The Pink Pilgrimage

It’s not mostly joyful. Sometimes my happy energy gets depleted and I feel defeated.

Going through the daily grind of surviving cancer is mental calisthenics. I find myself busier, my creative juices coming alive again, able to go out on errands, and my naps are getting shorter. Although there are still days when fatigue gets the best of me.

I haven’t been taking coffee for a few weeks now, and surprisingly, it has helped manage my lethargic moments. I’m also happy with my combination of magnesium glycinate and melatonin for more restful sleep.

Nothing big is happening, thank goodness. I’m due for my routine laboratory tests next month, but for now, I’m simply enjoying this little break from medical errands.

In moments of spiritual dryness and during my darkest hours, your prayers continue to lift me up. Sometimes I just have to brush off the downers and choose gratitude and faithfulness again and again.

Thank you for keeping me in your thoughts and prayers.

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"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" - Philippians 4:13

There are many phases and faces to going through cancer. Survivorship looks different for each person, but one thing is certain — it is a struggle. What you try to joyfully embrace can sometimes feel like a bitter pill to swallow. You get tired all the time. Tired of being tired.

These days, I am slowly easing back into regular exercise, even if it’s only for 15 minutes. I still can’t lift weights, and that’s okay. I’m just grateful I feel much better than I did a few weeks ago.

My mind often feels foggy. I zone out. My mental energy runs out quickly, even when my thoughts are busy and full. There are so many things I still want to do, but my body cannot always keep up.

I’ve also noticed how unpredictable my appetite has become. I know I am undernourished, so when I do feel like eating, I try my best to nourish myself well -- greens, protein, and sometimes a little indulgence too, even if it’s just a nibble.

I don’t know what lies ahead. Will there be more suffering? More side effects from the medication? Will it all be worth it? Only time will tell.

But for now, I am learning to live one day at a time -- with grace for my limitations, gratitude for small victories, and hope that healing can still exist even in the uncertainty.

Another year. Another grace.

I celebrated my birthday surrounded by family and the people I love most. What a gift it is to be here, to be held, to begin again.

Stronger. Smarter. More joyful. Even in the midst of uncertainties.

This journey has taught me that grace shows up in the quiet. In the ordinary. In the days when I feel tired or spiritually dry. And yet, I am carried. Carried by your prayers. I feel them deeply. Truly.

Thank you for holding me up when I could not stand on my own.

Another chapter unfolds. And I pray it will be lovelier, deeper, and more meaningful than the last.
Almost 50… and embracing it with a full heart.

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My Pink Pilgrimage

My pink pilgrimage began in October 2025. It was both fitting and poetic that it unfolded during Breast Cancer Awareness Month and in the month of the Holy Rosary.

I was blessed to visit the Shrine of Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal, Notre Dame Cathedral, and the Sanctuary of Our Lady of Lourdes in France. These moments of prayer became anchors of grace in the midst of uncertainty.

Before that trip, I had already undergone my ultrasound and mammogram. Even before the biopsy confirmed it, I knew it was malignant. I felt it. At the same time, I also knew that I would be healed.

The source of my strength in this journey has been my prayer of surrender. God alone is in control. Beyond the treatments and therapies, what happens tomorrow is beyond me.

I have never wept so much in prayer. I needed that release. I prayed, “Heal me, O Lord, if it is Your will.” After each prayer, a deep sense of fortitude would come over me. It felt like a shield that reminded me I could endure. God became my refuge.

I asked Our Lady to intercede for me and to ask for my healing, if it is God’s will. It was a bold surrender. When I finally let go, fear and anxiety no longer had a hold on me.

Even the thought of death lost its weight.

What began as a diagnosis became a journey of grace and trust. It became a beautiful pilgrimage.

My pink pilgrimage.

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This journey was never just about healing the body. It has been about strengthening the soul.
With every step, every prayer, and every quiet moment of surrender, I found myself carrying not just my own story, but the stories of so many women walking this same path. There were days of fear, and days of pain. And some days when all I could do was hold on to my faith and trust that God was present in it all.

And He was. In the stillness, in the slow healing, in the grace that met me each day.

If you are a fellow cancer warrior, don’t fret. Embrace where you are and accept the journey. A constant doom-and-gloom mindset can weigh heavily, not only on your healing, but also on your relationships with the people who love you.

