“A what?”

“A tumor”

“A tumor as in the cancer kind of stuff? The one that can flip you from alive to dead in the blink of an eye? You’re kidding me, right?”

The day I was told I had a tumor was the most eye-opening day of my life. You think you’ll handle news like that with strength, to stay positive, be brave. But then your mind takes off on its own, making connections you never imagined.. And suddenly, the question crashes into you like a freight train: What if I’m going to die? 

None of us is immune. We know death will come eventually, but in your beginning 40s? That wasn’t part of the plan.

It took me more than three years to find the courage to write this. I’m ready now. Maybe my story will help someone. Maybe I just need to release it.

That summer, I was always tired. Morning, evening—didn’t matter. Even getting out of a chair felt like a major accomplishment. Washing my hair required effort I didn’t have. Deep down, I knew something wasn’t right. Call it instinct, intuition, gut feeling—whatever it is, never ignore it. One of the first lessons my “lovely tumor” taught me was this: trust your intuition. Every time I’ve listened to it, it’s been right.

I was 39. Life was… messy. I was back with my ex, trying to revive a roller-coaster relationship. I had just moved abroad with my daughter, barely knew the language, was job hunting, and constantly missing my roots. My daughter was 12, and we were navigating life, just the two of us.

I wasn’t miserable. I could still find joy. But I wasn’t really happy either. I was just going with the flow.

I decided to get some blood work done—maybe my vitamins were low. While in my home country for the summer, I went for a pelvic ultrasound. That quiet, sterile room will stay with me forever. The doctor pointed at the screen and said, “I’d advise a body scan. There’s something here. Do you see it?”

No. I saw black spots. What should I see—fireworks? Butterflies? Caterpillars?

She said it might be a tumor, but needed confirmation. I laughed inside. “Why would I have a tumor? I’m not even 40.” She referred me to a colleague at another hospital. I rolled my eyes and got in a cab, still convinced it was nothing.

But alone in the taxi, my thoughts went wild. What if it’s real? What if I die? What happens to my child? A million racing thoughts. Sugar! I eat too much sugar. I knew it! I still have places to see, books to read, my daughter’s future to witness. I can’t die now.

The body scan felt endless. I lay there, cold—not just from the machine but from fear. “Yes, there’s a tumor,” she said. “Two, actually. They’re small but connected. Surgery is necessary. We’ll see later if it’s benign or not.”

The next day, I flew back to the country I had moved to. I promised myself I wouldn’t make a drama out of it. I’d treat it like the flu. Nothing more. It’s going to be fine.

Back home, more appointments, more tests, more opinions. The doctors believed it was benign, but one ovary had to go—the tumors were attached to it, and they didn’t want to take risks.

In the weeks leading up to surgery, I started to see my life through a different lens. Everything suddenly became clearer. I needed a plan. A new beginning. I had to reinvent my life, clean house—mentally, emotionally, spiritually—and start living with intention. I needed to save myself from myself, to reinvent all my beliefs. It made me question everything, even the toothpaste I was using.

The surgery day arrived. He—my partner—forgot I was even in the hospital. Work was more important than being at home during those two difficult weeks. My daughter, just 12, took care of me. My neighbor helped too, and for that, I’ll be forever grateful. But still, I felt profoundly alone.

That period forced me out of my rose-colored bubble and into harsh reality. It was the wake-up call I needed. I realized: You’re on your own, girl. It’s time to build a life based on your own desires, and truth.

I made a pact with myself:

• Never expect anything from anyone.

• Don’t rely on others to validate your worth.

• Don’t sacrifice your happiness.

• Laugh with many, trust only a few.

• Let go of relationships that drain you.

• Choose what enriches your mind and your heart.

And above all, learn to find happiness within yourself. That’s real wealth. When you understand your strength, you’ll move mountains. When you realize that peace depends entirely on you, you’ll live a life that feels like a warm, sunny summer day.

You know why?

Because you can.

And no one gets to tell you otherwise.