Never talk about how you feel, never get too close to get hurt, and always be the best at everything you do. It was a gripping fear for me to think about not being in control of my surroundings.

It began as a means to cope with my child hood. In the beginning I could escape through daydreaming, I would allow my mind to check out so that I didn’t have to face my pain. As the years went by that denial technique wore off, and in its place was a way of life. My approval and identity were in what everyone one else thought of me, I loved people in unhealthy ways, I tried to rescue others so that I could feel worthy, and the shame and guilt just continually thickened.

As long as the outside looked good and I kept the appearance up that I had it all together, I was able to keep hidden the inner turmoil. The problem is, it’s an impossible task, and one by one, my spinning plates came crashing down. My relationship with God was one of legalism; it was more about rules then about a relationship. I came to a breaking point; the pain finally exceeded my fear of getting help. My life and relationship with God began to change, when I admitted first to myself that my life was out of control, and that only by the power of Christ could I be healed. After stepping out of denial, I found someone safe that I could trust and together with that person, began to walk the journey of restoration.

Looking back over my life, I’m reminded of the women at the well spoken of in John 4. I have identified and connected with that woman since the first time I read that story. Not because she had five husbands, but because she was longing for something more, to know and be known. She represents to me, all the times in my life; I have traded God’s best for that which made me feel better temporarily. Through all my various forms of self medicating, I came to know a loving God who met me right where I was, and offered me living water.

If life is like an onion, layers of years, intertwined with people, events and perspective, I believe God prepared me for my greatest battle to date.

I knew something was wrong as soon as I saw the first doctor on May 12, 2005. By the end of the day, I lay on a table after just undergoing a biopsy. I knew it was cancer. I sobbed as the questions piled on me. I’m self employed. How will I work? I’m a single mom. How will I care for my son? How will I pay my bills? I’m only 28. Am I going to die?

My official diagnosis came the next day; breast cancer. The first thing I did was get alone to process. I prayed and then I did the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I let go of the control of my surroundings. Friends gathered around me to help organize the next several months of surgery and treatments. As I talked about my feelings and my needs, my community relieved me of a burden that I couldn’t carry alone.

An example of this is when a friend of mine called excited about a way he could help. He wanted to start a foundation in my name called the “Rashel Foundation.” People could donate money that would help my son and I get through this rough season. At the conception of the foundation it was clear to me that it was only the birth of a greater vision. In my heart, a vision for community within the cancer community was born.

In the midst of this new vision I experienced great loss. Over the course of about a month, I lost three major things that I felt defined my femininity- my hair, my breasts and my ovaries. Three weeks after the diagnosis I had a radical double mastectomy and was told that my ovaries would be put to sleep. Two and a half weeks later, I went in for my first chemotherapy treatment. I wrote in my journal afterwards, ‘I’m honestly not sure which is harder- not knowing what to expect or now knowing and facing it seven more times.’ I grieved each loss deeply and fought to grasp my new reality.

Though I grieved, I found ways to celebrate life with those around me. My son, who loved my bald head, often gave me kisses on it. He proudly requested of me when we met anyone to, “Show them your head Mom”. My friends threw a hat party for me that helped me to accept and embrace my hair loss. I also had some beautiful pictures taken without hair that helped me to put to rest the wrong belief that somehow my beauty was found in my appearance. They might be the most beautiful pictures I’ve ever had because they speak so much of where my heart was.

Through the pain of cancer and the action of my community, I am moved beyond myself. I have courage that I didn’t know I had. I am loved in ways I never thought possible. In turn, I can love freely and for the right reasons. Through my fight I was free to focus on getting better because I knew there were people who cared. They gave me hope in moments when I was at my weakest. Next year I may physically look like myself again, and have a new short hair do, but one thing is for sure. Life is forever changed for me, and everyday is precious.