by Aleasa Word
In 2017, I faced what would become the most terrifying and transformative year of my life. As a mother of three, with two of my children still minors, the world seemed to stop when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. The fear was overwhelming—how could I, a mother, face such a battle and still be there for my children? The diagnosis was just the beginning of a series of life-altering events that tested my resilience, faith, and strength in ways I had never imagined.
Shortly after beginning my first round of treatment, disaster struck again. Our home flooded, and in the blink of an eye, we lost almost everything. My son, in particular, was left with nothing but the clothes on his back. As we grappled with this devastating loss, the physical toll of cancer treatment began to show. I lost my hair—a moment that, for many, symbolizes the harsh reality of cancer. But for me, it happened in a hotel room, far from the comfort of my home, as we waited for our place to be repaired.
Standing in front of the mirror, watching my hair fall away, I broke down. It felt as though everything that made me who I was—my strength, my femininity, my identity—was being stripped away. But in that vulnerable moment, my oldest son, who had flown down to support me, offered words that would become a beacon of hope. "Mom," he said, "we can deal with the hair, but we can't deal without you. The hair will grow back. We have to focus on your health."
His words were a turning point for me. They reminded me of what truly mattered—my health, my life, and being there for my children. The physical changes, the losses, they were all temporary. But my presence in my children's lives was irreplaceable.
As I continued my treatment , I was dealt another blow. Later that same year, my best friend of 15 years passed away. The grief was profound. This friend had been my rock, and I couldn't help but feel that he had held on just long enough to ensure that I was okay. Losing him was devastating, and it felt like the universe was testing every fiber of my being.
That year, everything in me was pushed to the limit. But through it all, one thing remained unwavering—my faith. I refused to let cancer define me or dictate the outcome of my life. I clung to the belief that I was not done yet, that my children needed me, and that I had a purpose beyond this illness. I chose not to "own" the illness but to fight it with every ounce of strength I had.
And fight I did. I made it through that year. My hair grew back, and so did my desire to live life fully and with purpose. I discovered a strength within myself that had always been there, but it took facing these challenges to bring it to light. I realized that I had become a beacon of hope, not just for myself but for others as well.
We all have that beacon inside us—a light that shines even in the darkest of times. But it shouldn't take a life-threatening diagnosis or a series of devastating events to realize our potential and strength. We can choose to be lighthouses in the storm, guiding ourselves and others through the challenges of life.
Today, I live with a renewed sense of purpose. I coach, speak, facilitate, and paint, channeling my experiences into empowering others. I've learned that we are all stronger together, and by sharing our stories, we can lift each other up. Life may throw its hardest challenges our way, but we have the power to rise above them, to find the light within, and to shine that light for others to see.
We are stronger than we know. And together, we can overcome anything.
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