Rebuilt,Not Broken:My Journey Through Six Battles With Cancer
- Oct 1
- 3 min read
By Staci Kirk
I never imagined I would face cancer once, let alone six times. Each diagnosis could have broken me—but instead, each one became an assignment to rise higher, love deeper, and live with greater intention.
When cancer first entered my life, I did what I had always been taught to do as a Black woman: brace myself, gear up for the fight, and survive. I thought resilience meant silence—showing up strong, busy, and unshaken no matter what was happening behind the scenes. I equated strength with never breaking, never slowing down, and never letting anyone see me vulnerable. But with every round of treatment, every scar, every loss, I realized that surviving wasn’t the end goal. Healing was.
The turning point came when someone said to me, “Watching you fight makes me feel like I can, too.” That’s when it clicked—my story wasn’t just mine. It was medicine for someone else. I began to see my journey not as punishment, but as purpose. I stopped hiding my pain and started telling the truth about it—about cancer, trauma, and the messy middle of healing. I realized survival is proof of power, and that our stories are not sentences—they’re strategies.
That realization led me to create the Stiletto Boss Foundation, a space for women—especially Black women—to show up whole, scars and all, and still be seen as powerful. The name itself is layered: “stiletto” symbolizes strength and femininity, while “boss” is about reclaiming our authority even in the midst of pain. Through programs like The Sister Circle, women come together each month to exhale, tell the truth, and hold each other up. I’ve watched women walk in guarded and walk out glowing—leaving toxic relationships, starting businesses, and most importantly, choosing themselves.
We also curate Warrior Boxes filled with tools and messages of hope for women facing health challenges, because I know firsthand that healing isn’t just clinical—it’s human. Too often, conversations about women’s health focus only on treatment. But healing also requires emotional and cultural safety, community support, and permission to rest. That’s why I’m unapologetic about centering softness, joy, and rest as revolutionary acts. I teach women that they don’t have to be strong all the time, and that rest is not weakness—it’s resistance.
For me, being unstoppable used to mean pushing through pain, staying busy, and keeping it all together. Now it means the opposite: listening to my body, honoring my emotions, setting boundaries, and allowing myself to rest without guilt. It means telling the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable, and creating spaces where other women can do the same. True strength is not about doing it all—it’s about doing what matters, with courage, softness, and intention.
If I could speak to the version of myself after that very first diagnosis, I would tell her: You are not broken, you’re being rebuilt. You don’t have to prove your worth by holding everything together. Let go of perfection. Rest when you need to. Cry if you have to. Keep going, because your story isn’t over yet.
My legacy isn’t measured in titles or accolades—it’s in the lives touched, the women who found their voice again, and the sacred spaces created where healing can take root. Every Sister Circle, every Warrior Box, every woman who walks away believing she can rise because she saw me rise—that is the legacy I am building.
So when I think of what it means to be unstoppable, it’s no longer about never falling. It’s about rising, again and again, with a little more softness, a little more wisdom, and a lot more grace.
Because the truth is this: Pain doesn’t disqualify us. It transforms us. And in that transformation, we find our real power.
Connect With Staci
IG: @iamwarriorcoach
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