I have breast cancer.

I have been diagnosed with breast cancer.

Phew! There. There it is. I said it.

I have hesitated and debated how publicly to share about it or not share about it. I have discussed it with my therapist and my new oncology social worker. And here it is.

I have become the 1 in 8 women who will have breast cancer. And I am VERY, VERY, VERY fortunate—mine was caught as early as it is possible to detect it. I have a 98% chance of being completely cured. What I think a lot of people don’t know is that, in order to get there, I will have to walk through hell. And that’s just the way it is. And that’s okay.

I will spend 2026 having a double mastectomy (January 29th), a DIEP Flap reconstruction (September), and a follow up surgery to complete that reconstruction (December). And I found out about this very unexpected diagnosis by having a breast reduction (thank God I finally got sick enough of the neck and back pain to do that surgery) and against the backdrop of getting a divorce, one that is amicable and loving, but still very difficult.

And I want to be honest—this is all really fucking hard and very scary. The what ifs. The physical repercussions. The down time. The financial turmoil. The mental and emotional toll of what I am just beginning to go through.

But also—I have never felt more loved and held and cared for and lifted by my family and friends near and far who have known about this since day 1. I have an incredible community, and I love you all so much. I want to give a special shout out to Keri and Emma who walked with me through my breast reduction and recovery, and who, without hesitation, are signing up to do it again.

Keri is flying in to spend the week of surgery with me and get me home and settled. Emma has been going to my appointments with me at Simon Cancer Center and has started a system for those of you who have been offering to help to use a QR code to sign up for meal delivery, errands, groceries, and just being here with me now that I live alone, once Keri has to return to Florida. These women know how to look at a situation and intuitively see a friend’s needs before the friend has even seen them, and that is a gift beyond measure.

I have so many incredible people in my life who have shown up to walk on this journey with me—so many of you have been checking on me daily, coming over to drink tea (Scott, our “Get Divorced and Fuck Cancer” club meetings are a lifeline—thank you so much), spending evenings building Legos with me (I thought about tagging you, but I know how private and quiet you are, particularly on social media, and you know who you are—and if there is any question, then I will add that I only appreciate the Halls cough drop affirmations when they come from you ), reading with me and pounding coffee while we discuss the books for hours on end. The list goes on and on and on. And I am just deeply, profoundly grateful and humbled.

I was really struggling pretty significantly a couple of weeks ago with all of this while I was down in Florida, and I went and took a very chilly walk at the beach to pray and meditate. And I realized that the inner turmoil I was feeling was a LOT of grief and of me grappling and fighting against it. And I feel like most of the last four years have been a fight—just a lot of very lifey life stuff to have to sort of conquer—and I don’t want to fight. I have never liked the “fighting” and “beating” cancer imagery and verbiage anyway, and I feel even more strongly about that since my own diagnosis. But as I was walking the beach that day, feeling so defeated and like I just don’t have fight left in me—I remembered something I read last year after my grandmother passed away. “If nothing softens the grief, let the grief soften you.”

And I just surrendered. I can’t fight having cancer. I just have to soften and surrender and let myself be carried and held and loved into being on the other side of it. I have to let go. The pain has all been in the resistance of facing the realities of the present and of the upcoming year. The freedom from it is in the acceptance and the letting go. Nothing is softening the cancer, but I can let the cancer soften me. And if I’m being honest—I’ve needed to soften up some for a long time.

Having said all of that—prayers, energy, vibes, thoughts—all are appreciated. I do want to say something here, however—I am a firm believer in prayer, and I have a strong spirituality to the GiantMysteriousWhatever/ TheCreativeForce/ Nature/ Science/ TheEnergyOfAllThingsLove, and I choose to call all of that God. But I have never believed God has anything to do with whether or not a person gets cancer or gets cured of cancer. I think that’s bullshit and is dangerous and egotistical—that someone dies of cancer and someone else lives because one person’s prayers were…what? better? No. My prayers are for the way that Love/God shows up for me in my own peace and in the faces and words and hands and feet of you all, my family and friends.

And on that note—BIG HUGS and BIG LOVE!

—Meghan

PS—Boob Voyage 2.0 is gonna be LIT. IYKYK.

PPS—Photos from the aforementioned trip to Florida.