederick Buechner, Telling Secrets

The Results

It was a wicked windstorm. December 20th. The day the test results came in. We held each other tight, not just because of the wind—but because we already knew something was coming.

Today, I share this story with you—not just for me, but for the countless women navigating their own messy middle. For those quietly Googling symptoms. For those waiting for results. For those who know that strength isn’t always loud.

On December 20th, Steve and I drove to Overlake in a windstorm. Nature mirrored our nervous system. When we arrived, we were whisked straight back. No delays. No small talk. Just truth time.

The waiting had worn us down—but also built us up. We had grown stronger in the space between questions and answers. We were ready. As ready as you can be.

We met with Dr. Kristi Harrington—the medical director of the Breast Center and, as it turns out, a total goddess in scrubs. She was kind, humble, and brilliant. She spoke a new language: pathology. I’ll learn it soon enough.

The news? Breast cancer.
Stage 1B.
Intermediate grade, invasive ductal carcinoma.
Strongly hormone receptor positive.
HER2 results: indeterminate. Sent for more testing.

That last part—HER2—will determine whether we need chemo and how aggressive it’ll be. But it won’t change the stage. And here’s the win: no evidence that it has spread.

I am ridiculously grateful that my body sounded the alarm in the form of pain—an uncommon symptom. Without it, I might have waited until I turned 50 for my next mammogram. That would’ve been two and a half years too late.

Let me be crystal clear here:
GO GET YOUR MAMMOGRAM.
Don’t wait. Don’t assume. Don’t delay.

The Plan

Steve and I are moving forward with a 3-pronged plan: surgery, radiation, and possibly chemo depending on that HER2 test. I plan to keep working. You’ll see me in my festive slippers, funky hats, and (eventually) foobs.

Our spirits are high. Our faith is strong. Our community? Incredible. Thank you for loving us so big and so well.

There’s a strange kind of grace in waiting. It stretches you. Shapes you. And when the wind finally hits, you realize: you’re stronger than you thought. Not because you were unshakable—but because love held you steady.

Letter to Self

Dear Me,
You faced the truth. You walked into that room knowing the air might shift. And it did. But so did you. You didn’t break. You breathed. You listened. You let love hold your hand and your heart. You’re allowed to grieve and still believe. This is not the end. It’s a holy, hard beginning.
Love always,
Me