So...now what❓

Hi Friends,

I’ve mentally started and stopped writing this update more times than I can count—each attempt feeling too tender, too tangled, too unfinished to send. And while I’m still feeling all of that, here I am—pushing through the resistance straight to your inbox after months away.

2025 has tested me—physically, mentally, spiritually—in ways I’ve never experienced before. And while my circumstances are my own, I have a feeling I’m not alone in that feeling.

I’ve been trying to process it all while recognizing I’m still very much in the messy middle of things.

This is my best attempt to put words to the rollercoaster that’s been 2025 so far—with some wins, some very real struggles, and a tangible ask at the end.

But let’s start with some real tangible wins since I last wrote to you:

And finally, with a healthy dose of scanxiety in tow, I had my first “routine” mammogram and ultrasound—and received amazing (though expected) results: no new suspicious masses!! My next scan will be in October.

And now, some big struggles:

• I got hit with the very real, lingering fatigue from radiation just in time to emotionally spiral through a parade of one-year milestones:

  • The day I found my lump (April Fools— OK universe - I see you.)

  • The day I was diagnosed (Tax Day - the gift that keeps on giving)

  • And my egg retrieval (Mother’s Day—poetic, right?)

• I cut my hair (bye-bye, post-chemo mullet 🙃). I think I’m rocking it, but I still do double takes in the mirror like, “who is THAT?” The identity crisis is real and ongoing but it’s growing back thick.

• I started chemotherapy pills (Xeloda/Capecitabine)—six pills a day, one week on, one week off. I’ve completed three rounds so far (with a nice little three-week break because my body said “girl, pause”). The side effects are... persistent: fatigue, no appetite, and sore hands and feet (shout out to Hand-Foot Syndrome for keeping things interesting). I think I’m tolerating it better now that I’m half the dose I originally started at and at least, after the break, know what to expect.

But the hardest part? Honestly, it’s been the mental toll of this stretch.

The anxiety.
The depression.
The grief.

Not all at once, but in waves—slow, sneaky, then suddenly all-consuming.

I just didn’t expect that now would be the hardest part of cancer.

Yes—harder than the initial shock of diagnosis.
Yes—even harder than the busyness and brutalness of 16 chemo infusions and surgery.

Because it’s here—toward the end of active treatment—when the body and mind, at least in my experience, have really started keeping score.

When the question becomes: now what?

More than the fear of recurrence (which I know I really can’t control other than keep showing up for my treatment), the hardest part has been relearning how to feel human again.

How to live life, not just survive it.
How to put on real clothes and go somewhere that isn’t the cancer center (even though I’m still there plenty).
How to be social when all I have to share is health updates.
How to enjoy myself when I don’t even feel like myself.
How to feel safe again—in my body, in the world, even with the people I love most—after living in survival mode for over a year.

The best way I can describe it is: it’s like emerging from a COVID lockdown…only I was the only one quarantining.

So as I stare down the end of active treatment sometime this fall (four more Keytruda infusions and nine rounds of chemo pills ahead), I’m (very) slowly learning to meet myself where I am. To accept that my energy and capacity are different. To hold both truth and progress. I’m so much closer to the finish line than the start but wow, is this tough.

Here’s the lesson I’m sitting with, and maybe it resonates with you too:

We don’t always get to choose the chapters that change us.
But we do get to choose how we meet ourselves on the other side of them.

And sometimes, that gentleness is the strength.

I’m still learning that—over and over. I foolishly thought I already had learned this. But that’s the thing about life lessons: they circle back again and again.

And finally—this is me practicing asking for help where I need it. ⬇️

As I begin to rebuild, I’ve realized that—despite the big, hopeful plans I had for 2025—this just isn’t the season to fully scale my career coaching business the way I imagined.

Solopreneur life can be lonely and energetically taxing, so for now, I’m keeping my 1-1 roster small (a few spots currently open) and thinking more creatively about how I spend my time in this weird, liminal space of healing. The truth is: I need more structure. I need community. And I need something that’s not entirely self-directed.

So, I’m putting out the Bat-Signal. 🦇

I’m looking for a part-time, project-based fractional opportunity (ideally 10–15 hours/week) where I can truly collaborate and help build something—work with heart, use my strengths, and honor my current capacity. I’m mostly looking for virtual work for the flexibity but would love some in-person collaboration here in NYC if it’s in the cards.

For context, before career coaching (and cancer), my background is in business operations & product management. My sweet spot is storytelling, strategy, operations, and creating experiences and technology that move people forward. I’m especially energized by helping someone bring a vision to life.

Honestly, I’m seeking now what I so often help others find: community, stability & momentum during a season when the foundation feels shaky.

If you know of a potential opportunity—or someone I should talk to—I’d be so grateful for the connection.

Just reply to this email or reach out on LinkedIn.

I’m open to possibilities. 💫

Until next time,

Jess

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