Kelsey SmithYesterday was 11/11: My cancerversary. Eleven years ago, I was diagnosed with stage two breast cancer, and my life changed forever. In some circles, 11:11 carries meaning and serves as a reminder to trust your intuition, have faith in your journey, and trust the divine plan for your life. This is not an easy task when the risk for recurrence is high, and no patient comes out of treatment the same as they were before mentally, emotionally, or physically. While I learned that I could tackle entrepreneurship and did, my body hasn’t been the most reliable vessel in doing so.
The Betrayal
For most of those eleven years, my relationship with my own body has been pretty complicated. As an avid fitness girlie prior to diagnosis, it felt like a betrayal. This body was the thing that failed me, as did my positive choices. Sure, I had insecurities like anyone else, but cancer at 29?! Certainly, I wasn’t doing something right. Then, came the BCI test in 2019 that locked me into five more years of treatment, the source of immense pain and one of the aspects that led to my “personal winter.” In 10 years, I gained 40 pounds from the medication. Just as I was about to finish treatment, another blow: In May of 2025, I was diagnosed with pre-diabetes. I was in a constant, low-grade war with the one thing I couldn’t escape. As I’ve written before, there were times I just wanted to be out of my body. It felt less like a home and more like a prison. Even years after the cancer was “gone,” that feeling of disconnection remained. I’d been living in a body I didn’t fully trust or recognize anymore.
The Turning Point
But here’s the thing about our stories: they don’t have to end with the trauma. We can write the next chapter. The work of the Wise Alchemist is to turn lead into gold. The work of the Soulful Curator is to build a sanctuary, even from the rubble. I knew I couldn’t build a truly sovereign life if I was still at war with my own home. So, I began the slow, messy, and non-linear work of reclamation. In January, right before my pre-diabetes diagnosis, I made a conscious decision to jump on a treadmill and start training for a half-marathon. I was tired of feeling weak. I was tired of feeling like a visitor in my own skin. I decided to stop punishing my body for what it had been through and start thanking it for what it had survived.
The Reclamation
I started moving again. Not as a punishment for what I ate or a desperate attempt to look like I used to. I started moving my body as an act of re-inhabitation. My fitness regimen—which for me is now 5 days a week—is not about aesthetics. It’s a daily, non-negotiable ritual of respect. It is my declaration that this body is not my enemy. It is not broken. It is my ally. Every run is an act of reconnecting with my breath and my power. Every weight I lift is an alchemical process, transforming the memory of weakness into present-day strength. Every nourishing meal is a noble choice to fuel my body with intention, not punish it with deprivation. This is the “messy middle” of flourishing. It’s not a perfect “after” photo. It’s the daily, gritty, and beautiful work of showing up for yourself. I can feel myself getting stronger.
The “How”: A Guide to the Gritty Work
And for anyone starting their own journey of reclamation, I want to share what that “gritty work” actually looks like. It’s not a list of rules; it’s a series of new, mindful habits. This is the “how” behind the transformation:
It’s an unglamorous combination of changing my eating habits and increasing my movement. To lower my A1C, I must cut simple carbohydrates and limit my sugar intake to 45g/day. It’s learning to listen to my cravings, and determine if I need to drink more water and give it 10 minutes to pass, or to give in with two to three savory bites. Working at a car dealership is challenging because surprise snacks come in from every direction, and I have to politely decline. Family dinners are also difficult to navigate, but I can say “yes” by having dressing on the side or eating the burger without the bun. This isn’t about isolation; it’s about participation on my own terms. It’s learning to see food as fuel, not just feelings. I’ve had to learn that my body needs fuel even when I’m not hungry, especially after lifting days. After a heavy workout, a high-protein meal is a necessity for repair, not an indulgence. I’m learning to eat for the athlete I am becoming. Every meal I eat, every craving I have is logged, including the full-on “cheat day” I had last weekend. The old me would have spiraled into a week of guilt and given up, but I know that every new day is a chance to get it right. You simply forgive, hydrate, and get right back on the plan. My consistency is not defined by my failures; it’s defined by how gracefully I rise.
For half-marathon training, I was running four-five days a week. While I completed the half-marathon on September 21st, 2025, I was the third to last runner to finish because I didn’t strength train. Finding that I have success with starting new habits on any day that’s not Monday, I joined a gym on a Friday and it has been one of the best decisions I could have made. Now, a typical week is as follows: Monday is reserved for arms and upper body, Tuesday is a rest day, Wednesday is leg day, Thursday is running a 5K, Friday is what’s called “Flexible Friday,” Saturday is a rest day, and Sunday is my big six-mile run. “Flexible Friday” is spent with 20 minutes on the elliptical, 15 minutes of deep stretching, and 10-15 minutes in the sauna. Active recovery is a workout. Since I enjoy weight training, running, and basking in a sauna, I am having success. It’s really all about moving your body in the ways that you like, whether it be swimming, dancing, or walking. Movement is not a punishment!
My goal is to lose 1-2 pounds per week. The scale is a fickle friend, easily influenced by salt, water, and hormones. It once told me I’d gained weight after my strongest week. The real truth? I had added 41 pounds to my leg press. Though difficult, I am learning to trust my strength gains more. I log every workout and compare the data each week. The stronger I get, the better my body is at increasing metabolism and burning fat.
The Journey
This is the work. This is how we take the lead of our trauma and, day by day, turn it into the gold of our present. Eleven years later, the journey continues. But on this anniversary, for the first time, I don’t just feel like a survivor of what my body went through. I feel proud and grateful for the body that has carried me this far. When I started this journey back in January, I was 188 pounds. I am sitting at about 175 today. And that is something to celebrate.
