The overlooked side of breast cancer: Mental health

But instead, I was in a hospital bed, neutropenic, isolated, and watching photos of my family’s vacation from my phone. Cancer had taken yet another thing from me. I cried. I raged. And then, I made a decision — I had to focus on the long game. I had to take care of my mind if I wanted to take care of my body.

The emotional toll of cancer

A breast cancer diagnosis at the age of 40 upended everything. Now there were so many unknowns and scans, plus loss after loss — from fertility to freedom to travel. I had always been a type A perfectionist, managing ADHD and anxiety by staying in control. Cancer forced me to surrender. The grind that once defined me — talk fast, walk fast, work fast — had to stop. My new focus became enduring treatment, slowing down, and healing.

Despite the revolving door of medical appointments, mental health was rarely addressed. Beyond a brief questionnaire about my mood, few asked how I was coping. I was often the youngest person in the chemo room, which left me feeling resentful — and then guilty for feeling that way. I’d remind myself that I was lucky to have access to care, but gratitude and grief often came in waves. I was grateful for science yet resentful to be among the minority of women diagnosed under 62. I was grateful for my support system yet hated needing to rely on them.

The breaking point

One of my darkest moments came after my first round of the “red devil.” I spiked a fever and was admitted to the hospital with severe neutropenia — my immune system at zero. The next day, we were supposed to leave for our annual beach trip. It was the one thing I had looked forward to, the only moment of escape. My husband and I made the painful decision: they would go without me.

Lying in a hospital bed, I moped and cried, watching "White Lotus" while eating inedible hospital food. My husband sent me pictures of our boys splashing in the ocean, and my emotions spiraled between devastation and joy. I was furious at cancer, heartbroken to miss another milestone, and yet relieved that my boys still had their fun. Eventually, I accepted that missing this one trip meant I could be there for many more. Short-term pain for long-term gain.

Where are the recommendations for mental health?

While there are endless recommendations for physical health during treatment — strength training, cutting back sugar and alcohol, staying active — mental health is often an afterthought. But anxiety, fear, and grief can be just as debilitating as the physical toll. I had to completely rewire myself to manage stress, calm my nervous system, and reclaim some sense of control.

I also had to consider the mental health of those around me — my partner, my kids, my caregivers. We were upfront with my sons’ teachers, ensuring school counseling was available. Neighbors and friends stepped in when I was too exhausted to function. Accepting help became essential.

How I took control of my mental health

Say yes! Accept help & simplify.

Accepting help is not my forte, but I had to give that up quickly.

• Friends set up a meal train — I said yes.
• Neighbors took out the trash — I said yes.
• Meal delivery on bad days, meal kits on good ones — I said yes.
• Lesson learned: Accepting help is not weakness. It’s survival.

Define what community means to you.

Some people choose to keep their diagnosis private, and that’s okay, but community was everything for me.

• I designated a “work captain” to share updates so I wasn’t bombarded with messages.
• I leaned into support from LBBC's Young Advocate group  — it changed my life.
• My advice: Find the level of community that works for you.

Assemble your holistic care team.

We are no longer average patients.

• Therapy: Finding the right therapist — someone who understood trauma — was key.
• Medication: I adjusted my anxiety meds to manage chemically induced menopausal side effects, such as night sweats and hot flashes.
• Physical therapy: Learning lymphatic massage to prevent lymphedema and manage scar tissue.
• Specialist care: I found a new OB-GYN and PCP to help me navigate chemically induced menopausal weight gain and any other issues related to long-term endocrine therapy.
• Lesson learned: Cancer care is more than oncology — it requires a whole-person approach.

Find a breastie!

Even with a caring village of support surrounding you, cancer can be incredibly isolating. Having friends, “breasties,” who were going through it at the same time or have in the past is crucial.

• I met one of my closest friends in chemo — same diagnosis, same oncologist, both moms of two boys.
• Meeting my Young Advocate group through LBBC  gave me the greatest joy and laughter that I had not felt since pre-cancer. Having someone who just gets it is invaluable.

Use local and national mental health resources.

Research support in your area, region, and beyond for free services.

• Cancer Bridges provided free yoga, reiki, art therapy, and counseling for my family.
• I started journaling and sharing updates on CaringBridge.
• Writing workshops through Wildfire Magazine helped me process obsessive thoughts.
• Lesson learned: Mental health resources exist — use them.

Get grounded and find joy.

Getting grounded, being in nature and taking the time every day to pause is the new me.

• The integrative oncology center at my hospital connected me with acupuncture and nutrition counseling.
• I rediscovered yoga, which became my mental and physical sanctuary.
• My yoga therapist, who became my holistic healer, introduced me to mindfulness, meditation, and mantras.
• Every morning, I breathe and repeat: “Healthy cells remain.”
• Lesson learned: Joy is a practice. Find yours.

My best advice to you

1. Find your what and why. What makes you feel supported? What brings you peace? What can you let go of?
2. Prioritize your mental health as much as your physical health. It’s not optional — it’s survival.
3. Seek out free resources. Your cancer center, local organizations, and online communities can help.
4. Accept the journey. It’s messy, it’s painful, but you are not alone.

I could write an entire book on mental health in survivorship — that’s a whole other chapter. For now, I leave you with this: Healthy cells remain. Healthy cells remain. Healthy cells remain.