When You’re the One in the Chair: My Experience of Breast Cancer

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I wasn’t prepared for how ordinary the moment would feel. My journey started with a routine appointment with BreastScreen Queensland, which then led to a follow-up. Then more tests, and then the words no one ever expects to hear. You have Breast Cancer.

I’m a psychologist. I understand anxiety. I understand trauma. I understand how the brain responds to threat. But none of that stopped my own body from going into shock. There’s something surreal about hearing that diagnosis. It’s like the world keeps moving, but you’re suddenly standing still. You nod. You listen. You try to take in information. But part of you is somewhere else entirely.

 The Quiet Shock

At first, there was disbelief. I felt healthy. I felt strong. I exercised. I worked. I showed up for my clients. And yet there I was, in a medical room, being told I had cancer.

The early days were filled with appointments, scans, and discussions about surgery. Decisions had to be made quickly. It all felt urgent, even when my mind hadn’t caught up.

What surprised me most was how much of it felt invisible. I looked “fine.” I could still speak clearly. I could still organise things. But internally, everything felt uncertain.

Your Body Doesn’t Feel Like Your Own

Breast cancer changes your relationship with your body. Your body becomes something to be tested, scanned, and operated on. Something to be discussed in clinical language. Parts of you are measured and described in ways that feel very far from how you have known yourself.

There can be grief. Not just for the physical change, but for what it represents. Identity. Femininity. Ageing. Mortality.

These aren’t always easy things to talk about. Many women carry them quietly.

The Pressure to Be “Strong”

Another thing I noticed was the subtle expectation to be positive.

People mean well. They say, “You’ll be fine.” “You’re strong.” “Stay positive.”

And yes, strength shows up. But so does fear. So does anger. So does exhaustion.

Sometimes you’re managing your own emotions while also managing everyone else’s. Reassuring family. Updating friends. Continuing work. Trying to keep life steady while something very big is happening underneath. It’s a lot.

What This Experience Changed for Me

Living through breast cancer has changed me, both personally and professionally.

When I now sit with women and men who are newly diagnosed, I understand something in my body as well as my mind. I understand the waiting for results. The late-night thoughts. The way time feels stretched and strange.

I also understand the quiet courage that grows. Not the dramatic kind. Just the everyday bravery of getting up, going to appointments, making decisions, and living your life while carrying uncertainty.

It has made me gentler. Slower. More aware that sometimes what people need most is not advice or reframing, but someone who truly understands the weight of it.

If you’ve recently been diagnosed, or you’re somewhere in the middle of treatment or recovery, I want you to know:

There is no “right” way to feel.

You can be grateful and scared. Calm and furious. Hopeful and overwhelmed; sometimes all in the same hour.

You are not weak if you struggle.
You are not negative if you feel afraid.
You are human.

And you don’t have to walk it alone.

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