When Does It Get Better?

Chelsey’s story and artwork is featured in our March 2025 magazine issue. Click here to read “My Identity After Cancer.”

Cancer didn’t just change my body; it reshaped my soul. My husband joked that I was “Chelsey 2.0” after my first cancer treatment ended—a newer, better version of myself. After the second round of treatment, which included a stem cell transplant, I was “3.0.” While I feel more like myself now than ever before, it wasn’t always that way. Before cancer, I thought my worth was tied to my career. I worked in insurance, a pretty ordinary job. But I thought success in that job was important. Why? Growing up, one of my parents wasn’t very supportive, in fact they were pretty awful. They often belittled me and spread rumors about me to extended family and friends. I was determined to prove them wrong. Even as a kid, I worked hard doing things like babysitting to earn my own money. As a teen, I juggled a part-time job, good grades, and volunteer work. I put myself through college through a combination of scholarships and full-time work. I didn’t have much help, so I had to do it myself. I would prove to my parent and the rest of the world that I was successful, no matter the personal cost to me.

In 2015, I had my beautiful daughter, Luna. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. But when she was just three months old, I was pressured to go back to work. I didn’t want to, but society and my job made me feel like I had to. If I knew then what I know now—that she would be my only child because of cancer—I would have never left her side. I know not everyone can afford to stay home, and I’m not sure I could have either. Like most working mothers, I struggled with guilt, exhaustion, and the constant pressure to be everything to everyone. I wished I could go back and tell myself that the only thing that truly matters is my family. I am often sad that it took not one, but two cancer diagnoses for me to prioritize my well-being. Going through cancer helped me find my voice again and learn to advocate for myself.

I didn’t always know how to set boundaries. I used to be a people-pleaser. I would go out of my way to avoid conflict and always put others’ needs before my own. Some people who knew me before cancer have said I’ve changed. Well, I almost died! Wouldn’t you change too? I think there is more cause to worry if someone doesn’t change after such a big experience. Cancer made me want to improve my life. But some people didn’t like that. They wanted me to stay the same quiet, easy-to-control person I used to be. Those people are easier to take advantage of. If people are upset that you’ve changed, ask yourself why. What do they really want from you? I’ve been asking myself those same questions over the past four years and sometimes the answers aren’t easy to digest.

The people in my life now are very different from the people who were in it before cancer. When you’re sick, you really see who your true friends are. I’ve always been a loyal friend, so it was hard to realize that not everyone feels the same way. I cried a lot over the people who abandoned me. But then I realized it wasn’t my fault. I don’t need those people in my life anymore. It took a lot of courage to let go of those toxic relationships, but it was one of the best decisions I ever made. In their place, I have so many lovely friends who I have met through the cancer community.

If you’re reading this and you’ve recently finished treatment or are going through it now, know that this epiphany about setting boundaries and ditching toxic friends didn’t come easy. After my first and second rounds of cancer, I felt completely lost. Everything I thought I knew about myself was gone. I’d lost my career and felt like a failure. I was a mom, but was I a good one? I’d put my little girl through so much. I was a wife, but was I a good one? I’d put my husband through so much. I felt disconnected from everything and everyone, including myself.

Recovering from a stem cell transplant in the middle of a pandemic didn’t help. My immune system was nonexistent, and I lived in fear every day about contracting COVID-19. We had to pull my daughter out of preschool because of the infection risk, and my husband had to start working at home full time. Nothing felt normal. I wasn’t normal. Now what?

I blamed myself for everything. My daughter and husband didn’t see me differently—they were just happy I was alive. But I put so much pressure on myself to be who I used to be. I tried to return to my prior levels of productivity and I pushed myself to do things I wasn’t physically capable of. I felt like a failure. I thought if I just tried harder, I could transform back into that girl. But I couldn’t. The realization that I couldn’t go back to my old self was a painful one. I was drowning in guilt and confusion. Something had to change.

About two years ago, I started therapy on my own. Before that, I’d only gone to therapy because the hospital required it. We always talked about cancer, but there’s more to me than that. I found this amazing therapist online, and it turns out she was a cancer survivor who’d also had a stem cell transplant, just like me. It was like finding a kindred spirit. She understood everything I was going through without me having to explain. We talked about so much more than cancer—things like people-pleasing, setting boundaries, and standing up for myself. I realized these were the real issues I’d been dealing with my whole life. Cancer was just a distraction from the deeper problems.

I’ve always been in fight-or-flight mode. I didn’t realize it until cancer forced me to face reality. I was trying to be someone I wasn’t anymore—I didn’t want to be unhappy or a people pleaser anymore. During one particularly emotional therapy session, I broke down and cried. I finally realized that I had been so focused on pleasing others that I had completely neglected my own needs. That was a turning point for me. Therapy helped me rediscover my true self—that spunky kid who made friends easily. She was still there, waiting for me. I promised to make her proud. For once, I was ready to put us first.

Today, I’m more open and honest than ever. I am open and honest with those in my life even when it’s not the easy path. I also share a lot of myself online. I give advice and offer my stories to help others avoid the mistakes I made. But people might think I have it all figured out. I don’t. I still make mistakes, and I still struggle. Recently, on my six-year cancerversary, I found myself feeling sad and overwhelmed. I know what to expect when my cancerversary rolls around, but knowing that sometimes doesn’t make it any easier. I want to help others avoid the pain I went through, but I’m still learning and growing. It’s OK to not have all the answers. The important thing is to keep moving forward. Sometimes I forget that so many people don’t know my past struggles. They only see the person I am now. I want to be honest about my life, even the messy parts. I’m not perfect, and I’m still figuring things out. But I believe that sharing my experiences can help others. It’s a strange feeling to be in a place of healing and growth, while also knowing that many people don’t understand how I got here. I want to be a source of hope, but I also want to acknowledge that my experience hasn’t been easy.

If you know this new version of me, I’m glad. But please remember the lost girl I once was. She walked the same path many of you are on now. She thought things would never get better, but she was wrong. I’m so glad she was. Don’t use me as a model of who to become. Use me as an example of what you can unlearn. You can break free from the expectations and pain the world has placed on you. It won’t be easy, but you can do it. I believe in you.

Original artwork by Chelsey Gomez