Choose, as best as you can, to live each day with hope. Make every waking moment count. There is still so much life, so much love, and so much grace waiting to be seen.

Today, I move forward. Stronger, but also softer. More aware, more grateful, and more anchored in God’s love than ever before.

This is my Pink Pilgrimage, a journey of faith, healing, courage, and love. And if you are walking your own path, know that you are not alone.

They say I am strong… but I don’t feel strong. I know I am not. But I also know this—there is no other choice.

I cannot live in sadness, anxiety, pain, and fear. I refuse to stay there.

Half the battle is won in the mind, so I choose to look forward—to each new day, to feeling better, to looking better, to finding some sense of normalcy again.

This strength is not mine. It is grace. All His. I do not know where I would be without my faith, and without the prayers that have been showered upon me by my family and friends.

I am deeply blessed, wrapped in God’s love. In truth, we all are.

How do I get through the painful moments? I offer a prayer for every bit of pain. And if that prayer can be a saving grace for a lost soul, then I am at peace.

Sometimes, we just need to shift our perspective. Instead of asking why we are sick, we can be grateful that we are still here—living, breathing, and witnessing God’s grace in our lives.

A week after what felt like an endless night of writhing in pain, I am finally here—feeling so much better. Radiation therapy truly strips you down; it feels like being burned from the inside out.

As Holy Week begins, I’m reminded that this is the perfect time to rest and recover in Christ. For His yoke is easy, and His burden is light.

Every little pinch, soreness, and discomfort becomes a quiet offering—a balm of love united with Christ’s suffering. And through it all, my heart overflows with gratitude for those who continue to support, pray for, and journey with me.

The road after treatment is filled with hope. I know, deep in my heart—I am healed.

Six weeks. Thirty sessions. Today, I finished my radiation treatment.

There were days I did not think I would make it to the end. The pain became so intense it felt like fire on my skin—raw, exposed, and unrelenting. Even the simple act of dressing the wound required courage I did not know I had. My body trembled, and I found myself weeping in surrender.

And yet… grace carried me through.

In these moments of suffering, I am reminded that love is often proven not in comfort, but in sacrifice. Each step into the treatment room became my quiet “yes” to the Lord. Each tear, a prayer. Each act of endurance, an offering.

I do not fully understand this journey, but I trust that nothing is wasted in God’s hands. If anything, this season has stripped me of self-reliance and drawn me closer to Him—where strength is no longer mine, but His.

For those who are walking a similar path: you are not alone. There is meaning even here. There is grace even here. And there is a love that sustains us, even in our weakest moments.

“Lord, I offer this to You. Use it for Your glory.”

Sharing in the Agony of Christ

How dare I say this? I cannot even fathom how much suffering my sins have caused Christ and His sacrifice.

They say when you are sick, you are closer to God because you share in His suffering on the Cross. Yet after what I felt this past weekend, I feel like such a wimp—so undeserving of His sacrifice.

My treated area feels bruised and battered—stabbing and piercing, pounced and crushed, then scorched. My skin is burned, oozing, sloughing, sore and unbearably itchy. It feels like hell. Perhaps nothing truly like it… and all the more I pray never to be in the fiery furnace for all eternity.

Love the Cross, love the Cross. How fitting these words are during Lent. My own via crucis, lived quietly in the comfort of my home. I cannot complain.

If you are sick, come join me in offering this Lenten sacrifice. Let us unite what we are going through for the transformation of hearts, the conversion of souls, the healing of the sick, comfort for the weary, eternal rest for the poor souls in purgatory, and for peace in this chaotic world.

May we raise our voices together in praise and worship of God.

In less than a week, I will “graduate” from my radiation treatment—a joyful moment I look forward to with gratitude.

It brings hope for recovery and better health. A beginning again… though not unscathed. Burned and chafed skin. Sore and itching. Deep fatigue.
I know healing will come. Perhaps slowly. Not now, not just yet.

Still, I move forward with hope.

I pray for the grace to manage my strength and energy, so I may not miss Sunday Mass and can continue to attend the Lenten services that anchor my heart during this season.

One step at a time. One prayer at a time. One grace at a time.