My Identity After Cancer

After being diagnosed with cancer and overcoming it, a new label was added to my identity: cancer survivor. While this label carries a positive connotation, it also brings a sense of uncertainty. The diagnosis came unexpectedly, and the swift treatment plan left me with little time and mental space to consider what life would look like as a survivor—if I even made it through. During and even after treatment, I’ve had to grapple with my sense of self – aware of the gradual transformation of my identity. Now that I am a survivor, I find myself asking: How much of my pre-cancer self can I keep, and how much do I need to change in order to heal and move forward? Is it possible to retain aspects of my old identity while making necessary changes? While many parts of me remain unchanged, some are different. Among the many life questions I now face, the one I find myself pondering most is: What has been the impact on my identity – my physical being, mental state, perspective on life and relationships?

I was diagnosed with stage 1 ovarian cancer, a rare form that affects young adults- but one that was aggressive enough to require preventative chemotherapy after surgery. Surgery left me with one less ovary, scars and lingering pain. Chemotherapy brought on menopause, aches and pains, bruised veins, superficial blood clots, and the loss of eyebrows, eyelashes, and nearly all my hair. I didn’t just feel different—I looked different, too. I’ll never forget the moment when, as I ran my fingers through my hair, a lock of it came loose in my hand. My eyes instantly welled up with tears. But then, when chemo ended, I experienced something I never expected: the joy of watching my hair grow back with a vengeance. Who knew hair growth could bring such joy!

Still, the physical toll of treatment lingers. My body is weaker now, in pain and I know I need to nourish it. I ask my doctors about every ache and creak, desperate for reassurance, and they always say the same thing: “Give your body time. It’s been through a lot. Don’t expect it to bounce back immediately.” I know they’re right. Sometimes I have fleeting moments where I feel my body should be more capable by now, but I don’t dwell on those thoughts. I’ve learned to be kinder to myself, continuing to care for my mind and body, just as I did before.

From the outside I’m still the same person, but on the inside I’m a bit different. Recently when I was talking to my best friend about the lingering health issues, she told me that I look so normal and healthy that it’s hard to believe I was undergoing cancer treatment just a few months ago. Anyone who meets me now would never guess that I’ve been through cancer treatment. I look just like I did before except for the unintentional buzz cut I’m sporting. That’s about it! I’ve accepted the fact that my body is altered which was exceptionally hard for me to do. But there’s a quiet hope I carry with me: that time will heal my body, and with it, the reflection I see in the mirror will grow stronger, too.

Mentally, I’m not the same person. Cancer looms over my thoughts like a shadow, constantly reminding me that things aren’t the same. Questions like “Why me?” and “How did I get cancer?” still linger, even though I’ve accepted my new reality. I often wonder if surviving cancer means I should have a new identity or purpose. The answer is never clear, and I’m still trying to figure it out. Before my diagnosis, I had a list of goals I was determined to achieve, but now, the uncertainty surrounding my health makes them feel distant and out of reach. Some days, I’m optimistic, believing I can still accomplish everything I set out to do. But on other days, I feel overwhelmed by the fear that time may be running out or worse, that the goals themselves are no longer meaningful. My mind is filled with conflicting emotions—hope, sadness, fear, joy, gratitude and sometimes even hopelessness. Yet, despite these doubts, I continue to hold on to my goals, working toward them as best I can, hoping that, with time, I’ll gain more clarity and stability. I refuse to give up!

I’ve always been a planner, but I never expected cancer to be part of my life at this stage. People tell me to stop dwelling on the past and focus on moving forward. I’m scared to live the way I did before and like many survivors, I can’t help but feel that something in my past might have caused this. But I can’t just abandon my life or identity. I can’t stop planning or live entirely in the moment. During treatment, I tried to take it one day at a time. It was the only way I could get through, but I always had the countdown in my mind—Six cycles, and then it’s over. I told myself to stay positive, because that was all I could do. Life felt like it had been put on pause.

I used to put off happiness, and I realized that long before cancer, but never did much about it. Now, I’m more mindful, savouring the happy moments and focusing on what brings me joy. I try to stay present and leave worries for another time. I want to approach happiness with the same passion I’ve given to life’s stresses. I still question my purpose, but I trust I’ll find my way. I also make more of an effort to appreciate my relationships—my friends, my family—because I don’t want to take them for granted. I want them to know how much I cherish them, and I plan to tell them more often. These changes feel good, but I wish they didn’t have to come from cancer.

My friends and family don’t see me any differently. They’re proud of my strength through this journey, but to them, I’m still the same daughter, sister, wife, and friend I was before. During the toughest times, my mom and husband were my anchors, while my friend, despite her busy life, offered her unwavering support. I was fortunate to have such a strong support system at home, which meant I didn’t need to lean on others as much—but I was still grateful for their presence and prayers. At work, I’m deeply thankful for my manager and team. Their understanding and encouragement allowed me to focus on healing without the added pressure of work and finances. What I’ve learned, though, is that life continues to move forward for everyone around us. Cancer may stop you in your tracks, but eventually, we all have to keep going.

During my toughest moments, I found strength in prayer. Cancer was an expected challenge, and the uncertainty of treatment left me feeling lost, scared, and alone. But I always believed that God was by my side, a silent supporter, even during the times when it felt as though He was distant. I prayed for healing, for strength, and for understanding—asking why I was facing such a trial. But in the midst of my struggle, I also began to understand that there was purpose in my pain, even when I couldn’t see it. I’m still not sure what the purpose is but one day I’ll know. My relationship with God deepened in ways I never anticipated. I realized that this life, with all its struggles and blessings, is a gift meant to be lived in His honour. Even in my most vulnerable moments, when despair threatened to overtake me, I found hope in my faith. And to this day, when doubts and fears creep back into my mind, I turn to God for peace and reassurance. His love and grace continue to carry me through.

A cancer diagnosis really makes you take life seriously because we realize that life can be really short. For those of us who’ve faced it, death becomes a little more real, and we spend more time reflecting on it than others might. But even though I’m still the same person I was before, I also know I’m different now. When we think about change, we often imagine something drastic, but in reality, change can be small and gradual—and sometimes that’s easier to handle. So, why should I try to reinvent myself? Instead of searching for a new identity, I’m focusing on improving the one I already have. And improvement, for me, means living with less fear, embracing happiness and becoming more determined to achieve my goals – because these changes are the ones that will truly benefit me.