When Life Forces You to Listen: What Cancer Taught Me About Reclaiming My Power

There are moments in life when everything you thought was solid suddenly feels fragile. Moments that divide your life into before and after — whether you’re ready or not.

For me, that moment came quietly and unexpectedly, on a day that was meant to be filled with excitement and family.

Reclaiming my power

In December 2015, I was due to fly to Australia to spend Christmas with my brother and family. On the morning of my flight, after a gym session, I found a lump in my left breast. It felt significant, and once I noticed it, it seemed to grow — or perhaps my awareness of it simply grew. I phoned my friend, who gently encouraged me to go on holiday, to enjoy time with my family, and to look into it when I returned. So that’s what I did. I didn’t say anything to my family while I was away, but it played heavily on my mind.

When I returned to Dubai, I had it checked. I underwent various scans and a biopsy, and when I received a phone call asking me to visit the surgery that same day, I was immediately filled with dread. Sitting in the doctor’s office, I remember watching her lips move while feeling completely disconnected — as if I were underwater and nothing was landing. Then she stopped and said my name, asking if I understood what she’d said. I remember replying, almost in disbelief, “I’m sorry… did you just say I have cancer?” It felt absurd. Unreal. Impossible.

Afterwards, I was guided out to a waiting area and left alone. I sat there sobbing, overwhelmed and numb. A stranger came over and hugged me. She didn’t say anything — she didn’t need to.

From there, everything moved quickly. I sought other medical opinions, struggling to accept the diagnosis and wanting reassurance that it was all a mistake. Eventually, largely driven by the fear and concern of those around me, I went down the conventional treatment route — chemotherapy, radiation, surgery, and lymph node removal. Ironically, I didn’t feel ill until treatment began. What followed wasn’t just a physical battle — it was an identity one.

What frightened me most wasn’t the cancer itself, or the treatment — it was the thought of losing my hair. That fear surprised me, and at times even brought a sense of guilt, but it was real. My hair had always been such a strong part of my identity, my expression, my femininity. As it began to fall out rapidly, watching it come away in my hands felt unbearable. In the end, I made the decision to shave it off. It was terrifying — and yet, unexpectedly, it was also liberating. In that moment, I reclaimed a sense of control in a situation where so much felt out of my hands. Losing my eyebrows, my femininity, my confidence… it felt like being stripped of everything familiar. I no longer recognised myself, inside or out.

I stopped wanting to go out. I felt Pitied. Labelled. Defined by illness — something I desperately resisted. I continued working and going to the gym for as long as I could, determined not to let cancer take anything else from me. But in many ways, it took everything it could.

Even after treatment ended, the fear didn’t. Every follow-up appointment came with anxiety — waiting for results, bracing for bad news. Life no longer felt like my own. My body, my time, my choices were constantly under scrutiny. It’s hard to explain unless you’ve lived it.

Today, nearly nine years later, I am cancer-free. And I am not the same woman I was before — in the best possible way.

That experience changed how I live, how I care for myself, and how I listen to my body. I’ve removed toxins from my home and personal care, shifted my mindset, slowed down, and learned to honour my intuition. Instead of living in fear, I choose presence. I choose self-trust. I remind myself that my body is not a battleground — it is my home.

Throughout my cancer journey, I realised I had two choices: I could see myself as a victim, or I could choose to be a warrior. Becoming a warrior felt instinctive — it’s part of who I am — and that decision helped me face everything that unfolded with strength and resolve.

When treatment ended, I chose not to resent the experience, but to honour it. I became grateful for the lessons it taught me — about resilience, self-trust, and the importance of listening to my body. In many ways, my cancer journey reshaped me, and ultimately guided me back to myself.

Even now, looking back at photos from that time sends shivers through me. Some things never fully leave us. But they don’t have to define us.

This journey is the foundation of how I coach today. I work with women who have been shaken by life — through illness, burnout, menopause, relationship breakdowns, or moments when everything they thought they were no longer fits. I coach not from theory, but from lived experience. From knowing what it feels like to lose yourself — and to slowly, gently, reclaim your power.

If you’re in a season where life is asking you to listen more deeply, to slow down, or to choose yourself for the first time in a long while, know this: you are not broken. You are being invited back to yourself. And that path — while not always easy — can be deeply transformative.

I share this not for sympathy, but for connection.