Rhabdomyosarcoma didn’t just attack my body — it attacked my identity. I used to be active, full of energy, always laughing. During those darkest months, I couldn’t even recognise myself. My face was pale and sunken, my hair long gone, my body increasingly frail — I went from 64kg to 50kg in what felt like the blink of an eye.
But even worse than the physical decline were the mental changes. I became paranoid, constantly thinking every small ache meant the cancer was spreading even further. The nights were the worst. I’d lie in bed, eyes wide open, endlessly replaying conversations with doctors, every scan, every blood test, and spiralling through worst-case scenarios.
Was this the end? Should I start writing a will? Should I give my husband all my passwords? Who would call the utility companies if something happened to me? How would I tell my mum, sister, brothers, family, friends? Where would I even begin?
It was a silent, private unravelling that left me feeling more isolated than ever.
What saved me, slowly, was facing the truth that I needed help — not just physically, but mentally. I started seeing a therapist who specialised in trauma and chronic illness. At first, I could barely speak without crying.
But little by little, I learned how to name what I was feeling: grief, fear, anger, shame. I learned that those feelings didn’t make me weak — they made me human.
Writing became my outlet. Breathing exercises and reciting positive affirmations became my anchor. And when I had another panic attack, I didn’t hide, I reached out.
This is why I’m backing the Daily Express’s Cancer Care campaign. All cancer patients should have mental health support when they need it, both during and after treatment.
