Every October, the world turns pink. Pink ribbons on products, pink banners on billboards, pink walks and fundraisers filling the calendar. And while I respect the intention, I can’t help but see beyond the surface. Because breast cancer, for me, is not just about awareness. It’s about survival. It’s about the life I am living in the wake of it all.

In November 2023, I heard the words that stop time: “You have breast cancer.” What followed was a storm that I never could have prepared for — months of chemotherapy that drained every ounce of energy, radiation that scorched my skin, surgeries that left scars I’ll carry forever, and days when I wondered if I would ever feel whole again.

But I made it through.

Now, I wear the title “survivor.” And let me tell you, survivorship isn’t about crossing a finish line and celebrating that the race is over. It’s about learning to live with the echoes. It’s waking up every day with reminders etched into my body. It’s fatigue that sneaks up at the worst times. It’s fear that sometimes lingers in the quiet moments. But it’s also resilience, determination, and the fierce decision to keep living life full throttle — while I can.

For me, that means embracing a new chapter with my husband, Wout — my partner of nearly 22 years and my best friend. Together, we traded ranch life in Texas for the sea breezes of North Carolina, and now we co-captain our 73-foot trawler, True Love. Life aboard isn’t always easy, but it’s ours — an adventure we chose. And at our feet are Alexis and Skylar, our two Labrador sisters, who remind me every day that joy is simple: a wagging tail, a sunrise walk, a nap in the sun.

Breast cancer stripped me down, but it also clarified what matters. I don’t wait for “someday” anymore. Someday is now. That’s why we chased this dream of living on the water. That’s why I speak up about survivorship. Because storms will come — but there is life, beauty, and meaning on the other side.

So when you see those pink ribbons this month, remember: they represent real women, real scars, and real stories. Stories like mine. Stories like your sister’s, your neighbor’s, your friend’s. We are not statistics. We are people learning to live again, people learning to sail forward in new waters.

And if you take one thing from my story, let it be this: get your mammogram. Don’t put it off. And if you have dense breast tissue — like I did — talk to your doctor about additional imaging, such as ultrasound or MRI. Mammograms alone can miss things in dense tissue. Don’t assume you’re in the clear without asking the hard questions. Your voice and vigilance could save your life.

This October, I stand as one voice in a sea of survivors. I survived cancer — and now I intend to live the hell out of life.