Cancer isn’t the main story anymore.

It’s been eleven years since my last breast cancer diagnosis—and six since my last treatment.

Most days, I’m thinking about fabric and fit, what needs to be cut and sewn, orders that need to go out, and the never-quite-finished list that comes with running a small business. In other words, I’m living my life.

I don’t take that for granted.

But every October, cancer edges a little closer to the foreground. Not dramatically. Just enough to remind me that although treatment ended years ago, some of what it changed never really left.

I’ve written before about what happened. Lately, I’ve been thinking more about what stayed.

A different relationship with time

I was 39 when a routine mammogram found my breast cancer. I was healthy. I felt fine. Breast cancer runs through generations of my family, but hearing the words directed at me still felt impossible.

My calendar quickly filled with appointments, tests, and a medical vocabulary I had never wanted to learn. I would eventually receive two more breast cancer diagnoses.

During those years, I tried to keep working through treatment. I was let go from a full-time design job after taking medical leave, which also meant losing my health insurance. Cancer was already more than enough to manage. Losing my job and insurance in the middle of it did not help.

Later, I found myself in another job that left me deeply unfulfilled while I was still dealing with ongoing treatment. Somewhere in all of that, I started paying closer attention to where my time and energy were going.

I wish I could say the experience taught me to use every hour wisely. It did not. I still procrastinate. I get distracted by my phone. I can turn a small decision into a full committee meeting in my own head.

But I recognize sooner when something is draining me. I’m less willing to continue doing something simply because it’s what I’ve always done—or because I think I’m supposed to.

That doesn’t mean I walk away easily or never second-guess myself. It just means I ask the question now: Is this still right for me?

Clarity, not fearlessness

The day I launched Lacson Ravello in 2015 was also the day I received my third breast cancer diagnosis. Not exactly the launch-day news I had hoped for.

After years of designing for other companies, I had finally created something of my own. Then, on the same day, I was pulled right back into tests, appointments, and treatment.

Starting a business in the middle of all that was, objectively, questionable timing. But it gave me something to build when so much else felt beyond my control. It gave me a reason to keep looking forward.

Cancer didn’t make me fearless. It made me clearer.

I still worry about making the wrong business decision. I still hesitate before taking a creative risk. But I have a better sense of what I want the work to be about.

I want to make clothing that feels good on a real body and makes getting dressed easier. I want to work with people I respect. I want to build locally and thoughtfully, even when it isn’t the simplest route. And I want the business to be part of a meaningful life—not consume the whole thing.

That last part remains a work in progress.

So does practicing ease. Sometimes ease means listening when my body tells me to slow down. Sometimes it means removing an unnecessary step, asking for help, or deciding that good enough really is good enough. Sometimes it simply means not making an already difficult day harder.

Less fuss, more ease isn’t only a way of describing the clothes. It reflects something I’ve needed in my own life.

I haven’t mastered it. But I catch myself more often now.

Ordinary life again

Cancer is part of my history, but it isn’t my entire identity. I’m a designer, a wife, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a business owner—and someone who survived breast cancer three times.

Surviving did not turn me into a permanently grateful or endlessly enlightened person. I still get annoyed by traffic, complain about bad customer service, and stress over deadlines. I don’t wake up every morning thinking, Today is a gift. Most mornings, I wake up thinking about coffee.

Honestly, I’m glad ordinary life feels ordinary again.

My first breast cancer diagnosis came after a routine mammogram, when I felt completely healthy. Early detection changed the course of my life. So this is my gentle reminder to stay current with the screenings and care recommended for you—especially if you’ve been putting off making the appointment.

I also know that not every cancer story follows the same path, and not everyone gets this kind of distance from it. I don’t take mine for granted.

Cancer is no longer the defining fact of my everyday life. But I can still see what it changed—in my work, in the way I use my time, and in what I’m no longer willing to make difficult for myself.

Eleven years later, that’s what stayed.

Related Reading:

• Nine Years Strong: My Journey as a Cancer Survivor
• Meet Amber of Cabine Monde
• Turning 50: 10 Things I’ve Learned