Desirre Escobedo

26 days. 4 infusions left of this chemotherapy portion of my treatment plan.

I’ve felt my body slowing down a lot more over the past week or two.

My bloodwork continues to show that I’m handling treatment about as well as I could be, but I’ve finally given in to truly resting my body and my mind.

I’m optimistic. I’m excited to get back to my usual self, my usual energy, my usual pace.

But until then… I feel like I’m walking in slow motion through a movie.

Thank you to all the people who continue to love on me, check on me, show up for me, and give me space to move through this however I need to.

I have felt loved the entire way through, and that is a blessing I do not take for granted. 🤍

August has been absolutely insane.

We got our kiddos back to school.
I taught dads how to braid hair.
My oldest had a birthday.
My sister came to visit.
We hosted a huge local event.
We hosted a large class at Lavish.
We golfed and sponsored a nonprofit.
We spent time with friends from out of state.
3 Chemo treatments completed (1 more tomorrow)
Big decisions were made on projects we’ve been dreaming about for a long time.
And The Sandia Collective was born.

When I tell you I am truly living this life to the fullest, I mean it.

Not every moment is easy or perfectly balanced, but I’m in it. Fully. Building, loving, celebrating, creating, showing up and experiencing all of it.

Thirty minutes before Ignite began in 2024, my husband’s stepmom passed away.

I wanted to cancel everything.

But there were vendors who had created pieces specifically for this night. Hairdressers spent weeks preparing. Tattoo artists drew tons of Flash. Our team had worked hard. People were already coming together to experience something we had promised to create.

I knew I could get myself through the night, so I did.

Somewhere between hosting, smiling, dancing and watching everyone enjoy themselves, I probably cried with four or five different people.

This photo is one of those moments. My husband’s cousin and I, with our eyes welled up, having a moment in the middle of the dance floor.

When I watch the video from that night, everyone looks like they’re having the best time…and they were.

What you can’t see is everything that was happening underneath it.

I think leadership sometimes looks like that.

Not ignoring your pain. Not pretending you’re okay. You recognize that sometimes something bigger than you is already in motion, and deciding whether you have the capacity to keep carrying it.

I did that night.

And I also cried.

An operations meeting at Lavish is usually a space where we get straight to work on all the things we can do to make our workspace better for our team and our guests.

MJ is our Salon Coordinator. Dre is our Culture Keeper.

And somewhere in the middle of working through decisions, upcoming demands, and all the unknowns of this season, I can almost instantly feel the weight of it all.

Since my diagnosis, I’ve fallen apart in front of these two almost a dozen times.

And every single time, they sit quietly and let me.

They give me space to show up exactly as I am. They remind me of what we’re building. They listen to my wild little fears, my ideas, my overwhelm, and all the things I’m trying to hold at once.

The way they have held space for me during this season is something I will never forget.

I think the word gratitude gets used so often that sometimes we forget what it feels like when it’s actually rooted somewhere deep.

But when I tell you I feel it with these two, I mean it.

I am thankful for them every day.

Every. Single. Day.

Today I completed 9 out of 16 treatments.

For the first time, I cried to my nurse.
For the first time, I cried to my doctor.

Both of them gave me hugs, which made me cry more.

I’d be lying if I said the weight of everything isn’t starting to add up.

I keep telling myself, just 7 more. You can do 7 more.

But I think what’s carrying me forward is bigger than counting down treatments.

It’s all the reasons I have to keep going.

My family.
My people.
My work.
The things I still want to create.
The ordinary days I want more of.
The life waiting for me on the other side of this.

I love my life.

Even on the days when fighting for it feels really fu***ng hard, I know how lucky I am that I get to keep living it.

9 down. 7 more.

I got this 💪🏽

Thoughts I have while sitting in my Chemo appointment.

Swipe through & let know…

What’s one small choice you could make differently today? 💐

Tonight, MJ Blake and I had the opportunity to teach a group of dads a variety of techniques they can take home and use with their little ones.

There was something incredibly special about watching them learn, ask questions, and grow in a new skill. This was easily one of the most fulfilling things I’ve done in a while.

Thank you, Jess Griego j_plus_j_is_love, for inviting us to be part of such a meaningful event, and thank you, Restoration Pizza for the incredible hospitality. ❤️

It takes commitment from both the stylist and the employer to build a successful career. 💐

Something that’s become impossible for me to ignore as I navigate life, cancer, and chemo…

Complaining is easy.

It’s one of the easiest things we can do.

Taking action?
Changing the thing.
Having the hard conversation.
Asking for help.
Making the appointment.
Setting the boundary.
Learning the skill.
Trying again.

That part is harder.

What I’m learning is this:

You can give people every resource, every opportunity, every ounce of encouragement, every hard truth…

But at some point, it comes down to whether they actually care enough to do something with it.

People change when they’re ready to change.
Not when life hands them the perfect answer or plan.

So if you’re waiting for something to get better…

Stop waiting.

Do something.

Anything.

Movement will always take you further than complaints ever will.

☮️