"They Said I Was Faking Cancer—But I Fought Back"

Before cancer, I was just a typical 26-year-old. I was a mom, yes—but also someone who loved to laugh, go out with friends, have a glass of wine, maybe some tequila, clean the house while blasting music, and enjoy life. I was outgoing, full of energy, and always on the move. If I couldn’t find a sitter, I made it work at home—cooking, dancing, and living. But then... things changed.

I started feeling short of breath, climbing stairs in my old apartment like they were mountains. I chalked it up to asthma acting up—but it was more than that. I noticed a lump in my chest. It had been there for a while, honestly, but I never paid much attention to it. But this time it felt heavier. It felt... wrong.

I went to my primary care doctor. From the jump, he suspected cancer, but because of my age, they wouldn’t give me a mammogram. Too young, they said. I was only allowed ultrasounds and a biopsy—which, by the way, didn’t even test the actual tumor. They looked at my lymph nodes instead. How does that happen?

It wasn’t until I began bleeding from my breast that things got serious. I was terrified. When it finally hit—“This is really happening. I have cancer”—I was ready to fight. Ready, but also scared beyond words. I cried. I questioned. “Why me?” I looked back at my life, wondering if this was karma or punishment. I even doubted God.

But eventually... I stopped asking why. I started asking what. “What do I need to do to live?” I became hungry for answers. “What’s the treatment? What kind of chemo? Surgery?” I was in it now—whether I liked it or not.

When the diagnosis finally came—aggressive breast cancer—it wasn’t just a medical emergency. It was an emotional one. I had been denied screenings. I had been overlooked. And now it was Stage [unspoken but serious]. The doctors—my new team—were apologetic, even though it wasn’t their fault. Still, I could see they were trying to make up for lost time. I’m grateful for them. I’m alive because of them.

But surviving wasn’t just about chemo or surgery. It was about battling shame, anger, fear... and people. Social media was brutal. People in my own city—New Haven, Connecticut—accused me of faking cancer. Said I created a GoFundMe to scam people. Some even wished death on me. Can you imagine? Here I was, shaving my head, sharing every raw, painful moment—and strangers were calling me a liar. That hurt more than I can explain.

Still, I pressed on.

Some days were harder than others. I’d be in bed, body aching from chemo, and someone would ask, “You okay?” And I’d say yes, even when I wasn’t. Because I didn’t want to worry anyone. Because I’m the strong one. The dependable one. But I’ve learned—it’s okay not to be okay.

One of the lowest points was in the ICU. My white blood cell count crashed. I had neutropenic fever, infections, and they brought in a chaplain to talk to me... about death. About who would raise my kids if I didn’t make it. That broke me. I wasn’t afraid of dying, not really. I had peace with God. But the thought of leaving my babies? That shattered me. I remember praying, “Lord, I trust You. But please... let me take one more shot. Just one more three-pointer. Give me time.”

And He did.

Now, I’m three months in remission. Off chemo. I can get out of bed. I cook. I laugh. I hug my kids. The sunroof breeze hits my growing hair, and I feel alive. But I’ll never be the same—and that’s okay.

I lost my breasts. I went bald. But I found strength I never knew I had. My boyfriend helped me feel beautiful again, even when I didn’t recognize myself. My dad—my rock—stepped up in ways I never imagined. My mom, my grandmas, my boyfriend… all helped carry me when I couldn’t stand on my own. And God? He never left. Even when I doubted. Even when I cried. He was there.

This journey changed how I see myself. I used to think femininity was long hair and curves. Now I know it’s courage, spirit, and soul. Society might say I’m “the girl without breasts” or “the bald girl”—but they can’t take away my shine.

I’m still healing. I’m still fighting. But I’m also advocating—for young women, for Black women, for anyone who’s been dismissed, misdiagnosed, or misunderstood. Cancer didn’t destroy me. It introduced me to the new me. And she’s strong, she’s bold, and she’s not backing down.

If I can do it, you can do it too. All it takes is faith—just the size of a mustard seed.

Full Video https://youtu.be/z6Q7DSCaeEg

Part 1 https://youtu.be/FGng6uAzmog

Part 2 https://youtu.be/8HK7A_4g8ys