I Was Diagnosed With Stage 3 Breast Cancer at 29 With 3 Kids Under 5 — & It Made Me Re-Evaluate Motherhood

Three little words can change your life.

“I love you.”

“It’s a boy.”

“You have cancer.”

I’ve heard all three of these over the years, each one striking my heart like a lightning bolt. But while the first two were shocking in ways of awe and wonder, the latter simply shocked me. How could I have cancer at 29 years old? As a mom of three kids — the oldest in kindergarten and the youngest still breastfeeding — I didn’t have time for cancer!

During my journey from diagnosis to being declared NED (“no evidence of disease”) 18 months ago, I underwent six months of chemotherapy, a double mastectomy and reconstructive surgery, followed by implant exchange surgery, 28 rounds of radiation, and one year of immunotherapy. This tough experience impacted the way I view motherhood in a huge way, and I’m still holding onto that lesson today.  

Cancer for Christmas

It all started with a clogged milk duct. A few days before Christmas, I came down with a fever and unbearable breast pain, which was diagnosed as mastitis. This wasn’t my first go-around with the infection, so I thought after a round of antibiotics and hot packs I would be fine. What I didn’t expect was a lingering pain in one of my breasts and in the lymph node under my armpit. My anxiety-riddled brain immediately thought “cancer,” but my more rational mind convinced me it was just a problem with my milk. After all, isn’t breastfeeding supposed to prevent breast cancer? After the holidays, the pain persisted, so I made an appointment with my general practitioner, still not worried about it. Since my mom had just been diagnosed with breast cancer three years earlier, my doctor wanted to do further testing.

In February 2023, they had the results, and that two-minute phone call irrevocably changed my life. Words like “tumor,” “triple negative,” “aggressive,” “fast-growing,” and “malignant” swirled in my brain, completely overwhelming me. I had a 6.5-centimeter tumor that had spread to one lymph node, classifying me as stage 3c breast cancer. This was not caught early, and the treatment would be brutal, long, and as aggressive as the cancer that was rapidly spreading through my body.

Letting Go of Control

My life became a blur of appointments, tests, scans, blood work, and more as my doctors determined the best way to tackle this disease. My mom took me to my appointments while my husband took care of our three kids, then only 5, 4, and 11 months old. One of the first things I had to do was quit breastfeeding my infant, something that made me realize how much my life was changing — and how little control I had over any of it.

Family and friends stepped up in a big way, coming through with meals, donations to help with medical expenses, and childcare. And my husband stepped up in a huge way to do more than his share around the house. Still, I was struck by the things I couldn’t do. I missed my son’s kindergarten field trip because I was immunocompromised from chemo. My youngest child’s first birthday was thrown by my parents because I was too much in a daze to do any of it myself.

My mother-in-law would pick up my kids from school and clean the house while I went to yet another doctor’s office, and I would get home to hear a five-minute update on their day before collapsing into bed from exhaustion. After my double mastectomy, I couldn’t even lift my baby out of his crib (or any other time), and he was too little to understand why his pleas for “up” were being ignored by his mama.

Reflecting on this now makes my chest feel tight because it was such a hard time. I don’t want to sugarcoat it: cancer sucks. And going through cancer as a mom to young children was a special kind of torture that even my mom couldn’t completely understand as her children were all grown when she fought it. Meanwhile, my kids didn’t understand why I suddenly had no hair, and why I was away from home all the time, and why when I was home, I was sleeping. But time and time again, my kids showed me how resilient, loving, and accepting they are, and it changed how I view motherhood.

Changing My Expectations

While going through treatment for cancer, I was forced to let go of the high expectations I had for myself. I was not going to be the one to pick up my kids from school every day or make it to all of their soccer games. But what I was going to do was show them how fiercely I loved them every single day.

Sometimes, this looked like letting my kids climb into bed with me and watch movies curled up against me. Other times this looked like bedtime stories and songs before I tucked them in at the end of the day. My connection with them grew through each hug, silly selfie, and update about their day. I played video games with them propped up in a recliner, and they sent me to my chemo appointments with their favorite stuffed animals.   

Guilt over not being able to take my kids on a summer vacation that year slowly eased as I realized that they don’t care about the big things. All that matters is the tiny moments of connection. The 10 minutes of my undivided attention. My hugs and kisses before bed. Kids don’t need you to be perfect — they just need you.

In case you were wondering, research backs this up. The American Academy of Pediatrics says that kids playing with their parents and their peers helps to optimize their development and manage toxic stress. Playing helps support their social-emotional, cognitive, language, and self-regulation skills, and it supports the formation of safe, stable, and nurturing relationships with caregivers.

Finding mutual joy in carefree play with your kids helps regulate the body’s stress response. Basically, it's doctor’s orders to spend joyful, playful time with your kids, which you can absolutely still do even if you're going through an intense or difficult time in your life.

The experience of dealing with breast cancer threatened to crush me with the weight of anxiety and depression, but my kids helped me pull through it. They're the reason I fought so hard and they were often the only thing that could make me smile at the end of the day. They tried on my wigs with me and told me I was beautiful, even on my worst days.

Looking Forward to the Future (& Enjoying the Now)

Now that I'm out of active treatment, I have more energy, my hair has grown back, and I only have periodic doctor’s appointments for maintenance. But the part of me that learned how to lean into time with my kids has not gone away.

I prioritize saying “yes” to their requests for things like ice cream and playground visits as often as I can. I make sure to talk to them about their day without distractions, and I play with them one-on-one to continue building our connections. Even though I will never be thankful I got cancer, I am at peace knowing how much the experience made me appreciate life and motherhood.  

Recently, my now-6-year-old saw a picture of me with no hair, and he didn’t recognize me. I went through the most traumatic two years of my life, and he doesn’t even remember it! However, he — and his brothers — do know that their mom loves them; a secure feeling that never waned, even in the thick of treatment and recovery. And there’s nothing that makes me prouder.

Next time life strikes like a lightning bolt, find a way to dance in the rain. It turns out that those little moments of joy (which are actually the big moments!) make motherhood so wonderful.

The image featured at the top of this post is ©MomsWhoThink / Sydni Ellis.